TROUBL

The Tuesday rain kept trees swollen. Underneath moments of stricken bark, their vibrant yellow resembled cantaloupe’s interior. Tears of rain desperately latched to dying blossoms, which blossomed on multiple feet high branches. Wind snatched them, causing feeble switches to plunge.

She reached around to her back and clamped the clasp that held her breast’s harness in place. In front of the mirror, she brushed her index finger against the coming hair on her bikini line. She watched her fresh nails hand brush her hair, fingering along top of Grace’s cosmetics on the dresser. Maurice was straightening the underwear he had just put on himself. He stuck his head through his t-shirt. He sat without any noise for minute, sitting his eyes on the white wall.

“Thought you stopped?” she asked.

“Who said tha’?” as he lit a cigarette.

“You did.”

“Now,” Maurice breathed in a breath, “I kno’ you lyin’.” He breathed out, “Here.”

Through the mirror’s reflection, she saw black panties swinging in Maurice’s finger. She swiped at his dancing palms. “Stop playin’,” she spoke playfully. She slipped her legs through and stared at the smoke leaving Maurice’s nostrils.

“What you doin’?” He attempted to tackle her arm as she reached for his cigarette.

It burned away between his first two fingers. After acting as if smoke had invade her throat, she smothered it in a wooden tray for ash. “Don’t need it.”

“Don’t tell me wha’ I need.” Pressing hands against her thigh, Maurice reset her soles away from his pants. He patted its pockets and took another.

“No,” she kicked his hand away then sat her full bottom on his left thigh. “When she get back?”

“I don’ know,” he clutched her leg’s skin.

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To my house.”

“For what?”

She looked at him weird, “Fo’ what? That’s a stupid question.”

“She ain’t comin’ back anytime soon.”

“You jus’ said you didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but–

–But what?” She moved on his thighs, closing on his waist.

“Trust me.”

With a large cup of red juice within his grasp, Rip took a post on his bed. “Put that shit away.”

Laid back in a computer seat, Jacob counted imperfections on the ceiling. Petrified paint drips, non-breathing mosquitos, stripped paint from stripped tape, and brownish water spots were received by his eyes. Jacob dove into his pockets. He pulled out a slim and brown box. He tapped it in beath with the speaker box sound. “I was’n even gon’ spark it.”

“Right,” Rip said following a sip.

“You couldn’t bring me none.”

“You know where the kitchen is,” Jacob rose and carried his feet into the next room.

Kitchen’s icebox was tan. Novelty magnets tacked old newspaper clippings to it. Northwest of the stove, a cabinet held all the drinking containers. Taking a tall and blue cup off the middle of three shelves, Jacob opted for water from the portable machine that stuck alongside the refrigerator side.

“Water?” Rip asked. He fiddled with the stereo buttons.

“What?” Jacob said, bringin the chair towards him.

“You said you wanted what I had.”

“You said you wanted what I had.”

“I can’t change my mind?”

“I don’t care, more for me,” Rip put his door close. Under his bed, he withdrew a medium-built, black metallic three-dimensional rectangle. Stacks of paper went in a neat manner against its three-inch tall walls.

“Damn.”

“What?” Rip’s eyes turned up.

“I forgot it.”

“Don’ trip,” Rip closed his box. “I knew you would anyway.”

“My fault.”

“Don’t trip,” he said stressing the point. On his bed and sitting straight, Rip stretched to its corner post.

“Why didn’ you use that before?”

Volume inflated as Rip pointed the remote at is stereo, then put it on his pillow. He took another sip and took his cup to the floor.

“Jackson?”

“Man…” Rip said while laughing.

“Let me get the remote.”

Rip shook his head with a disgusted smile.

“What?” A faint smile started to paint on Jacob’s face. Loading the floor with his cup, he inched toward his seat’s brim.

“You lazy. You right next to it.”

“Fuck you,” Jacob’s smile grew up and his smile did too.