Extraction

* * *

A
ZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS

237 Flatbush Avenue, #187 Brooklyn, NY 11217

This is an original publication of AZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2016 AZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS

Cover Page by AMB

Edited by Gayla Leath

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized edits.

A
ll rights reserved
.

P
hoebe

“…
l
ost and alone
. I'm here but I'm not.” There was a slight pause, the hesitation allowing the radio caller to collect his thoughts. The music played softly in the background. I started to hum with the tune as the DJ waited for the guest caller to finish. “I guess…things are different.”

The caller exhaled loudly, causing his breath to blow across his mouthpiece and echo through the speakers.

“Have you seen anyone or reached out to your local VA?” the DJ asked in a light and concerned voice.

He exhaled again and said, “Yeah, I've been to the VA. They said I don’t have PTSD but showed signs of depression and withdrawal. That's what happens when you don't feel a part of anything around you, right? Nothing's the same and I was only gone for six years.” He let out another frustrated breath and continued, “Man, I just wanted to call up and ask you to play
Down
by Mat Kearney. It’s soothing.”

“You got it, my friend,” the DJ answered, “and just know that you are in our prayers.”

“Thanks, man. Thanks, man. I wanted to tell you that all the guys over there at the various army stations listen to you on the internet, no matter what religion or culture or anything. You play inspirational songs and I'm sure those have saved us and provided hope many-a-day.”

“Wow, that's just awesome. It's our mission to give folks inspiration. This one is for you.”

The song cut in and the words seemed to jump from the old radio.

“It took his breath away, holding the bank page

He got the letter, they're gonna take their house away

…Feeling the weight of a world that just don't care”

I felt something on my cheek and quickly turned, focusing my eyes to look for some type of flying insect, but there was nothing. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and felt moisture.

It was wet.

I was crying.

The radio caller’s words, the lyrics to the song, and the stark pain in his voice had penetrated my bubbly exterior.

“Can you here when we call

There where we fall”

Tears had been few and far between ever since I left.

I made a decision a while ago to live my life to the fullest. My dad almost lost his mind when I called him to let him know that I was quitting my full time, nine-to-five job and had decided to make jewelry. He called me everything from irresponsible to immature.

It wasn't one of our best moments, but I would not be deterred.

My entire life had been devoted to working and being successful. I was not lazy and I never minded the work; it was simply that I had to make major changes and make them fast. After high school, I remained in school for six additional years, excelled to the point where I was offered to join the board of directors and the company offered me the opportunity to open a branch in the corporation. That was the American dream but I decided to put my business degree to work and not have to work for other people until retirement.

I sold my condo, paid off my car lease, and any other outstanding debt. Fortunately, I earned scholarships that helped put me through school and the few loans I did have were paid off while I was enrolled.

It was time for me to make some changes, and I moved from the busy Chicago business district to Lily, New Jersey. Lily is a small town, total population of less than ten-thousand citizens and only one Walmart within a forty-mile radius.

My rent was cheap and low enough for me to make it on my jewelry earnings. The building was clean and the landlord lived next door to the premises. The town was almost like a time capsule; there was not a stainless steel appliance to be seen in town and nothing about the place had been updated. Not like Chicago or my last apartment, which had wall-to-wall carpet, marble counters, and stainless steel everything. Despite the differences, I was just fine with Lily; the gas appliances worked excellently, there was plenty of room for me to make jewelry and store all of my other crafts projects.

My father thought I was bat shit crazy. That was alright by me since I had lived his dream for so long; that American one. It was his and no longer mine.

The money I earned was enough for me to live comfortably. The only luxurious thing I owned was my car and I kept it because I loved her. Ann, my vehicle, stayed intact while I traveled across the state lines, through road mishaps, and transitions. She was a great car so she stayed while everything else had to go. Donations, yard sales, and Craigslist were the methods I used to downsize.

“We’re back on the air at WDNJ, your number one source for inspirational music. Call us up if you have a song you are itching to hear…”

I turned the radio down and wiped my face with the back of my hand. The man's story was sad, but I wasn't sure why it brought me to tears. The song was a good one and I often played it on my MP3 player but I had never cried about it.

My grandfather was a veteran. He passed away when I was young. Besides going to see his grave site from time to time, that is the extent of my experience with a veteran. I didn’t know any personally, and it was a huge possibility I didn’t give a person enough of my time to learn this fact.

My mouth tended to get ahead of me because my brain was always running a mile a minute. Ollie, one of my neighbors, always said that I was his daily entertainment. He was an older man and his kids never stopped by to check on him, so I did. He was a little flirty and that was alright because at seventy-eight years of age, you're allowed to be anything you want. This is what Ollie would say to me when I told him not to be rude to his chess partners at the center. I have another neighbor, but she worked 24-7 and prided herself on that fact. For me, that would never be my badge of honor again.

