The Girls of Number 1057 (1)

8 hours 13 minutes before her first day of work for the week Dylan Jacobs lay in bed tossing and turning. The sound of crickets outside the window of her first floor apartment became progressively more annoying and less of a gentle reminder that the stubborn Michigan winter seemed to be deteriorating. Giving up briefly on her quest for a good nights sleep Dylan sluggishly slid out of bed and made a beeline for the kitchen. Walking by the two currently unoccupied bedrooms reassured her she would not have an audience or a critic for her late night binging. Chewy chocolate chip cookies softly sang her name through the cupboard doors and she silently cursed Nabisco and their devilish contribution to her love handles.

After chasing the 3 (okay 5) cookies with a cool glass of milk, she tossed her dishes in the sink and turned toward the hallway in hopes of returning to bed. Halfway to her destination Dylan was halted by the sound of the front door opening clumsily and slamming into the wall. Dylan was fairly sure that she was going to be solo in the apartment tonight and was confused by who may be entering in such an alarmingly loud manner. Lori was supposed to be playing therapist to her mum and dad in Columbus and it would be out of character for her to return home at 1am in a less than mouse-quiet way, especially without calling in advance. Val on the other hand would be quite likely to abandon her weekend stay with the family to meet up with Luke at the pub then stumble belligerently home to the three girls shared apartment to either have sex, fight, or have sex while fighting.

Dylan assumed that Val was the culprit and, feeling in the mood of a prankster (and maybe even in hopes of stifling any late night screaming matches - of any variety) decided to slip into Val's room and wait for the tipsy pair to appear.

When the clumsy sound of keys hitting the countertop was not accompanied by drunken giggles and other awkward couple sounds Dylan began to question her deduction. And when a dark figure not resembling her 5'2 room mate stumbled past Val's door and all but fell into Lori's bedroom, she knew she was off and her confusion turned to alarm.

In a rapid search for adequate weaponry Dylan came up short but armed herself with the most injury worthy object. She tip-toed down the hall brandishing the Ukulele like a baseball bat and tried to contemplate her, next move, totally overlooking the practicality of fending off intruders with small stringed instruments.

With a deep breath to muster some confidence she leapt into the second bedroom on the left side of the hall and flipped on the light. This was followed by a sound being emitted from Dylan's mouth that could be something between a battle cry and a scream of terror. Her noisemaking ability was quickly matched by the terrified yell from the 6'2 brown haired heavily intoxicated man who quickly sat bolt upright in Lori's bed. After the loud noise stage of this interaction came to an end they entered the question round.

"What the fuck? Who are you?" Dylan inquired less than gently.
"Oh my god" the stranger so helpfully replied
"What the fuck, dude?" Dylan re-iterated.
"This isn't my apartment..." the stranger replied in a moment of epiphany.
"No shit," ukulele still raised above high above her head, Dylan grilled the unplanned houseguest further "what the Jesus fuck are you doing here?"
"I-I've been drinking..."
"I wasn't sure if it was that or maybe you just showered in a bottle of Captain Morgan this morning?"
"I must have gone in the wrong apartment...what's that?" he squinted towards the ukulele.
"I uhhh..." she lowered the stringed instrument into a more musical position in her arms, strummed it and came up with: "I have to teach a hula dancing class to a group of seniors in a nursing home tomorrow and I had to stay up late to practice my luau music...obviously"
"Oh" he seemed unimpressed by her charitable nature and Hawaiian instrumental skills.
"What apartment are you in?" she quickly turned the questioning back on him.
񓑂"
"Well this is 1057"

Dylan assumed that providing this information would stimulate movement if not a quick exit from the stranger but received no indication that his goals were such. And tried another approach.

"That's right next door champ - can you handle the 15 foot walk, or shall I call you a cab?"
"Already took a cab, I don't have any more money"

The drunk stranger's comprehension was apparently quickly lost upon the consumption of alcohol. Still making no attempts to abandon Lori's perfect Ralph Lauren clad bed, he swayed awkwardly and Dylan's frustration grew.

"Alright buddy you need to go home and I'm capable of helping you. In fact, I'm a fan of helping you. I am not however a fan of being awkwardly groped, vomited on or violently murdered so if any of those fit into the category of things you plan on doing in the next ten minutes, please attempt to restrain yourself."

Dylan tentatively headed toward the bed contemplating whether a 911 call made ten minutes ago would've been a better route to take. She took a deep breath to expel the concerns surrounding aiding a heavily intoxicated stranger in his journey to his possible neighboring unit of residence and reached for his arm to pull him up off the bed and slide his arm over her shoulder. With balance collectively regained, Dylan began the slow tread out the apartment and into the hall.

