I'm Here

I’ve got my heated blanket on high, my laptop fully charged, and my butt firmly planted on a well-worn couch. It’s snooping time. First stop, Amazon. ‘Tis the season for seeing what people are buying for Christmas. Thanks to my mom, who shares her account with a multitude of people, the orders section is a goldmine for learning information. Who’s giving socks for Christmas and who bought matching iPads for their children? Spoiler alert, it wasn’t my parents.

I start from the top, my mom is ordering herself groceries on Amazon Fresh: celery, avocados, frozen enchiladas, her norm. Next is my order which hopefully will be delivered Monday (Who am I kidding, it will be lost in the disaster that is my apartment building’s mailroom and I’ll end up finding it Wednesday): two skirts, a new Santa hat, and some other knick knacks that 10 p.m. Angie thought would be a good purchase. 

Yarn. It was yarn. Don’t judge me and my yarn. 

Before I can get to the next order, my Amazon Echo starts blaring a horrible cover of a generic Christmas song so loudly that I have to cover my ears. I can’t even hear myself as I yell at her to turn off, and with cat-like reflexes, I grab my nearest pillow and chuck it at the grinning idiot across from me. I was so deep in my invasion of other’s privacy that I almost forgot I had invited my best friend Drake over to hang out. Directly across from me, Drake is lying in my human dog bed, his “gift” to me for my half birthday (which is so not a thing) looking as pampered as one of Queen Victoria II’s corgis. With a sly grin from him and a death glare from me, we return to our computers. Based on the way he’s looking at his, I don’t want to know what he’s doing on his. 

Back to what’s important – what people are getting for Christmas. The third order is where I hit the jackpot. Michelle is buying gifts for her children. Why is this such a big deal I hear no one ask? Michelle, married to my mother’s youngest brother, who I refuse to call my aunt because I’m still hoping she was a mistake marriage, is known for looking out for number 1 and everyone else can shove it. The fact that she had any energy left to remember that she had children was as big of news as when my cousin slept with a B-list celebrity whose name I didn’t know, don’t know, and don’t want to know. I don’t know what’s going on through her self-obsessed brain but I have to tell my brother Jonah. 

Blah blah demon spawn, blah blah has a heart after all, blah blah send. I immediately get a response, but it must be a mistake because Jonah’s text doesn’t make any sense. He knows who I’m talking about when I say demon spawn, and she definitely deserves the title. He’s telling me that it’s not nice to call people a demon spawn and that I should think before I call someone a mean name. 

I send a laughing emoji because I’m at a loss for words and turn off my computer, hoping that it was just a mistake and tomorrow we’ll be talking normally again. From behind the remaining throw pillow, I slip out a rubber band gun and slowly place it on my keyboard, sneaking a glance at Drake to make sure he hasn’t seen my move. He’s so entranced by whatever he’s watching that I’m pretty sure if I left the room he wouldn’t notice. I pat down my shorts and find my stash of mini rubber bands in my front right pocket. The smaller the rubber band, the harder it is to figure out when they’re being fired and from where. 

My screen lights up with a new text from my brother. I thought the emoji was enough of a cue that I was done with the conversation but the new message in my inbox implies otherwise. I open the text message on my phone as my keyboard is occupied with a secret weapon, and am again confused. He’s worried about my language because I called someone a demon spawn? What is his problem? Does he still think I’m five? Irritated, I shoot back some carefully worded text messages, capping it off with what I hope will finish this inane conversation. 

I slide my hand into my front pocket and bring out about a dozen mini rubber bands. Every few seconds I peek my eyes over to Drake to make sure he’s not going to retaliate as I weave the rubber bands onto the gun. Once I’ve got six loaded, I search for my in. His major organs are covered by his laptop, but I could still get a headshot if I calculate the wind speeds correctly. As I stare at my target, his right eye, a flash of light distracts me and I put my gun back on my keyboard. Goddamnit, I need this text exchange to be over. As I read Jonah’s message I can’t help the gasp that escapes. Drake looks up from his show (crap, he’s not as zoned in as I thought) and tilts his head. I should be concerned that he could see the rubber bands or gun on my keyboard, but I’m too distracted to even think of it. I smile at him and wave him off. He doesn’t seem convinced but goes back to his show. 

Jonah thinks I’m threatening him when I tell him that there are worse things about me to worry about instead of my choice of language. I’m so close to calling him to rip him a new one when another message rolls in. Now I’m going to kill him, and that’s not a threat. I chuck my phone in a random direction, accepting the fact that it will crack and alert Drake of my mood, but the audacity of Jonah to tell ME I need to talk to my therapist about this conversation because of my inappropriate behavior is too much for me to handle. I feel tears start to prickle my eyes but I blink them away, he might be getting the last word but he’s not going to get to me. 

Turning the safety off my “gun” I go for the eye blinder, missing by quite a few feet, and nailing an orange on the counter. Drake tosses his laptop lightly onto the human-dog bed and runs toward me. I flinch and curl into a ball, discarding my own laptop next to me on the couch, and brace for impact. An impact never happens as he grabs his own hidden rubber band gun from under the couch. Somehow already loaded, he steps a few feet back and goes for my legs, but I dodge, scrambling off of the couch so that we can properly duel. I see my laptop screen light up and suddenly the tears are fighting back. I aim for Drake’s left eye, but my view gets more and more blurry, this shot hitting the ceiling. 

Two bands whiz past me as I jump behind a reading chair, and pull more bands out of my pocket. I can barely see where they’re supposed to loop around but I manage to get two more on and unload the whole gun in his general direction. I hear his rubber bands slapping the wall above and next to me, but I can’t seem to hook any more rubber bands on. Jonah will not get to me and I will win this battle. My breath gets more shallow as I struggle to load more rubber bands until I can’t take it anymore and place it on the ground. 

I’m hyperventilating and crying, maybe I am as broken as Jonah thinks, I shouldn’t have called her a demon spawn. I want to take it back, I’ll do anything. The red rubber band that Drake was shooting at me stops falling from the walls and the chair is dragged away, revealing the sobbing mess that is me. He reaches for my gun, loads one of my mini rubber bands on it, and shoots himself in the heart. Message received, game over.

For someone who I make fun of like it’s my job, Drake treats me like a princess. He takes the two guns away, puts them on a nearby table, and brings over my very cracked phone. Seeing how much spider-webbing there is on the glass makes me sob harder, my knees making their way to my chest and my arms gluing everything together. Drake sits down next to me and wordlessly starts rubbing my back. I attempt to talk but my lungs can’t seem to retain any air. Drake gently shushes me and pulls me into his embrace. The safety of his presence slows my breathing and eventually, I’m calm enough to not only draw in a proper breath but also to stop crying. 

Drake asks me what happened, asks me if I’m hurt. I shake my head. I point to my thankfully functioning phone and he opens it up. I guide him to my text chain with Jonah and stare at the floor as he reads. His grip around me tightens the more he reads, not enough to hurt, but enough to know that he’s upset. He’s going to side with Jonah, of course he is. I shouldn’t have called Michelle a demon spawn. My breath quickens again as I stare up at him, waiting for the shoe to drop. 

He places my phone face down on the floor, hiding the hurt within, and picks me up full-on bridal style. If I hadn’t just had a panic attack I would have gawked at his strength. I was placed like a feather onto the couch. I look up at him with confusion, his brown eyes simmering with anger, but I’m starting to feel like it’s not directed at me. 

Drake brings his forehead down to mine until we’re nose to nose. He searches my face in what I realize is an ask for consent and I pause before giving a quick nod. Seconds later the door closes, his keys gone from the counter, and my brother left with no idea what’s coming.