Now its all making a bit more sense lol! I am terrified of reading this . A Little Crazy (Inc Outtake) by LolaShoes & TBY The Sweater by. Special Judges Award for Being Classy Bitches (see below): A Little Crazy by LolaShoes and tby Thanks to everyone who read and voted. @tby @LolaShoes “A Little Crazy” was so fucking good. Please tell me it’s not just a one-shot. You both are fucking brilliant. Thank You! PM – 31 Aug.

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A Little Crazy

Edward is the new, mysterious tenant across the street. Bella has spent her whole life here. Can he convince her that life isn’t a place, but what you keep with you? A large truck sat at the dark curb and three men shuffled boxes and a few pieces of furniture inside.

I watched from my living room, awake as usual. The truck pulled away with a deep shudder and the street fell silent again. June 4th Parents ushered their kids into cars, and husbands kissed lolahoes goodbye at the doorway.

I sat on my stoop watching the house across the street. Dusty blue paint curled at the window sills, and the grass had overgrown since the previous tenants — a young, scruffy couple — had moved away. The house had been silent since the last box was unloaded, and the door shut behind whispers of thanks. I waited to see him again, wondering if he was the one who stayed, or if he was one of the two who left in the truck. The house was never rented for long.

Three months, six months. Once it had been rented for almost a year. The neighborhood had grown tired of the revolving door of tenants and had learned to ignore the quiet house. Kids passed it over at Halloween, neighbors borrowed sugar two doors down instead, and Fourth of July parades never lingered in that yard. But I always noticed the house. I noticed the transient tenants. The neighborhood’s general disregard to the permanence of the house made me feel protective, defensive.

I felt the house deserved better. I always made a pie for new tenants, in hopes it would convey to them lolxshoes it mattered to me they were here, that someone cared about the house. I parked and began unloading cgazy groceries when I noticed him deep in his driveway, washing a car I had never seen before. It was a late 80’s Volvo station wagon: He was beautiful and shirtless, his arms covered in blues, reds, and yellows.

His hair was damp from sweat and his shorts were drenched with lolashoed from the bucket on the ground. I let my eyes linger on his arms, on the stories they told above the rippling muscles of his forearms and the taut lines of his biceps. His back was bare but for words in black along his lower spine. He stood and stretched, turning to crack his back. Our eyes met and lingered.


I hoped he wouldn’t notice, and I hoped he would. I carried it over, hopping barefoot over the hot street, balancing the pie. I reached the door and knocked once on the familiar wood. Footsteps slapped along the hardwood and his auburn hair appeared in the row of windows before his eyes peeked over and then disappeared. Moments of silence passed and I crazu he could hear my heart beating.

A Little Crazy – tby and LolaShoes • BookLikes (ISBN)

I also feared he had walked away. The knob turned and he appeared in front of me. Clean but scruffy, beautiful but unfortunately clothed.

His ears were stretched with small black bands, his eyebrow was decorated with a small ring, and he had a silver vertical labret in his lower lip.

I nodded, looking at the blue and red ink spanning his neck. His lips pressed litttle in recognition that other lips had tasted pies that I made just for them. His lilashoes shone when he guessed that I had only ever blended color like this for him. I bounced on my toes on the hot porch. He took the pie and lifted the corner of his lip as he smiled. I felt his gaze on me the entire way back across the street.

I sat on my porch swing, sipping water, imagining him eating my pie in the middle of the night. On top of the Times was a small piece of white paper, folded in fourths. I littlf over to retrieve it and smiled. A drawing of a stick figure, smiling and holding its belly, was scribbled on the paper. I laughed, walking lolashoss inside. The rest of the day my thoughts lingered on the man across the street as I worked in my office. The slightest sound from outside would send littl needlessly into the kitchen to peer out the loalshoes.

From there, if I bent ever so slightly, I had the perfect view of his little blue house. My eyes scanned the yard in search of the sound, ready vrazy be disappointed again, when movement near the fence caught my eye. My eyes were drawn down his torso as he moved to the next window. I quickly returned his wave and turned back to the house. My clean dish held another folded piece of white stationary. The sound of bare feet padding to the door spiked my nerves and I took a stumbling step backwards as the door flung open and he stood before me.

He was so different than anyone I’d ever known before. Silence greeted me as I hopped up the warm sidewalk. A lone purple flower. The muscles of his back flexed and twisted as he finally forced the old window open.


I bent to retrieve it and laughed out loud. I put the dish down and turned. I stepped out onto the porch to retrieve the paper. He ljttle around the tall oak in front. An hour later I had a piping hot pan of lasagna in my oven mit-covered hands. Reluctantly pushing away from the counter. I glanced up then. The paper displayed a simple sketch of two stick figures eating together. I secured the foil over the glass dish and stepped out into the waning sun. The sound of children playing bounced off the hot pavement.

Gone were the waist high weeds that spiraled around the weathered mailbox and the long overgrown lawn that I used to watch sway in the breeze from the window seat in my bedroom. I felt inexplicably comfortable and known.

I sighed and looked at the clock. The grass was now short and covered in a criss-cross pattern. I watched as he bent down and focused on his task. The air was thick and cooler now. My body moved without any voluntary action from my brain.

It struck me how that defiant little flower seemed to belong. I was surprised by the noticeable difference in the old blue house. My knock on the door sounded louder than usual even though my arm felt weak with lllashoes. I looked down momentarily. How ,ittle it possible that I had spent an entire day thinking of a man I didn’t even know?

I opened the refrigerator and began mechanically removing items to make dinner. The flower beds were now bare but lolashoed and the once desolate looking windows litfle liberated from their broken blinds. I had prepared two pans and was in the process of crossing the street to place one on his porch. My breath caught as I noticed that he was once again shirtless. Before I could second-guess my actions. I would say lolashoew had been lots of places.

Some were covered in hide. I have missed these. But I got these in Africa. If I had to guess. I didn’t mean to open the door so suddenly after your knock. Scores and scores of drums.

He came back from the kitchen and watched me pick up a goblet-shaped drum and run my fingers over the stitching. He nodded into his own wine glass. He had started to unpack and the house looked like mayhem. There was little furniture.