Watching and Waiting

"Go on! Don't wuss out on us now." I gave Bret a terrified look. "You've come this far. Get going!" He shoved me and I backed away from him towards the house. I stopped to give a pleading stare at Norton, who just grinned and shook his head, refusing to help me out. This time, Bret shouted: "GO!"

Gripping tightly on the handle, I gave the red Radio Flyer a tug and pull. The cart, full of jumping colorful boxes, followed me on bouncing wheels over the uneven cement as I walkd up the middle of Mr. Corso's front lawn. His house was every imagining of the word haunted and unwelcoming. Black and brown, like the wood was always soaked from a non-existent rain. It gave off a dark atmosphere.

Taking a moment, I stood still and took note that he didn't take much care of his garden. I thought, ’Maybe he doesn't care at all about it?’ It was a wonder that the homeowner’s association didn't cite him on the tall weeds crawling up the side of his house. In fact, I thought some of those could’ve been trees trying to root themselves into the foundation of his home.

"Oh MaxINE, hurry it up and sell dem goodies!" Bret laughed when I turned to look back at the two. He bowed in a curtsy like he had a skirt on. It was obviously to mock the khaki Cadette's uniform they’d coerced me into. My grip on the black handle became painfully tight. I began to feel sick to my stomach, but I knew how much worse trouble I'd be in if I refused the two older teens. Taking in a deep breath, I held it in and waited a minute, concentrating on my lack of air rather than courage as I pushed onward to the door.

For a moment, I didn't know what to do at the door. I couldn't figure out why until I realized I'd been searching for a missing button to ring Mr. Corso's doorbell. Maybe he didn't have one? In that case, I could use that knocker up in the middle of his door.

I took the knocker in my hand and gave it a firm smack against the hollow plate.

After a minute or so, I heard the sound of shuffling feet. A pair of eyes squinted out of the door's window, but not down at me. Then I heard those feet shuffle again, fading away. I knocked again. A silence followed for another minute. Again, I knocked, and a pair of rapidly stomping feet came to the door. The door flew open and I flailed backwards into the cart.

"Ow," I moaned, sucking in air painfully. "Owww." I had collided with the furthest lip of the wagon and smacked the back of my head. The crinkling noise of the boxes told me I was crushing the cookies I was being forced to sell. Gulping, I quickly scrambled out of the cart to stand and be more presentable in front of the neighbor. Straightening the beret back on my head, I stammered a greeting. "Uh, hi. I'm do-doing a door to door coo-cookie sa-sale."

From Mr. Corso's view, he probably saw me as some slim and short haired girl wearing a khaki vest over a white shirt. I was busy trying to pull back down a skirt in the same khaki colors, but awkwardly around my knees since I was taller than Bret's sister. This was not my uniform. I wasn’t even in Girl Scouts! I wasn’t a girl!

Through a cigarette between his lips, he paused before making his statement. "...No soliciting. Fuck off."

"Wait! I-I can't. I've got to sell all of these cookies by nightfall." That caused him to look over my shoulder with wide eyes and cough.

"Fat fucking chance." The door was closing--

--and my foot got crushed before it could shut. I winced, gritted my teeth and bore it, determined to endure this pain rather than the beating I would get from Bret and Norton. The door opened a bit, Mr. Corso silent and stiff, watching me with those same wide eyes.

"Kid, fuck off before I call the cops." That did sound a bit worse in the short term, but I knew my life would be a nightmare from then on if I failed. I shook my head, keeping my hurt foot exactly where I’d left it. He swung the door fully open and I expected him to step out to physically remove me.

Instead, he just stood there with one hand in his robe pocket, the other pinching the glowing cig between his teeth, turning his cheek to blow smoke away, but still squinting down at me. It wasn't that bright out, but then again, I'd never seen Mr. Corso outside before. Likely his eyes were better accustomed to being indoors at almost all times.

Looking him over, I saw how ratty his appearance was. Mostly, his loose fitting clothes gave him that characteristic. He was thin, but had a fine bone structure and a chin-length goatee that was accentuated by the buzz cut around his dark, short wavy hair. He had that same kind of gray band of hair that Marvel's Dr. Strange had going. He certainly did not look like the kind of guy who would buy cookies from a Girl Scout.

Especially after “she’d” fallen and probably crushed the whole lot of them.

"...Kid, you've got to a count of three- Wait, no, countdown from three." He nodded and continued. "If you haven’t turned around when time runs out, well, you'll be SOL too." He waited a moment, presumably to see if I would get going before he had to start. I stubbornly stood my ground. "Fuck's sake, THREE." Mr. Corso held up three fingers, then two. "TWO!" Instead of his middle finger dropping next, the index curled down to flip me off. "ONE... Okay, you're fucked."

