Polly Olly Oxen Free: Chapter 4 - The Return of Spike (Draft 1)
A long-lost pain in the butt brings back an old friend.
Uncle Alison Jareth Monroe is not intimidating in the traditional way. He is not bulky or burly, tall or wide. If anything, one might describe him as lithe and lanky, but tense like a cocked rifle. He is the epitome of every blue color Irish man stereotype you could possible come up with, wrapped irreverently in a French suave faire lawyer sheik bow. He was everything that Rohan would find appalling and I was 100% here for it.
Even if my brain couldn’t quite wrap around how in the hell he had gotten here so fast.
Rohan released Tibbs’ shoulder but made one heck of a show of stepping back and gesturing to the documents
“Well, go right ahead. I take it you are the infamous Mr. Monroe your nephew has been prattling on about. Wonderful. Sue me all you like. Then maybe you can explain to the judge why your godson stole my lawyers contract and threw my wife to the ground in the middle of a mediation meeting.”
Uncle Ali, laughed, cold and cruel. His entire demeanor shifted into something I had never seen before for half a second before it was reigned back in behind the fierce confidence that had walked through the door.
“You know,” Uncle Ali said, checking Tibbs over quickly he whispered in Tibbs ear and at once Tibbs ran to grab my puke bucket and took it out of the room. Uncle Ali continued without catching my eye. “I haven’t had a fight with a snake in a while. I’m going to enjoy this. Pol, how important is it to you that these to continue to function when I am done with them?”
I hadn’t talked to this man in almost two years. How in the hell did he expect me to know how to answer that? Never mind the fact that I knew. That was beside the point. My question was how? How could he be so confident as to not even bother to catch my eye before turning on them?
“I need them to be able to see my best friend. She’s the ones that was driving and is in a coma and—“
Tibbs waltzed back into the room with a wet rag and twice the confidence, “They want to pull the plug on Saffi but are scared to do it unless Pol says she won’t sure them—“
Priya once again shrieks out in agony but this time with more anger and no collapse. “We don’t! I don’t! Will everyone please stop saying we want to let Saffi go?! I don’t want my baby to die! We have no other choice!”
Uncle Ali frowns at Priya and his grey green eyes turn and catch mine for a brief second before looking to Rohan, who is comforting his wife, tears glinting in his eyes. Finally, he turns to Tibbs.
“Did the truck driver have insurance?”
Tibbs shakes his head no. Uncle Ali curses under his breath and his posture softens.
The energy in the room lightens at once and as it does, Uncle Ali steps toward the Bahtia’s cautiously.
“How much is it costing you? Are you insured, or?” He asks Rohan.
Rohan doesn’t answer but a distinct sorrow blanches his face and turns his gaze to the ground. Uncle Ali nods.
“I see.” Uncle Ali guides the Bahtia’s toward the door and stops only to look back at the two of them sternly.
“Stay here.” He mouths. “I got this.” And the door closes.
Both of us stare at the door, and I swear I can hear Tibbs counting in his head. One, two, three, four, five, first landing, one, two, three, four, five, six, family room.
Just as he leaps up to head to the door, I snatch the washrag from his hand and whisper “don’t get caught.”
Tibbs shoots me an incredulous look of feigned outrage. “Me? Please. You just focus on wiping the puke from you face and for the love of all that is holy, STOP TRYING TO GET OUT OF BED.”
The moment he leaves the room deadens to unbearable silence. The kind that wants to choke off all of my air. The kind that I swear is the reason the apple is still stuck to that damn windowsill. You’d think this silence in the room would be welcome at this point in the day. Especially given that in less than 20 minutes a torturous hag will be showing up to run me through exercises and stretches designed to make me feel like crap. But no.
Just knowing that the four of them were down stairs, likely discussing Saffi, and here I am unable to hear a damn thing is too much right now. I need answers.
Wiping the outer and inner of my mouth as best I can to ride it of the bile smell, I chuck the puke rage at the apple and am off by about a foot. But that was fine because I had a plan.
