Free Cookie Cutter by Jo Richardson

in the back seat and as that turned out, she was a minor.
    Long story short, they’d had sex. Rough sex. She claimed she had no memory of it or giving her permission to have it and Roy was suddenly facing rape charges. People speculated on both sides, but in the end, my father got him off by making a case that the girl only said she didn’t remember because she didn’t want her parents finding out she was sleeping around with older guys. He listed names. She was humiliated. And Roy ended up only having to plead guilty to the reckless driving charges because the Breathalyzer test had been compromised by the time the test results came back. That one is still a mystery and the incompetence of certain investigators continues to amaze me.
    By the time we were done chatting about the flawless defensive skills of my father, my mystery girl was almost out the door of the lecture room and I still hadn’t gotten her name.
    “Hey!” I called out after her.
    She turned with an impatient glance toward me, like I was keeping her from the most important appointment in the life at that time.
    “I didn’t get your name,” I said, expecting her to give it to me right then and there, only she didn’t.
    “Come to the social tonight, maybe you’ll get it then,” she promised. She pulled out this pink sheet of paper, crumpled it up and threw it at me like she didn’t have time to come back down the stairs to hand it to me herself.
    When I opened it up, I was given the name of her sorority and consequently, the address that I’d be spending a huge chunk of the next four years of my life visiting.
    Cheryl Bedford.
    I haven’t thought about the woman I assumed I was going to marry, once upon a time, for a while now. There’s still a small sting inside my chest when I do, but not much. Just enough to remind me how gullible I once was.
    I let out a long yawn and check the time. Just after six AM.
    “Holy shit.”
    It’s been twenty-three hours since the last time I slept . Seventeen since I ran into and simultaneously met Don Meeks, who informed me he’d heard of my skill set before begging me to help him out with an emergency repair over at the field down the street. Fifteen since my run in with Iris Alden.
    I’m losing track of the number of times I get sucked into a battle of wills with her. If I’m being honest, she’s the reason my mind has been racing for the past half a day. I picture the look on her face as I left the carnival grounds yesterday afternoon. And I laugh because I can practically see the frustration in her eyes. And I can definitely feel it. She’s such a damn contradiction to herself. Together one minute, only to let a little flirtatious banter get the best of her the next. I wonder if she’s like this with everyone or just me. I kind of want it to be just me. Why, I don’t know. It’s not like it would be smart to follow up on that idea.
    I need a shower. Badly. So for now, I push the curiosity I have about my neighbor aside and get myself cleaned up before passing out on the futon.
     
    * * *
     
    I wake up and stretch the kinks out of my neck and back. When the faint rumble of trash trucks outside gets louder and louder, I stop short and realize, I slept an entire. Day.
    ”Shhhhit.”
    I roll off of my couch bed and run out to the garage, half unconscious of my actions but somehow, completely aware of the fact that Iris leaves for work around this time. She’s like clockwork, this woman. The next thing I know, I’m pulling a hand through my hair and tugging at the bottom of my t-shirt to get the wrinkles out. Then I stop myself, because,
    “What the fuck am I doing?”
    I grab the handle of the trash can and pull it to the front of the garage. And as I tug the garage door open, despite my efforts not to, I give a glance over toward her house. Sure enough, timely as ever, there she is, heading out the front door. She leaves it open behind her and I imagine her daughter, somewhere inside, taking her