I honestly didn't know what he intended to do. The door was still open, but he turned his back to me and walked away. Leaning in, I tried to see into the house for what he might be up to. Backing away from the open door, I looked over my shoulder to see how Bret and Norton were reacting to this.

I became pale and shook hard. Both had disappeared! I wasn't sure if they’d fled when Mr. Corso mentioned the police, or if they simply were hiding someplace to keep a watch on me. If it were the later, it would mean I had to continue this charade until I got paid for the consumable merchandise. Gulping, I turned back around to the open door of Mr. Corso's house.

He now had on a pair of thin wire-framed glasses propped on his uncaring face. My eyes dropped to his hands, searching for whatever he might be holding: a phone, stick, bat, gun, something to drive me off. Nothing. Not a single thing was in his hands.

What Mr. Corso had gone to do was made apparent when I looked over him. He no longer wore the robe, but instead a pair of ill-fitting dress pants, a nice white shirt one size too big for his thin figure, and a grey trench coat, stretching all the way to the floor like a cloak. He being pulled it more snugly over his shoulders before he flipped a hood over his head.

Then he stepped outside. Carefully, I backed around the wagon in fright. I kept the wagon between me and Mr. Corso. Looking over my shoulder, I wanted to spot those two despite the fact that they could beat the shit out of me later for ruining this. For my safety, I returned my attention back on the reclusive neighbor.

With that cig still in his mouth, he spoke one more time. "Kid, I gave you three chances." In the next second, he somehow had a hold of my shoulder. I didn't see him move or reach out before he had me. In the final second outside, I felt the rush of air as I was blindly hurled past and behind him into his house. This happened too fast for me to respond in any way.

I was busy getting up off my elbows and knees when I dropped flat back on the floor after the red wagon crashed into my side. This time, I yelled out in pain. It was the corner of the wagon that managed to cause me to voice some protest. My hand rubbed tenderly along my side, over the ribs, to feel where I was struck if anything felt out of place.

Between his clenched teeth on that cig, he spoke again. "You're fine." The sound of the door shutting brought my attention up and looking to where he stood. He walked toward me, but stopped to reach down, pick up the light beige beret, and inspect it while flipping it between his hands. He tossed it onto a dresser along the hall's wall and it landed perfectly on top of a dimly lit lamp.

He leaned himself back, pocketing his hands, and watched me as I got up off the floor. I smoothed down the pleated skirt to my knees before facing him. I had been about to tell him off, say something like what he was doing could land him in more trouble than when he threatened me with the police. Then I thought better about who knew I was here. Bret and Norton, neither of whom would say a word about their involvement of forcing me into this situation.

What else could I say or do?

Looking down, the entire wagon was on its side, the boxes spilled across the floor. That was something, at least. I knelt down, righting the wagon and keeping it between me and Mr. Corso as I loaded the boxes back in. It kept my mind focused on something while I could feel a little assurance that there was some buffer keeping him away.

I saw his brows rise at the sight of me picking up the boxes. He didn't say or do anything until I had the last box in the wagon. Then he drew his hand out of his pocket, instantly grabbing the long-necked handle to wheel the wagon away from me. He parked it squarely into the corner of the door and hall, turning it into an obstruction if I intended to escape out the front door.

A hand gestured, out from his other pocket, for me to go into his dining room and probably take a seat. For a moment, I only stood where I was and did nothing. I wanted some more time to think. Maybe it would be a good idea to not piss him off more. Then I got moving into the dining room.

Before I could pull a chair from the table to sit, he snatched one, turned it around, and presented it to me to settle in. "Sit." I did so without complaint. He grabbed another chair and dragged it over to place it in front of me, so we could face each other when he sat in it. "Before anything else happens, what's your problem?"

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"What game you got going on here? The deal?" Throwing his thumb over his shoulder, pointing behind himself, he spoke more harshly. "Back when I fucking warned you and told you to git."

"I-I um..." Swallowing down what courage I could, I told him the truth. "They, uh, Bret and Norton, I mean... Bret has ah-a little sister in Girl Scouts. She's sick a-and can't--"

"Fuck’s sake, kid. Hold on..." Mr. Corso got up out of his chair and walked away to another room. In a few short moments, I heard something pop, then silence, and finally watched as he returned with a tall glass of some dark liquid. "Drink this. It'll help." He sat back down and handed me the drink.