Saffi had told me about her family’s business. Enough that I had an inkling about why Uncle Ali might be asking those questions. I also knew exactly who to ask for answers and where I would find them.
I dig through my blankets, ignoring the increasingly un-ignorable pain in my knee and pull my phone out from between my low back bolster and the mattress.
Telly had been on me to download this damn game since I first came to in the hospital. They said it was the best way for me to stay connected with them because the hospital was not a place they liked to go when they didn’t have to. Which, if I’m honest, is completely fair.
After being there for two weeks, I now understand what they meant. At the time though? I considered them to be a complete and utter prick and refused to download the game out of pure spite. I was informed that this was very un-Pollyanna of me. The first of many times I would hear that since waking up practically paralyzed. No one seemed to care that it was in actuality very Pollyanna of me, but then who else had ever bothered to read the novel?
Tibbs on the other hand had been on me to download the damn game since it first came out and he became obsessed with it. He was determined to get me hooked because, as he put it, “It has your damn NAME ON IT!! Can you not hear it calling to you Pol?! It is saying: ‘Polly! Oh Polly! Polly Olly Oxen Free!”
In hindsight, this was cute, and endearing—but he had decided to make this his mission in the middle of my college application sprint. The idea that he’d convince me to jump into a mindless life-sim cozy-farm game was laughable and he very well knew that. Which meant he was doing it for some other reason and he refused to fess up. So, naturally, I refused to oblige him.
I stared at the navy blue square in the App Store, with its gold lettering and white accents swirled together: “POOF!”
“The only game that is as addicted to you as you are to it.”
I hesitated.
I didn’t have to ask Johna. Did I? I could probably just Google the company and find information online about their insurance policy… probably. Businesses made that stuff public right?
I tapped my fingers against the side of my phone and then chucked it to the floor as a loud knock banged on my door. My phone slid face up, screen still showing off a starkly contrasted POOF! For a moment, I panicked, thinking it was Tibbs, but Tibbs never knocks.
“Oh!” I called out, realizing it had to be Gena finally showing up for my appointment. “Come on in, sorry I’m not quite prepped yet, but it shouldn’t take me long.”
The door opened and in stepped yet another non-Gena unexpected guest.
“Demi?” I asked looking the boy over as her shut the door behind himself.
Demitri Bastion Hoggle stood there in my room holding a laptop and a peculiar looking plant that seemed twice as big as the last time she’d seen it. But then, Demitri was also twice as tall as the last time he’d entered her room, so that made sense.
Demi didn’t respond. His eyes were trained on the floor, head tilted as he read the screen of my phone. My stomach flipped and then crash landed against my heart.
“That’s um…” I stammered. “What are you…”
I had no freaking clue how to end that sentence without sounding like an idiot.
That was obviously my phone and he was obviously there to give me a school laptop.
But I couldn’t say ‘what are you doing at my house?’ Because of course he was at my house. He lived across the street. The school knew that. I couldn’t even say ‘why are you in my room?’ Because I can’t walk down the fucking stairs and Tibbs is probably still mad so this was payback from not helping him weather his storm earlier.
What I wanted to ask was why did you agree to do this? But that wasn’t the right question to ask either because I knew the answer to that too. He wasn’t the one who held a grudge and ended our friendship after—well, after everything. That was me. And as for who didn’t want him to be here? That fun one? Also me.
“Tibbs,” Demi said clearing his throat, “told Uncle Ali you needed ‘socializing.’ I tried to say no.” He reached down and picked up my phone, turned the screen off and tossed it on the bed.
He held out the laptop. “I’d leave, but apparently your Oma and Opa are in on this whole you needing to be social thing.”
“What?!” I said, a fury of irritation outweighing any hesitation I had about his presence. There was something comforting in the easy way the conversation just existed without preamble. Like it always had. And whether it was good for me or him or not, I needed comfort. “How’d you find that out?”
Demi shrugged and set the untaken laptop next to my bed and walked over to the windowsill and soccer net with the plant.
