excerpt from My Hipster Next Door
by Mag Maury
As I stand among the boxes cluttering my apartment, my eyes rest on the rooftops of Liverpool where the low clouds seem to caress each tile. I hope to see the snow fall, to catch winter’s first snowflake swirling in front of the window. Even though my childhood spirit usually resurfaces at this time of the year and fills me with wonder, this year, I’m having a hard time getting in the mood.
I’m petrified.
But this fear is only temporary. It’s nothing but the reflection of our ignorance about certain things. And quite often, it’s the fear of the unknown that paralyzes us. Once we take that first step, it flies away, and we can breathe again. My grandpa would always say: “Time heals almost everything, so give yourself a little bit of time.” And I think that it is now time for me to turn the page and start fresh. This new life that I’m about to undertake, I will undertake alone. Choices will be mine and I will own my decisions. Up until now, I was a model employee, always following orders. My actions weren’t my own, I was just mindlessly doing as I was told. The rare times I tried to show initiative, I was immediately put back in my place. And reminded that my duties as a waitress were limited to serving and cleaning. Working in the restaurant industry isn’t easy. Crazy schedules making it impossible to have a social life, having to deal with bitter comments from disrespectful customers, and let’s not even get into the number of thankless tasks that are assigned to us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not biting the hand that fed me. Those jobs helped me become financially stable, independent, and they forged my character. It took me six months to get my act together, to give notice to leave my two jobs and my apartment, and to complete my business management training. As I turn twenty-six, I will take my life into my own hands. And that, I owe to my grandpa. What a shock when he left us! It’s as if my entire life was disappearing. He, the one who took me in when my parents died in a car crash when I was just a child. He raised me, gave me advice, comforted me, but also lectured me. He always encouraged me in my art studies, a passion he passed on to me very early on. I really thought I would find a job in that field after I graduated but I had to come to terms with the harsh and cruel reality of the job market, which left me completely disillusioned. Up until now, my future seemed bleak, insipid. I felt like I was tilting against windmills. What a shock when I learned that he had left a will! I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, I refused to think or talk about those kinds of morbid details with him. But he had taken care of everything. It took me quite some time to build up the courage to go see the executor. I was somehow avoiding reality by pushing our appointments further and further down the road. But in the face of Mr. Brown’s insistence, I eventually gave in. And after a bout of crying that I didn’t even try to control, he read me my grandfather’s will. I was to inherit the Magic Cave, his antique shop, a place that marked my childhood. I used to love to root around in there and thought of it as Ali Baba’s treasure cave. What Grandpa Joe left behind for me is priceless, without a doubt. A whole life’s work. Done with the cashier’s jobs, done with the moonlighting. I will take the reins of the shop, hoping to find a little bit of him in those walls. There are so many memories here in this place. So many moments of shared bliss.
[…]
This should have been a good day! But karma decided to ruin it for me.
When I see the driver furiously getting out of his vehicle and taking a determined step towards me, I curl up in the back of my seat, completely distraught, hands clenched on the steering wheel. My door opens suddenly, and this furious man starts shouting a plethora of insults far surpassing what any South Park character could conceive while holding the door to my car.
His deep and powerful voice penetrates every fiber of my body and I feel even worse when my eyes meet his. Through long strands of brown hair, his old-fashioned amber malt whiskey colored eyes strike me with their intensity. Massive and manly, this man is most impressive, and I can’t stop panicking. My hands so far clutched on the wheel start to tremble and I’m getting short of breath as if the air in the car had been sucked out by his mere presence. His hard face freezes as he stares at me. A sculpted beard reveals his full and fleshy mouth on which my gaze lingers involuntarily. Dressed in scruffy old jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he simply looks gorgeous.
Yes… a breathtaking barbarian! With revolting sex appeal, but a scandalously sultry barbarian nonetheless.
Wait! What the hell am I thinking? The accident made me lose my mind, that has to be it.
His forearms feature many expertly crafted patterns, reinforcing the impression of brute force emanating from him. When he reaches out to me with his hand adorned with steel rings, I immediately jump back, which seems to irritate him even more.
“Hey! Calm down! Is everything alright?”
[…]
My body responds simply to this call, snuggling up even closer as he holds me in his arms tighter and tighter. We let ourselves be carried away by this magical moment. Softly, he cradles me in the middle of the living room, burying his face in my hair, breathing me in eagerly as if to fill himself up with my presence. My head spins, caught in a subtle, voluptuous moment of lightheadedness. It rests on his chest and his heartbeat is like a melody that soothes every single part of my body. Through the window I see snow falling heavily in the ice-cold night while we are safe inside in a cocoon of tenderness.
I close my eyes and imagine Grandpa Joe and Jodie watching over us, both sitting on a star, smiling at our embrace…
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