It was a dark red liquid, no bubbles in it so definitely not carbonated. Was this wine? I brought it up to my lips and gave it a taste. It was odd to me; for being a drink, it gave me the impression that it had a dry texture. Maybe I could compare it to a very potent grape juice? Either way, I wasn't a fan and couldn't call it delicious.

Mr. Corso kept staring at me. He was watching to make sure I drank it. Again, not wanting to anger him more than I already had, I endured the taste and gulped it down. I felt warmer after finishing it off, but not really sure what he meant by it helping me.

He squinted one eye at me, took his cig out of his mouth and nodded. The adult got back up and walked on over to an ashtray, digging his unfinished cig into it. He went back into the room and just as quickly came back out with a black bottle. It looked like wine.

"That's wine?"

"Yeah, kid. Sixteen forty-two, Toulouse." No idea what that meant, but I nodded. He sat back down and poured me more into the tall glass. "Drink up, but stop if you start feeling a buzz. I don't want you getting sick on my floor."

"A buzz?"

"Tingly in the head. Warm and fuzzy inside. All cozy, you know?" Nodding again, not having a real idea what he was talking about, I just agreed. "Drink up, kid."

"Max."

"Pardon?"

"It's Max. Max Audeline."

"Auda... Heh, I didn't take you for a frog."

"What?" Why did he call me a frog? "Frog?"

"Don't worry about it. French Frogs are history. An old insult, like saying Germans are Sour Krauts." I was completely lost in his explanation. He shook his head and waved me off. "Forget it. Drink up and talk."

One more glass down the hatch later, I resumed. "Bret's sister, she needed to collect money for her troop. She's sick and couldn't go around selling cookies. No one would risk buying them from someone sick, let alone her parents letting her out of the house while ill." I paused, actually feeling that warm fuzziness that Mr. Corso had told me about.

"How do you fit in this?"

I bowed my head and softly spoke. "Bret and his friend Norton, they like to mess with me since I'm not -- I don't... They can do whatever they want and I can't do anything about it."

"So they dressed you up and cracked the whip? Is that it?" He gestured for me to continue or conclude with a wave of his hand.

Letting out a sigh, I nodded. "Yeah. They wanted me to start selling cookies here first and go onto the next."

He laughed and pointed down at the floor. "Here first? Of all the houses, they made you pick this one first?" Clueless, he threw his hands up in the air. "Why?"

"I guess because no one has managed to get a sale here. Bret said if I could get you to buy and sign off for some cookies, I'd be on easy street. Maybe he wanted to get the most difficult house out of the way first? I dunno..." I shrugged while my voice trailed down to a softer tone, abandoning me. I went silent.

The noise of his chair creaking caused me to look up. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest while watching me from down his shiny spectacles. He rolled his eyes, as if in afterthought, and pulled the hood off his head. Mr. Corso took off the coat and let it hang off the back of his chair. He blew out a sigh and shook his head.

"Why the Hell have you not told your parents?" He shook his head at me again, like this was unbelievable.

How could I tell him that part? It took me drinking to explain this much. If I told on Bret or Norton about what they did, what would my parents do? Go talk to their parents, likely. That would just piss them both off and get me into deep trouble.

I shook my head silently to Mr. Corso.

"Tell me, how old are Bret and Norton? Fifteen, sixteen?"

"Both are eighteen... I think Norton is going to be nineteen next month?" This left him a little shocked. He stared at me for a few seconds with his mouth hanging open.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Kid, you could get cops involved with the shit they are pulling on you. They are adults." I shook my head again, knowing he wouldn't understand that I'd get into trouble in any case. If the police locked them up, it wouldn't be for long. Then they'd come out and come after me. I didn't want to imagine what they would do to me in retaliation.

Silently, I bowed my head again.

"Alright, first of all, I'm confused by one thing. Cookies? At your age? I'd see it from a little girl, but you'd be doing services like escorting the elderly across the street or some shit like that. Not selling cookies. That's... What, Brownies, right? You don't look like a sweet little Brownie to me." I shook my head, not having an answer to that question.

"They told me what to do and I did it." I heard him laugh again.

After getting over his laugh, he spoke. "Kid--"

"Max."

"Andie."

"What?" I looked up at him in confusion.

"What? What you mean what? You started it. Max, my name is Andie. Andie Corso." He gestured to himself and then pointed back at me. "Max, you've got to tell someone about those hooligans. Someone like you should never be living in fear of men like that."

I'm not sure if it was the spirits that made me say this, but I said it. "I told you."

