Objects of Inspiration (lightbulb)

Objects (of inspiration) : Tiny Headlight bulb

 

                College. It’s not it is cracked up to be. All that freedom, frat parties, and dorm rooms, if you take time to stop and think about it, college actually sucks. That freedom, at least to me, is irrelevant, due to the fact that my mom still thinks my curfew is midnight. This also coincides with the fact of dorm rooms, considering I live in the attic of my mom’s house. And as far as frat parties go, they don’t. At least not my college, full of technology geeks and neck beards, who like me, live with their mom.

“Derek,” she called up, “can you make lasagna tonight? Mark is coming over.”

“Sure.” I replied. After 20 years of living, I learned that my mother likes to bring home men. Men with names and that is all they are. I never hear from them again, their name doesn’t stick, and quickly a new name is replacing the old, and since this is a weekly thing, ignoring these men’s names is almost second nature.

“Don’t you want to know who Mark is?” she yelled from the bathroom downstairs. She is curling her hair for this one. That’s new.

“Not really.” Because honesty is the best policy, especially in this house, full of strangers, when only two of us really belong here (and the occasional cat I named jerry that only stops by for food).

Thinking about Jerry, I went over to my window to look for him. If I was going to cook for my mother, why not give that stray a couple of leftovers? Assuming the cat was even alive, he could be in the middle of the road, ran over, the ungrateful thing.

The sun was starting to set earlier and earlier in this mid-September season, so lack of sunlight made it hard to find a walking fat mouse trap. There is a strange sight in front of me, surprising at least, considering that the neighbors moved away almost 6 years ago. Yet still, there in front of me, was a rusty black jeep, and even more surprising, a figure. My 20/30 was failing me, so I went over to the desk and grabbed my glasses, hoping to get a better look at this body, this neighbor of mine.

With clearer vision, it seemed the jeep was actually a deep green, although still rusty. The figure next to the jeep seemed to be repairing a something on the front of his car, he was twisting in an incredibly small light bulb, working in only a wife beater and khakis. He had brown hair, his sweat, seemingly making it darker. He had the body of a male model, although hard to see with the setting sun, a pair of frames, and his shirt on, nonetheless, the shirt was tight, clinging, and I could see every abdominal (there is 6). Never in my life before, had I wished I was a shirt.

 Not to mention his eyes, brown, it seemed, from a far, gazing, dreamily, in the most attractive way possible. Gazing. Eyes. I quickly turned away, knowing he caught me staring, closed my eyes, and felt my face grown red.

I quickly ran downstairs, away from my room, the window, hoping that the attractive boy didn’t see me, although I knew I was only feeding myself lies.

After a couple of swift breaths, from embarrassment and running downstairs, I grabbed the frozen lasagna, and threw it in the oven for 13 minutes.  Taking a seat on the couch, watching what appeared to be Wheel of Fortune.

“Is that lasagna done?” my mom called.

“Almost.” I replied.

“Good because they are supposed to be here at 7:00.” She sang in her excited tone. Wait, they? I knew my mom could be generalized into a slut, but I didn’t know she had multiple men over. Odd.

I looked at the time, the clock read 6:58, even though my timer read 6 more minutes. I sat up from the couch, leaving the Wheel of Fortune to start setting the table, but was caught off guard by the sound of our familiar doorbell.

“That’s them!” my mom shouted

We both went to the door, she grabbed the handle, and opened the door. My heart stopped. It was him.

“Derek, this is mark, and his son Luke.” But the words didn’t even need to be said, because under that American eagle button up, was a white wife beater, which I had wised to become nearly 20 minutes ago. The same khakis laid on his hips, and his brown eyes, more of a milky hazel now that we are closer.

Held held out his hand, a polite gesture, and said, “nice to meet you.”

TO BE CONTINUED: