5. What's in a Name?

   I wake about eight in the morning. I hurriedly leap from the bed in my underwear and run into the shower. I get to work washing up, I have no idea what time he meant that he'd be by this morning and I do not want him out there waiting. I only want to get the boxsprings and come home. The quicker the trip, and quicker it's over, the better for me.

        Fresh from the shower I grab lotion, deodorant, toothpaste and all the things I need from the cabinet as I begin to get ready. I do only light enough makeup not to feel self conscious while out, and I blow dryer my hair just because I have no control over what it does if it dries on it's own. I grab my canvas shoes, a pair of jeggings and an old grey bleach dyed tee. I'm dressing for comfort. I do not want him to think I am in any way trying to impress him. I thought about asking to pick up some privacy fencing to try to start it this week, but I'm not sure how he'd react. So I plan to ask to stop for several lattice sheets instead. Similar effect without being obvious.

        As soon as I come down the stairs and set Creature's food out, I hear him pull in. What timing. I grab my wallet and keys as I lock up and step outside. He studies me as I approach the truck. I go to open the handle, but it's locked. The window is cracked though.

        "Good morning!" I greet awkwardly. He finally unlocks the door and I attempt to get inside. The truck has a high profile and I have to grab the seat and hop to get in. This makes Trevor snort as he shifts into gear and we leave the drive. When he looks to the road, I wipe my sweaty mitts off on my jeans. I should've brought water.

        "You have great timing by the way." I blurt, just trying to disrupt the painful silence. It weighs on my nerves like a concrete block. He quirks a brow at me.

         "What you mean?" He is a man of few words, none elegant. In my mind, I can pictures him hot boxing cigarettes, busting a TV over a ball game or even crushing beer cans with his head. I can also see him roaming the wilderness shirtless, with a weed eater and a raccoon cap on. Like a beefy, hostile Davy Crockett. "Speak."

        "I was just saying that your timing is impeccable. I had literally just came down the stairs. I was trying to hurry so you wouldn't end up waiting on me."

         "I guess it was, huh?" He turns to me. "You bad at laundry?"

         "No. Why?"

         "I don't know if you noticed, but your shirt is bleached out." Everything he says is to pick a fight. I swear to God. To God I-

          "It was made this way! It's comfortable, and I like it. At least I wore a shirt. They probably won't even let you in."

         "Course they would. I go out like this all the time. Why wouldn't they?"

         "Health hazard. What if they serve food and you get your hamburger meat in it." He laughs.

         "Hamburger meat?"

         "Fine. Chest hair. Boob bush-" The truck lurches and my head slams the dash. "What the fuck? Take me home!"

         "You were so busy batching, you didn't see that chipmunk run out from the ditch. Sit up. Put your seat belt on." I sigh.

         "Thanks mother."

         "You're welcome. You aren't going to die by car accident on my watch."

         "Something's got to take me out."

         "I'd prefer it be me." I look to him in disbelief as he cracks up.

         "Tell me how you really feel."

         "You couldn't handle it."

          "A car accident doesn't sound so bad right now." I counter.

          "Where you from?" He asks.

          "Here. I moved away several years ago when I married though." He nods. "You?"

          "A few towns over. I go to visit family there often. How old are you?"

           "Twenty seven. How old are you, Trevor?"

          "Trevor?" He asks.

           "Are you not Trevor?" I deadpan. Have mercy. Are we there yet?

           "Excuse me, I spaced for a minute there. I'm thirty seven." My stomach twists with nerves as I pretend to take in the scenery outside the window. Something is off with this man. Perhaps he has a mental disorder? It would explain his behavior and the issues with previous neighbors. 

         "You are from this town. Do you have family here?"

         "I do."

         "If you don't mind my prying, why haven't they offered to help you move?" I sigh.

          "It's fine. I won't ask them. After I asked for divorce from my ex, they were the first to go online and kiss Amis ass about his relationship with the woman he cheated with. I tried to reach out the them about his suspicious behavior, and well...abuse, but they wouldn't even give me time of day. They ignored me and told me I was overreacting. Then they go congratulate him for basically cheating. I haven't spoken to them since."

          "That's a bad deal. Any friends?"

