Hearing myself snore, I woke. The ice cream truck’s muffled music penetrated the Tudor style walls of the living room. Outside, children spoke, shouted, and demanded over the looping circus theme. Other than ruining my life, why did the truck stop here? The ice cream truck driver knew better as did the neighborhood.
The whooshing of running water chased along the white plaster above me. He’d gotten in the “bath” by himself. From the angle of midsummer sunlight through the windows, he’d started at least an hour late.
Rising off the warm couch, I shivered in the air-conditioned home.
Footfalls pounded, moving away from the shower to the top of the stairs. He cornered banister. Andy, wet and naked, jogged down the stairs. His penis flopping against his thighs as his hairy gut jiggled.
Yanking the front door open, Andy’s chunky flesh vibrated. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood legs spread –the pose of a superhero defending turf.
Moving up behind him, I replayed slices of what I’d learned in the mandatory Peaceful Restraint class. The truck was off center of the front yard. A hot summer’s day and the Pied Piper had the neighborhood lining up. Mixed in with the children, soccer moms clung to strollers.…