Free Flesh and Feathers by Danielle Hylton, April Fifer Page A

place. I guess he saw how confused I was because he went on to try and jog my memory.
    “Reeeemeeemmmbbber?” he asked, stretching out the word as long as it would go. I giggled a little at his very thick lisp.
    “Your friend said if I went home and practiced ball real hard that you two would come play a game with me,” the boy said as he impelled the baseball repeatedly in his glove.  
    I assumed that he had me confused with someone else, and I didn’t want to argue with the little guy. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had the wrong girl.
    “Um… my friend had some important business to take care of,” I said, feeling bad about lying. “I tell you what. I can play for one game, fair?”  
    “But he promised,” he said, looking disappointed.
      “Looks like you’re going to have to settle for me,” I said, squinting my face and hoping that I would be a good enough catching partner.
    “It’s okay. Come back tomorrow with your friend, and we’ll play. I should go anyway. I promised my Mom, I would be home early.” He gave me a short wave and started back towards the field. Just before reaching the dirt, he turned and shouted, “Bye Az!” Then he disappeared into the crowd of boys.  
    He knew who I was . I tried shouting out to him, but I didn’t know his name. “ Hey wait!” However, he was gone.
    ***
    The next night I left work around seven o’clock. I was rushing home. It was getting dark, not from the late hour, but because it was getting ready to pour down rain. I heard ripples of thunder off in the distance, and with each flash of lightening; it pushed my feet to move at a faster pace. I hated thunderstorms–they always made me nervous.   
    When I finally made it to my apartment, I was relieved. I went in and changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt. After the accident, my apartment seemed so strange to me, like I was out of place there. It was dreary and isolated. Nothing on the surface had changed, but internally I felt like this was a dark and sad former part of my life.
    I straightened up a few things and figured I would go to check on Mr. Parker. His first name was Earl. However, I couldn't call him by it. It was too casual, and since he was much like the Dad I never had, I liked calling him by a more formal name.  
    Once I reached his door, I knocked softly, not wanting to startle him. “Mr. Parker?” I called but didn’t receive an answer. “Mr. Parker, it’s Azaleigh.” I waited a second and then called again. “Mr. Parker, are you there?” I placed a hand on the doorknob and tried turning it. It was unlocked. I opened the door just enough to fit my head inside. “Mr. Parker, it’s Azaleigh. I was just checking in to see if you were okay.” I opened the door wider and stepped inside to look around. His apartment was smaller than mine with even less furnishing. I walked through the living room and then into the kitchen where a plate full of food sat, half eaten. Flies were hovering over it, and the stench was overwhelming, causing me to cover my nose with the inside of my shirt. I choked back a gag as I shooed the flies away from attempting to take up residence on me. “Mr. Parker?” I called one more time, hoping and praying that he would answer.
      Just then I heard a ticking coming from the back bedroom, and I followed the sound down the hall, carefully walking in quiet steps on the hardwood floor. I approached a door that was cracked open, and I could tell the sound was coming from behind it. Slowly pushing it open, a foul smell hit me and I stood staring in horror. Mr. Parker was lying on the floor, pale and not moving. In his hand, he was holding a phone. The cord was stretched out and hitting the side of his nightstand caused by a light gust of wind that was blowing through the open window. He must have been there for days because the lobes of his ears had begun to blacken.
    With tears welling up in my eyes and my heart beating rapidly, I stood there in