Our other neighbor just moved in a few months ago, and we still hadn't seen him. We figured he must put his trash out in the middle of the night.

Ollie told me to mind my business, so I did for the first three months. Now it was time to plan my ambush.

The wood counters in my kitchen is where I laid out the tools for my ambush. These included wake-me-up coffee shots, binoculars, latex gloves, and my bandana. I also had my trash bag prepared.

After the sun went below the horizon for the evening, I parked myself near the window facing the street. The building was only two stories, but had four apartments that tended to be spacious. Ollie lived downstairs underneath my unit. My workaholic neighbor lived across from me and the phantom guy lived on the first floor beneath her unit.

Ollie said he'd seen him a few times and from the looks of it, he was a fairly young guy but did not seem approachable.

Not that any of that mattered to me, I was on a mission.

There was no movement for hours and I was tired of playing Sudoku on my phone while listening for the creak of his door. The only reason I knew it had a creak was because the people that lived there before him always chose odd times to leave and the rusty hinges caused a loud creaking as they flexed against the metal door frame plates. Ollie said the neighbors were losers and to stay away from them. I left a note anyway, but the hinges were never fixed.

Something passed by outside causing me to drop my phone and look down.

Shit
.

When I looked back up, I noticed a guy dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts making his way to the dumpster.

Quickly, I grabbed my phone, my gloves and bandana and proceeded to leave my apartment.

Shit, I forgot the trash. Running back inside, I grabbed my bag of trash and flew down the stairs.

The guy had just reached the dumpster, so I quickly speed-walked to catch up then slowed down so he would not see me rushing towards him.

“Hey, hey,” I called.

He turned around and holy cow, he was hot. So distractingly hot that I didn't realize I had come to a stop.

“Yeah,” his voice seemed to rumble over my body.

Even his voice was hot. It was smooth, not husky, but it definitely glided over my skin. Almost like he could be a singer or radio show host.

“I'm so glad you’re out here,” I said as I recited my rehearsed lines. “I didn't want to come out here by myself at night, but I cooked fish for dinner, so I had to get it out. Know what I mean?”

He grunted and turned back around to open the dumpster for me.

“Oh wow. Thanks so much,” I exclaimed.

He nodded as I walked closer to him. The man was tall compared to my five-foot-seven-inch frame and he was fair skinned. His dark hair was longer than I expected and unkempt. His beard was also out of control but with or without it, this man was hot.

“I'm Phoebe, your neighbor.” I held out my hand. “I'm in 2a upstairs. Right above Ollie.”

He nodded again but didn't take my hand.

I extended it further just in case he couldn't see my hand in the well-lit
,
small parking lot that consisted of our four vehicles.

“Are you really not going to shake my hand?” I asked. “I washed my hands after making the fish.”

He looked down at my hand and still didn't take it.

O-kay
.

“Well, will you tell me your name?”

He looked back towards the apartments and took a step towards them.

“Okay, then,” I quickly stated. “Since you won't give me a name, I'll have to make one up for you.” That comment stopped him in his tracks but he did not turn around. “Let's see. How about Ted or Carl. Wait, maybe Zou.”

I was silent for the dramatic effect. His right foot picked up and he took another step towards our building.

Quickly throwing my trash into the dumpster, I closed it and said, “Wait.”

The tall man did not wait, but he did say, “If you don't want to be out here alone, I suggest you get going back inside.”

I did the very thing that always got me in trouble as a teenager; I erupted in laughter.

This stopped him again and he turned around with his eyebrows raised and his lips slightly parted.

I kept laughing because according to his expression, he thought I was bat shit crazy too.

My feet started moving towards him as I tried to gain my composure. He was still staring at me like I had two heads, but he waited until I passed him before he started moving.

“Whew, I needed that. You're funny. I think I'll make you my new friend.”

I kept chattering as we made our way back to the apartment building. “You gotta have laughter in your life. You know?”

The man remained silent, but that did not stop me.

“Well, Zou, I'll see you tomorrow. I hear you don't get out much, so pack your gloves.”

“What?” he asked as he held the front door open for me.

This time one eyebrow was raised and his thin top lip was curled upward with confusion.

Before I could help myself, I started to laugh uncontrollably again.

“God, Zou. Do you ever stop?” I managed to say as I climbed the stairs. “You're hilarious.”

When I turned back around, he was shaking his head. More laughter threatened to escape me but it was three in the morning and I didn't want to wake Ollie, since the lady next door was probably not home.

The man was funny! We'd get along swimmingly.