"I'm so sorry" said the marginally capable of walking drunk slung over her shoulder.
"Meh it happens and coincidentally I have been lusting for an opportunity to be neighborly. If anything I owe you gratitude for providing such an occasion."
"Any time," he said smiling and apparently finally picking up the humor she was desperately trying to break the oddness of this situation with. They passed through the door marked 1057 and approached one marked 1058. "I owe you a thanks for not calling the cops on me. And for helping me get home safe."

The slurring in his words seemed to be letting up and she leaned him against the wall outside his apartment. Remembering his keys on her counter top she ran back inside her unit and retrieved them and as she handed them to him he looked up into her eyes and she realized that in a less despicable state this gent may qualify as attractive.

"I didn't catch your name?" he muttered while trying to regain his composure.

Dylan let a smile peek through "It's Dylan - what about yours?"

She looked back into is pretty blue eyes feeling progressively more giddy and excited.

"My name is..." his sentence finished not with his name but with the sound of him retching on Dylan's fuzzy blue slippers. All giddiness and excitement now lost in the smell of vomit and shrieking, she bolted back into her apartment, slammed the door, and made quite sure to securely lock her door.

***
Lori Patterson couldn't wait until she could peel herself off the cushiony leathery couch and make her way to her car so she could lock herself in it and scream for about 15 straight minutes. To her left, her mother sat tearful and whimpering with her head in her hands. To her right her father sat in an armchair with his arms crossed looking like a disgruntled child instead of a wealthy middle-aged lawyer. Lori sighed heavily and looked at the bifocal clad therapist sitting across from her penciling things down hastily while nodding excessively.

"I think we may all just need a bit of a break from each other," Lori said breaking the silence "I don't think the solution is going home and playing house like there are no problems and let them fester until they explode in a therapy session while this guy observes you like you are disgruntled, middle-aged fish in an aquarium. Sorry sir."

"No worries" spoke the mouth of the sweater vest enthusiast four-eyed stranger.

"Not that I don't love driving across the Midwest in order to come to your always thrilling marriage counseling sessions, but I'd much prefer to be your daughter than your life coach. Before I go I'll give you the little advice that I have that some people may refer to as common sense: Dad, take a break, stop calling 25 year old women and trying to play sugar daddy. When you leave your marriage therapy and get on your phone with a college age blonde to make dinner plans its kind of apparent that you aren't all that serious about fixing things. Mum, stop pretending that things are perfect and quit inviting dad home from his mid life crisis hotel room. Go out with your friends, spend time with the boys and your sisters, be a mom and stop sitting around saying ‘ woe is me'.
Lori closed her eyes and took a deep breath; she reached forward to grab her purse and opened her eyes as she got to her feet. She kissed her mum on the top of her head and then gave her dad a pat on the shoulder.

"I've got to run, but I love you both and I'm sure I will hear about how this ends later from your two separate but equally hysterical phone calls. Later Doc."

Lori walked gracefully out of the office and through the parking lot toward her silver Camry while fishing through her purse for her keys. She discovered not only her keys but a half eaten snickers bar.

"Sweet" she muttered to herself and looked up toward her beautiful new car. The car was a gift from her father that coincided with their requests for her to come see them once a week. These requests in turn coincided with their idea to go to marriage counseling on the day during the week that she comes to visit. Although it was a tainted vehicle, no one can argue with a pretty new sedan with good miles per gallon. She loved the car, and that's why she was so upset with the sight that greeted her eyes across the parking lot.

The man who was using a small tree branch to try to jimmy the lock of her drier side door open was wearing a well-tailored business suit and sharp black loafers. He made a frustrated face when the twig snapped in half in his hand. To this disappointment he reacted by kicking the door, which was when Lori decided that a stranger, handsome though he may be, shouldn't be abusing her brand new silver beauty.

"What the fuck, dude?" she inquired to the now red faced and limping stranger.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"What is your problem, dude?"

"My fucking problem is that my goddamn keys aren't working and I'm pissed at the fucking guy who sold me this piece of shit car."

"Um I don't know why someone would sell you my car, but I'd really prefer if you could refrain from calling it a piece of shit."

"What are you talking about?" The violently angry stranger inquired setting down his weaponry of foliage and taking a deep breath.

"Is it possible, sir, that maybe, just maybe that the silver Camry two rows to my left might be yours, and the one you have so viciously attacked, the one with the box of tampons sitting on the passenger seat may in fact be my vehicle?" Lori cautiously headed toward her car with keys in hand, stopped about 4 feet from the stranger and hit the unlock button on the car remote and watched the break and headlights on the abused Camry flicker and heard the horn beep quietly.

"Weird how my car keys open your car...?" She smiled as she slid past him and opened the door to her car. "Oh wait is this your Celine Dion CD too?" she asked as she sat down and held up the album her mum gave her for Christmas last year.

"Oh my god... I'm sorry... I... Uh..." stammered the articulate well dressed man.

"Drive safe!" Lori chirped before she shut the door and slammed on the gas and pulled out of the parking lot onto the main street. As she drove over the hill and out of the view of the embarrassed loafer wearing foreign car attacker she realized she had never been happier to be going home.