“They were outside looking at your broken mailbox when I walked over. You Uncle sideswiped it when he drifted into your driveway earlier. Your Oma and Opa sent him cause they heard you’d been avoiding people and were concerned.”
“I’m not avoiding people.” I shot it the back of his head. Even from this angle I could tell he was rolling his eyes.
“Sure. That’s why the school sent you a laptop. Because you have just been so good at not avoiding opening your messages and accessing the counselor network that they wanted to give you a direct line to it.”
“So? I don’t want to talk to anyone right now! Okay?” I growled, but felt heat rise to my face at the thought of my personal laptop that was still very much at the bottom of my school bag. “Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?”
I heard a sniff of a response, though he tried to cover it by shifting the soccer net. He scooted the net once and then scooted it wide away from the window sill forcefully.
“What in the hell is that?” He demanded.
“The hell does it look like?” I sassed back at him for dodging my question.
I actually wanted a goddamned answer for that one. And I didn’t know how much I needed that answer until right now, while looking at the perfect person to ask about it.
It had been six years since his Dad had died. He had pushed everyone away. Including me. And I hadn’t understood.
Now…
“It looks like something your family would cook up to torture you. Whose sadistic fucking idea was this?”
Demi turned and looked at me, brow furrowed, but eyes as desperate as the last time we’d had a conversation about my “sadistic” family. And in that moment, the thin fog of guilt and sympathy that had started to form over my memories of us evaporated.
“And on that fucking note, you can leave.” I demanded.
The eye roll was fully visible now. “Oh you have got to be kidding me Pol. You are telling me that you are fine with this? That this isn’t eating away at your nerves every second of every day?”
“I barely notice it.” I lied, pulling on my best positive Pol smile. “It’s nice to have the company of my little ant army. And besides, it gives the twins something to look forward to, they have a bet to see how long it will take to fall.”
“Uh huh.” Demi said crossing his arms. “So what is the soccer net for?”
“Protection.” I said, feeling my face flush. “I do PT in here and she was here earlier. So, I put that up just to make sure nothing happens to it while we do my exercises.”
“You are literally strapped and chained into a bed. What kind of exercises could you be doing that would threaten this Apple outside of getting pissed and throwing things at it when the twins aren’t here to stop you?”
“I’ll have you know, Demitri Bastion Hoggle, that as much as you may think you know me, it’s been six years since we were best friends and a lot has changed since then.”
“Right.” Demi said. Arms still crossed, no change in his expression. Infuriating as he ever was.
“Why do you always have to be such a pessimistic asshole?!” I growled. “Why can’t you just focus on the positive once in a while? Huh? Me and my family came up with a fun game for me us to play while I am stuck in bed!”
“Oh Jesus. Right.” Demi said. Spreading his hands wide as if warding off an oncoming attack. “Sorry, I forgot you went full Pollyanna. God forbid you actually go back to letting yourself feel anything.”
“I feel plenty of things. I just choose to not feel what isn’t important.”
Demi shook his head and in two strides he was at the door. But before he could turn the nob, an unapproved part of me took control over my mouth and yelled out.
“Are you leaving Spike with me or not?”
Demi paused. And turned to face me, holding the Mimosa Pudica plant closer to himself. Spike’s leaves contracted as if I’d scolded them both. Seeing that. Yeah. That didn’t not affect me.
“I was thinking about it. You going to be able to water her or should I come by?”
I knew the routine. We had raised that little fluffy pot from a baby sprout as a science project in third grade. She’d gotten so big. “I don’t have a good enough spot for her.”
Demi nodded. “I can bring the grow light and her set up.”
An involuntary tear betrayed me and traveled along my jaw. I wiped it away and looked out the window.
“I might need a refresher on the steps.”
“I can do that.” He said. “Under one condition.”
“What?” I said, looking back at him.
With a devilish smirk, he pushed the soccer net out of the way and slammed the apple into the garbage can.
A sob of relief escaped my lips in a soft laugh. But he didn’t turn. He knew me better than that.
“The twins are going to be pissed.” I called after him.
“Good.” Demi called back over his shoulder. “And by the way, you should download that game. I play too.”