          "No. Unfortunately they have all taken his side as well it seems. People adore him. He's charismatic and misleading. They aren't aware enough to realize what he's doing. He hated half of them." I rant. "It's like nobody realizes he's evil but me. He's just using them all too..." I deflate as I turn away. My chest is tight. I thought I was over it, but my anger and joking are only masks. It hurts to say it all out loud.

         "He can't use you here now." He shrugs. "Collect yourself. Almost there."

          I'm embarrassed and annoyed with myself. Why? I'm not sure. I rely don't care for Trevor or about his opinion of me. I guess I'm ashamed for my own bruised ego. We pull into the bedding store and I jump down from the truck and dust myself off. We enter together and make our way past bedroom suits and pricey mattress to the back of the store. I am on high alert, hoping to avoid the salesman as I gesture to the cheapest boxspring available. It's on clearance. I'm not shelling out my life's savings for a wood nox with metal springs and flimsy beige material, and the salesman will not con me into it. In and out. In and out. Trevor  maneuvers the box spring onto the cart and wheels it upfront for me where I hastily pay and follow him to the truck. He never needed my help loading it.

        "Do you mind if we stop there real quick? I only need a couple things and I won't be long." He obliges and pulls off to the hone improvement store I had pointed at. I expected him to remain in the truck, but he follows me inside.

         "What are you looking for? I'm in here often. Probably help you find it." He calls over his shoulder to me.

          "Lattice, and some posts." Shit. Posts require concrete. I face palm. This shit is too much. Maybe I can just pack rocks and dirt really tight around them? I have no freaking clue.

          "What for?"

          "Cresture! I need them to make a divider for Creature in the back so he might stay out of your hair."

          "Save money, tie him up." I shuffle.

          "Well, I might need the privacy myself. I had plans of...well...laying out this summer and I didn't want to be in view of the road." Of you. Definitely of you.

          "It's a two house road. If anybody comes up it, they are lost or visiting one of us." I give up.

          "I suppose you have a point." I'll get it later.

           The ride home is more relaxed, casual conversation flows and Trevor responds to his name when I test him thus time. We talk about house projects and he gives me tips on my sad little flower beds. Occassionally, he hints for bits of personal information, and out of suspicion, I stay vague.

            We arrive at the house and Trevor backs his truck to the porch. Massive forearm flexing as he steers and looks over his shoulders. I notice a few thin red scratches up his arm and I wonder if they are from a cat? 'Trevor' does not strike me as a cat person. He commands me to stay as he comes around and sits me out of the old truck.

          "Getting tired of watching you struggle in and out." He laughs. I give a hearty fake chuckle and offer to help him with the boxsprings. I open doors and try to guide him, but he veers efferotlessy up to my room. We wrestle the mattress back up and set everything into place. That's when I noticevthe destruction below the window.

           "Creature!" I scold. "What did you do?" The blinds are shredded, and the dry wall is scraped and peeled below the window trim. "Why?" He doesn't turn his focus from the window and I lean over to look out. Nothing. I see nothing. I rub my arms. "Now I get to fix this. Wonderful."

           "Won't be a hard fix at least. Believe I'd get rid of that mutt though. Destructive, disobedient and he looks like a coyote."

          "He's never behaved like this before. He's just having a difficult time adjusting." I defend. I quickly retrieve my wallet and pay him gas and extra for his help. After a few tries, he finally pockets it.

          "Thank you."

           "No problem, Alina. See you around." He pulls a paper from his pocket and hands it to me. "To call if you need me. May I have yours?" I give it to him and he stores it into his phone.  Crearure goes nuts again at the window and I rush over, to find nothing but what looks like a footprint in the mulch below. I peel myself away and follow Trevor down to the porch, intending to look at that print when Trevor leaves.

        "They don't look too bad. I just wanted to give you a hard time." He steps down to the yard and approaches the flower bed. He bends to inspect them closer, and I don't miss his hands as he smoothes the mulch. "There! That was killing me. Keep that dog out of your flower beds or he'll trample your mulch out." With that, he leaves.

       I wait for him to get out of sight before I rush out and walk around my house, searching. I find a partial print on the far side. I place my foot beside it and what remains of it is close in size with mine. I pull my cell out to take a picture. The wind blows the putrid smell of death again today, and I can't stop the shiver that travels down my spine.