***
"Babe - I think there is a pimple on my butt"

Valerie Stevens' backside monopolized the entirety of the rectangular hand mirror she held behind her while standing in the doorway of the pink and yellow walled bedroom. She had insisted to her parents that the bedroom maintain its girly color scheme and decor even now six years after she had moved out. Her adoring mother happily obliged and her even more adoring boyfriend stifled any complaints he had regarding how ridiculous he felt lying half naked under the purple floral comforter with lacey pink trim. Luke propped himself up on one elbow to address his girlfriend's concerns.

"Eww. Is it really big?" he inquired, mildly repulsed.
"It's not too bad - what do you think?" she asked, scooting backwards across the floor, "Do you think you could pop it?"

As the pale orb of his girlfriends rear end neared him menacingly, Luke evaluated whether this qualified as a boyfriendly duty. Luckily before the pustule in question descended upon him the smell of bacon wafted into the room and Mrs. Stevens' voice boomed down the hall.

"Breakfast is ready."

Luke leapt up and pulled on a t-shirt and sweats before Val even noticed he wasn't deeply analyzing her ailing buttcheek.

"I'm starving"
"Oooh me too" she realized, quickly forgetting her skin care concerns. She put on a fluffy robe and the pink fuzzy slippers that matched the blue ones she had bought Dylan for Christmas last year. She then followed luke into the kitchen and the aroma of breakfast foods took over her senses.

"I made pancakes!" Patricia Stevens informed them excitedly.
"Aww mom you know I like waffles better. Pancakes don't cling to both the syrup and the peanut butter the way waffles do." Val's whining was only overshadowed by her admission of harboring disgusting eating habits, something much disguised by her perfect, petite physique.

"I'm sure we have waffle mix somewhere around here!" Mrs. Stevens began digging through cupboards and drawers not wanting to let her dear daughter down. "Ah here we are, it'll just take a minute to heat up the waffle iron."
"Thanks Mummy, I love you" cooed Val in the same voice she might use when coaxing Luke into battling her butt blemishes.

The pair sat down at the table, Luke more than willingly taking on the task of handling the pancake overstock issue while Val munched on some bacon and sipped her OJ in anticipation of waffles.

"So what are you kids going to get into today? Heading straight back to Lansing or any stops on the way?" Mrs. Stevens grilled the couple as she broke into a sweat stirring waffle batter at roughly 120 rotations per second.
"I didn't really have any plans," Luke explained between big forkfuls of pancakes, "I've got to work tonight so we can't take too long getting back."
"Well I really need to get groceries," Val paused to put on her world famous pout, "but I don't have any money."

Looking as though her daughter had just explained she had gangrenous limbs and would have to have them all removed simultaneously, Mrs. Stevens shrieked in alarm.
"Well you need to eat, dear! Charles," she yelled as her husband walked into the room, "give your daughter money for groceries before she starves!"

Far From concerned by being all but mugged upon walking into the kitchen, Mr. Stevens pulled his wallet out of his pocked and produced a small wad of bills for his beaming daughter.

"Good morning everyone" he announced, taking a seat at the table while Val quickly thumbed through the bills handed to her and looked disappointed.
"Oh I forgot we need to get gas too." She turned eagerly toward her dad, who ignored her by digging into his steaming omelet.
"Oh don't be stingy damn it Charles, give your only daughter some gas money," chirped Mrs. Stevens while dropping a plate of four enormous waffles in front of her daughter. Grumbling Mr. Stevens discovered some more money and slid it across the table while his daughter began molesting her breakfast with peanut butter and maple syrup. He sighed heavily and Val looked pleased with his donation as well as the cavity causing concoction on the table before her. She took four modest bites of the slaved over treat before declaring herself full and excused herself to shower and pack for her return to number 1057 (not to be mistaken for 1058) Bennett Ridge Apartments.

After personal hygiene and car loading was complete Luke and Valerie said their goodbyes to their hospitable hosts.
"Thanks for having us Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, I had a wonderful time" said Luke shaking hands with Mr. Stevens.
"Drive safely home and take care of my daughter and so on."
"Will do, sir." Lifting up his bag he gave Mrs. Stevens a hug and got in the car.

"I love you mommy and daddy, thanks for letting me bring Luke to visit."
"No problem honey," Mrs. Stevens looked ready to cry. "Here are some cookies to take home to Dylan and Lori. We love you!"
Patricia and Charles waved to their daughter as she carried a cookie tin down the pathway to the car and slid in the passenger seat. Luke pulled the car out of the driveway and waved as he drove away.

"God damn it!" Val exclaimed pounding her hand on the armrest. Luke eased on the breaks thinking maybe she had forgotten something.
"What's wrong babe?" he asked, concerned.
Val shook her head and took a deep breath.
"I effing HATE oatmeal raisin cookies - she KNOWS I like chocolate chip!