His Last Chance

Alex Grundle walks beneath the glow of the lamplights, swatting at the swarm of late-summer flies that circle his head and kicking a stub of a fallen branch.

           The red brick home stands at the end of the road, at the edge of town and this is the third consecutive night that he has made this walk. Tonight, will be his last, for tomorrow he leaves for college.

           Two nights ago, he walked right past the red brick home, too self conscious to break his stride. Last night he hesitated for several moment at the walkway to stare at the front window, then turned around and headed home.

           He knows that tonight is the night he has to make a move. He turns onto the walkway of the red brick home. He is humming a tune to which he doesn’t know the lyrics and to which his heart beats out of rhythm.

           What’s the worst that can happen?

His thought doesn’t go any deeper. He spots a movement in the front window.

           Could it be her? Let it be her.

           Alex knows he will miss his parents when he goes away to school; his kid brother, not likely. But Rozalind? Oh, how he will miss sitting behind her in class, gazing at her long red hair, usually tied back with a black velvet band. How he will miss staring at her freckled skin on the days she bares her shoulders.

           He feels that Rozalind doesn’t even know his name. He is so painfully shy. He always sits somewhere behind her in class and never has the nerve to even look her in the eye when riding the buses to and from school.

           It is Rozalind that he sees in the window of the red brick home and her movement is pure magic. Her red hair is down and flows behind her as she floats across the room like a ballet dancer coming onto a stage.

           Alex stops in his tracks, mesmerized by his view. He is unaware that his mouth hangs open. He does not notice that his breathing is arrested.

           He does realize, he is not alone.

           “Hey,” calls a voice from within the darkness. “What the hell are you doing? Peeping in at the show?”

           Alex struggles for a quick breath and turns towards the voice. He doesn’t see a face but does notice the red-lighted tip of a cigarette that is moving towards him.

           “I said, ‘who the hell are you?’” the voice repeats.

           The tip of the cigarette juts about in the dark like a child’s sparkler on the fourth of July.

           Alex is too shocked to respond.

           “Well, holy shit, is that you, Grundle?” snarls the voice. “Imagine, Alex ‘Nerdy’ Grundle out so late at night. What’s up with that?”

           “J…J…Jigger?” stammers Alex.

           Jigger is the class bully, has been the bully since grade four when he moved to town. He has been the bane of Alex’s existence since then. Going on eight years now.

           Jigger steps closer and punches Alex hard on the shoulder. Alex staggers backwards onto the lawn.

           Alex’s phone beeps.

           “Better get that,” says Jigger. “It might be your Mommy.”

           Alex glances at his phone. It is his mother. He braces for a follow-up punch from the bully.

           A car suddenly turns onto Rozalind’s driveway and its headlights capture the two figures standing on the lawn. The car horn blares and the door swings open.

           Jigger makes a move to run off but notices mild-mannered Alex holding his ground and he stops his own attempt to escape. Alex wonders if the bully is intimidated by Alex’s decision to stay put, willing to face the consequences.

           A rare moment of power for Alex.

           Rozalind’s twenty-five-year-old brother bounds from the car and quickly approaches Alex and Jigger. He recognizes Jigger.

           “Hey,” growls the brother as he stares at Jigger. “You’re not supposed t be around here. Have you forgotten about the damn restraining order? “He reaches for his cell phone. “I’m calling the cops.”

           Jigger drops his cigarette and runs off into the dark.

           Rozalind’s brother looks at Alex.

           “And who the hell are you?”

           “I’m Alex Grundle. I…I’m a classmate of your sister.”

           “So, what are you doing here?”

           “I…I…I was hoping to speak with her.”

           “Well then, go and ring the bell, Numb-nuts. You can’t talk to her from here unless you have a megaphone tucked inside your pants. Is that a megaphone in your pocket?”

           “Come on,” the brother says and tugs Alex by the arm, leading him to the front door. Alex feels a nervous nausea gripping his throat.

           “Ring the bell,” says the brother.

           Alex is paralyzed. His arm won’t react to his brain’s messaging. Or perhaps it is. He stands idle.

           “Ring the bell, Man.”

           Alex is still unable to move his arms although his legs are trembling uncontrollably.

           The brother bangs hard on the front door then steps to the side.

           A few moments pass, the door opens and there stands Rozalind. She squints into the darkness and then reaches to turn on the porch light.

           “Alex,” she says, “what are you doing here?”

           Alex’s unblinking eyes are fixed on Rozalind. He is silent and awe-struck.

           “Alex?” repeats Rozalind.

           “I…I…I’m sorry. I’m surprised you know my name.” He blushes.

           “Of course, I know your name. We’re classmates, Silly. How can I help you?”

           Alex is unable to speak.

           “Well come on, man,” says the brother. “Spit it out.”

           “Yes, please,” encourages Rozalind.

           “Well, I…I…I’m leaving town tomorrow morning…”

“Going away to school, are you?”

           “Yeh.”

           “Where to?”

           “Ottawa.”

           “Should be fun.”

           “Yeh but,” Alex shrugs is shoulders again and his words stick in his throat.

           “Yeh but what?” prods the brother.

           “Well, I…I…I just wanted to let you know that…that.”

           “That what?” asks Rozalind.

           “Oh, come on, spit it out Man,” says the brother. “We don’t have all night.”

           “I’ll miss you when I’m gone,” spits Alex. He can’t believe he has said it and he can’t look Rozalind in the eye.

           “Oh, that is so sweet,” sighs Rozalind.

           Alex looks up. “Really? It sounded so stupid to me.”

           “No, Alex, it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

           Alex smiles.

           “You know,” Rozalind continues, “us red-heads have to stick together, right? We’re the only two in our whole school.”

           Alex laughs.

           Rozalind reaches and places her hand on his shoulder.

           “You write me okay, Alex? And don’t forget to look me up whenever you are back home. Promise?”

           “Promise,” he says.

           Rozalind smiles.

           Alex turns and walks away. His soul is cart-wheeling.

           He suspects that Jigger is out there in the dark, somewhere, waiting to pounce.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter all.