I'm Not Happy I'n Feeling Glad 1.3

“Maybe they’re drug dealers.” Aaron said. He and Max were discussing interesting possibilities for Aarons employers while he got ready for work. Max was, somehow unexpectedly, a morning person. He stayed over but he’d be out by eight thirty, to the secret disappointment of Ellen.

Max snorted. “C’mon way too mellow at that place for drug dealers. You’d have local guys coming around. Besides they’d have some druggie to higher for nothing wouldn’t they? I bet they’re sex dealers. ” Aaron raised his eyebrows inviting his friend to continue.

“Well think about it. Two men alone, strangers in a private locked room.”

“Wait you think they’re pimps or--”

“prostitutes, definitely.”

“Or maybe they’re some ostracized couple. Like they’re ministers or something. So they hide their relationship.” Aaron leaned against the door to watch Max lace up his boots. They split ways at the bus stop.

Aaron was working in the yard again today. The blades on the push mower had been sharpened. Aaron had to wonder if getting twenty year old mower blades sharpened in the city was really cheaper than buying a new one, but it wasn’t his place to ask questions. It was his place to nod stoically and perform various household tasks.

The sky was cloudless today and mowing was tiring work. Halfway through the bumpy lawn, Aaron dropped the mower wide his face on his t-shirt and retreated to the hedge at the side of the house which he could clip in the shade. It was the same side of the house with the forbidden room where he had seen the man the day before. Impulsively he went peeked through the glass. He saw curtains. He went back to clipping the bushes which had long since ceased to be a hedge. Then something hit him in the back. Hard. He face planted into the branches. He pulled himself out quickly and stumbled around. There were two men, both wearing hoodies with the hoods on.

“Whadda you got?” one snarled thicky.

“Some fuckin’ money.” The other muttered through heavy breaths.

“I don’t got shit.” Aaron said quickly. “I’m just the yard boy.”

“Beverly Hills man? Aren’t no yard people here.” With that he grabbed Aaron by the arm and flung him onto the ground. Aaron yelped and coughed and tried to regain his feet. Somehow at the same time he managed to decide that his attackers were clearly far from sober, and he realized that the trimming sheers were lost in the bushes. He was crouching now. The two men were glistening with sweat and there eyes were huge. Whatever they were on they were on a lot of it. He wasn’t going to talk his way out of this one.

Aaron decide to swing, aimed a punch, realized that the closer assailant was holding a switchblade, hesitated, found himself slammed against the building. It was the hardest thing he’d ever come into contact with. He could see for his desperate attempts to fill his lungs with air. Something struck his cheek and the side of his head slammed into the wall anew. There was the sound of breaking glass and he fell to the ground.

For long seconds he was curled against the ground exercising his bruised lungs and hearing the sounds of violence.

Aaron lifted his head. The scene before him was an odd one. Aaron’s attackers were ten yards away. One was crouched on the ground the other was standing behind him with his arms on his head. There eyes were somehow bulgier than before. Between they and Aaron stud a tall slender figure. The figure from the room with bits of glass in his long black hair. He was pale, watery eyed and positively rigid with tension. He shifted his weight.

The two attackers leapt back and scrambled away, breaking there way through hedge bush. Aaron sat up.

“Dude…” He said vaguely, “ah, thanks.”

The man nodded curtly. He surveyed the patch of lawn drawing the pieces of glass from his hair. He didn’t seem to have much interest in Aaron.

“Thank you.” Aaron repeated, “but, who are you?” The man turned again and regarded Aaron. It was somehow evident that he wasn‘t going to respond.

“What’re you, like a superhero?” Aaron stood up. “All dramatic an secretive?”

“I don’t follow.” The man said, his voice was dry.

“You know mild mannered Clark Kent, until danger strikes and then Superman appears.”

The man turned away Aaron, and climbed daintily through the hole in the glass. He pulled the curtains over the broken window.

Aaron stood dumbfounded for a moment. The he surveyed the broken glass scattered across the lawn.

By the Time Mr. Still arrived he’d cleaned up the glass and the varius debris from the hedge. Mr. Still came hurrying round the house.

“What the hell happened here?” he demanded.

“Somebody attacked me.” Aaron said knotting his garbage bag.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Still’s voice rose sharply.

“The were trying to mug me. A couple of local guys I think. I don’t know they were tripping on something serious.”

“What happened to the window?”

“My shoulder hit it.” Aaron said. “I apologize, but I was shoved against it. They took off when they realized I didn’t have shit.” Aaron wasn’t sure why he was reluctant to mention the strange man from the room. He plowed on.

“I’ll work of the money for the window if you insist. But it really isn’t my fault. Those fuckers came out of nowhere.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Mr. Still said after a moment. “However I’d like you to fill out a police report.”

“Yeah alright.” Aaron said. “Can I go home and get a get cleaned up first?”

“The proper procedure is to file immediately after the incident.” Mr. still said. “I trust you have nothing more important that alerting the police to dangerous assailants?”

“No. Of course not.”

Filling a report was tedious and uninteresting. Then Aaron went home and ate an otter-pop in front of the TV. He cleaned the sticky juice off of the remote and wandered to the bathroom to check his injuries. He found that he had been worse off the time he got in a fight with his brother on the jungle-gym at the local park. (That fight had resulted in his landing un-squarely on the monkey-bars.)

“What the hell happened to you?”

His father had appeared in the doorway. Aaron dropped the T-shirt back over his body with almost guilty haste.

“Someone tried to mug me.” He said straightening it. “But I got rescued by some new superhero dude.”

Mr. Clark coughed nervously and Aaron turned away from the mirror in surprise.

The main had raised there kids pretty much on his own. He could never have afforded to be a nervous sort.

“Alright, your either being impertinent and boyish, or your covering up for something.”

“The first one.” Aaron said. “Dad, I don’t even smoke.”

Mr. Clark Nodded. “Alright. You know I trust you. I’m just trying to get used to this whole raising adolescents thing. It’s unbelievably odd.”

“You’ve only had twenty years to get used to parenting.” Aaron said.

“Yeah, don’t remind me. I’m almost fifty.” He leaned against the doorway.

“Forty-seven, Dad. If you’re almost fifty, I’m almost twenty-one.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Better watch out, old man, I almost a fully privileged adult.” Aaron slid passed his father in the doorway.

“No, no. Go back to chasing superheroes.”