Free My Kind Of Crazy by Nadene Seiters

the Lexus. I watch him
drive away until the dust falls back to the ground. Then I let the stick drop
from my hands and finally take a deep inhale of fresh air.
    It’s not three seconds after I inhale that my knees hit the
dirt, and I hear Anastasia say my name. Her cool hands are plastered on my face
as she tries to get me to look up at her, but I’m starting to fade away. I feel
her arm cushion my fall as I slide backwards on the dirt driveway. Then I’m
just nothing, a speck of darkness within a sea of black.
    The smell of meat and cheese cooking wakes me up.
    My left eye opens first, and I rub at the right eye to get
the crust of sleep out. Just to get Anastasia’s attention, I yawn loudly and make
a ruckus as I slide off the bed. It does the trick because her blue eyes are
boring into mine when she pokes her head around the doorframe to my bedroom.
The furrow between her brows and the way she manages to quirk one eyebrow at
the same time makes me smile.
    “What happened?” As I’m asking her, Anastasia slinks around
the corner and moves one prettily manicured hand onto her hip with the other
one dangling at her side. She looks me up and down from head to toe before she
shrugs one shoulder, her silence is killing me.
    “Why don’t you come out to the kitchen and drink a glass of
water? Then you can tell me what you remember from earlier, and I’ll
fill you in on the parts you won’t remember.” That sounds ominous, and my
excellent mood immediately plummets as I follow her out to the kitchen. True to
her word, Anastasia pours me a freezing cold glass of water and gently puts it
in front of me at the table. I slide into my usual chair and guzzle half the
glass of water before I realize she was right. I’m extremely thirsty.
It’s empty by the time I put it down on the table with a few beads of
condensation pooling around it.
    “I remember Mr. Taylor pulling up, and I grabbed a beam that
was still somewhat useable. He was irritating you, and I was getting pissed. Then
it all sort of fades to the background. You said my name last, and then I was
out. So what happened?” I was right. There’s something baking in the oven with
cheese and meat in it. It’s not until she opens up the oven door that I
recognize lasagna, and my stomach practically tries to jump out my throat so
that it can devour the lasagna itself. Protein and carbs are just what I’m
craving right now.
    “Well, you passed out, and you started to wake up. I was
trying to help you up the steps, again , when you called me a stupid
bitch and tried to get away from me. The scrape on your knee is from that
incident. Then you profusely apologized and made your way up the rest of the
steps on your own. You complained of a skull splitting headache and collapsed
into bed.” I feel heat flush my cheeks and embarrassment flood me as I look
down at my hands. They’re clean hands, and then I start looking myself over.
    I’m entirely cleaned up, and I don’t remember getting
changed. There is no way that Anastasia could have bathed and changed an
unconscious man. Suddenly my throat seems to dry up as a dying man’s in the dessert
would, and realization hits me in the chest like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t me
who called her a bitch, and it wasn’t me who showered and dressed. So what
happened during that time?
    “Did I hurt you?” Anastasia closes the oven door and turns
around as she’s pulling off her oven mitts. Something odd crosses over her face
as she puts the mitts into a drawer. Is that amusement or anger? I could
understand anger, but I cannot understand why she would feel even a hint of
mirth right now.
    “No, Jonah, you didn’t hurt me. In fact, you were very kind,
gentle, and caring after your shower, but I have a feeling you don’t remember
that either.” She’s not facing me, and I can’t discern what she’s trying to
imply by that statement. She definitely doesn’t seem upset by what occurred,
but I wish I knew what it