That made him drop his pointing finger and stare at me. His gaze locked with mine without ever blinking. I didn't really know what to do. Should I have said something else? Done something? Maybe taken another drink? There was only one thing that I knew not to do. Not to break eye contact with him. I couldn't explain it.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he nodded and stood up. "Alright, Max, you've told me, but you still didn't listen to me out there. I get you were scared, but I'm about to give you a lesson on why you shouldn't be afraid of guys like Bret and Norton." For a second, I imagined he was going to grin, smile sadistically, or say something like, “You should be afraid of me.” Something like that.

He didn't. Even if he had, I wouldn't have had the chance to respond. Just as instantly as he’d grabbed me outside, he pulled me out of the chair. My only reaction was to seize up when I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. His arms constricted around my back and crushed me against his chest. I inhaled deeply when the acute pain in my shoulder became incredibly agonizing. There was an instinctual need to scream, but I was too physically, and probably mentally, shocked to have a voice yet.

When I did regain my voice, I tried to scream. He grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face down into his shoulder. I muffled a cry into him while much more pain coursed through me. Then I started getting oddly cold. A headache was thumping in my skull. It grew worse as time stretched. Eventually, I stopped yelling into his shoulder and simply sobbed. I tried to grab and pull him off of me. I tried. I really did try...

I felt us move. He sat back down in his chair and shifted me to sit in his lap. My hands, feeling that tingly sensation when the circulation cuts itself off, dropped down. I couldn't put up the fighting effort to pull him off of me. Worse, I felt myself becoming faint despite the piercing headache wrecking through my head. It wouldn't be long before I passed out, and then I had no idea what would happen to me.

Resisting the darkness, I bit down on my lower lip to concentrate. A pain of my own making was better than dealing with the ones out of my control. I could regulate this one and the focus on it allowed my mind to keep me aware.

At long last, he let go of my shoulder. I felt a chilling rush, like ice-cold water, where he had hurt me. It felt like there was a chunk missing, completely numb, but radiating that pain into the rest of my body. He pulled my face away from his shoulder and I got a look at his bloody face. He seemed surprised.

"Still awake? That's a first. You are one stubborn bitch." Seeing and hearing him speak again made me want to ask so many questions, like what did he mean by that and what was he doing, but I didn't. Why would I? There were far more pressing matters running through my mind. Like that red mess on his face. Was that my blood? Did he bite me? That was the source of this near intolerable pain!? Instincts kicked in over reason and I wanted it resolved. The pain, I wanted it gone.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out except another sob.

"Sshh, it's alright. Shit, I'm not even sure what to do now. Normally, you'd sleep, wake up, feel like shit until your first meal. Then, bam, you're feeling like a million bucks." He laughed, which was a very intimidating sight with my own blood dripping off his goatee. I think he saw how that frightened me and immediately he sobered up. Once again, he pulled my face down onto his shoulder and just began to pet the back of my head.

I thought about biting my lip again, but if he was right about passing out and waking up, it meant I wasn't going to be killed. So I didn't resist anymore. Turning to roll my cheek down on his shoulder, I rested and prayed I'd fall unconscious soon. Little shivers ran up my spine as he began to rock back in his chair with me.

"Sshh... Oh boy. You still awake?" I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder in my nod. "Fuck, uh, okay. Well, then..." He just kept rocking. I felt his chest rise and heard him sigh a couple of times, possibly in frustration, but it wasn't like I was trying to stay awake any longer. Maybe it was the fear in me pumping adrenaline and forcing me to remain alert? If that were the case, I'd be knocked out once that settled down.

I swallowed, feeling very thirsty, having this cottony sensation in my mouth. My lips felt sticky, like the saliva that had been there was drying my lips together as an adhesive. That was how dry my mouth felt right now. I don't know exactly why I felt more in need of something to drink than relief from this pain, but I did.

He pulled my cheek off of his shoulder, probably sensing how hard I was trying to swallow. "Already?" He shook his head and looked around for a moment. Then he settled his eyes back on my half-opened ones. I caught him biting and breaking the corner of his lip until it bled. Was he frustrated with me not being knocked out yet? I didn't want him to hurt me anymore, if he was pissed about it.

For a minute, he didn't do anything except watch me slip in and out of consciousness. As I felt almost capable of finally falling unconscious, he did something that woke me right back up. His lips pressed against mine. A force, his tongue, pushed into my mouth for only a couple seconds to wedge my teeth apart. Then I tasted something being washed around my tongue as his wrestled with mine. I began swallowing whatever was pouring in.

After a few minutes, I finally saw nothing more than the back of my eyelids...