Neighbors Pt. 01

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-

The snooze button gets smacked hard and the alarm shuts off. He rolls over onto his side and peeks at the clock. He's already snoozed it twice and it's six twenty, but he rolls back over and covers up, waiting another ten minutes and staying in the warmth of his sheets for a bit longer.

Those ten minutes go by in a flash and he grumbles frustratedly, reaching over and slapping the 'off' button on his alarm clock, reaching for his phone to check his messages. He's already got six texts and two missed calls from work, but he sets the phone face down on the bedside table and rises up to a seat, reaching his arms overhead to stretch. A groan erupts from his throat before he smacks his lips a bit, steps into his house slippers, and shuffles to the bathroom to begin his morning ritual.

Jackson Davis is not a morning person. Why he drives himself to wake up at six in the fucking morning, he'll never know. He could probably get away with waiting until eight, but he likes to try and get a jump start on the day, get his morning jog in, and have a good, relaxed breakfast before he begins work. But at 47, the allure of a soft, warm bed grows stronger every day and calls to him much more sweetly than the biting chill of a morning run.

Max snoozes on the floor as Jackson steps back out from the bathroom, having done his business and brushed his teeth. He pets the golden retriever, who immediately flops over onto his back, exposing his tummy for Jackson to scratch, which he promptly does. This is their morning routine.

"You coming with me today, Maxy?"

The dog's tongue lolls out to the side and he lays limp.

"Yea, I didn't think so." He ruffles the dog's hair once more before finding his jogging pants and a warm pullover.

After he's dressed and as ready as he'll ever be, he inspects himself in the mirror. Every morning, the same chiseled, older features stare back at him and every morning, he feels like an aging, obsolete fossil. He runs a hand over his salt and pepper beard, then up through the high and tight mess of hair at the top of his head. Or at least that's what it should be - he needs a haircut. He blinks his striking blue eyes and slaps himself in the face once to wake up, then finds his shoes and heads downstairs.

He'd prepared the coffee pot the night before so he flicks the on switch and puts on his shoes, tying them tightly. After throwing on a winter cap, he grabs his keys and heads outside to the bitter chill of the morning, still dim as the sun has just barely begun to crest. The street is still asleep. He locks the door, keeping Max safely inside, and takes off at a brisk pace, shaking off his sleep and waking up his aging, tired body.

Jack always enjoys his morning run once he gets going. It clears his head, helps him focus, and gives him time to think without his phone on him and the threat of a message at any moment. As a business owner, he's a busy man but he's lucky enough to be able to run the vast majority of the day to day tasks from home. He prefers it that way - the responsibilities of the job are not lost on him, but there's no way he would have lasted as long as he has if he had to sit in an office day in and day out, with every Tom, Dick, or Harry asking him question after question about the most mundane things. It's an organic packaging company, for Christ's sake. How complicated can it be?

He grunts once at his own question and rounds the corner at the end of the road. The jog around the housing complex is about a mile one way, and it's a beautiful little town. The houses are all somewhat similar in structure; two floors with a basement garage, paved driveway, mailbox at the end of the drive. His neighbors have all managed to spruce up their places to make them their own, himself included. Each one tells a different story of their owner and as he jogs, he goes through the names of the folks who live on his street. It's how he memorizes them all.

The first mile's end comes relatively quickly and the sky has brightened up with thin, fluffy clouds forming in vast, long lines across the sky. Jackson looks up and admires the view as he turns around and heads back home, breathing easy of the morning air. He's proud of the fact that he's not too out of breath after a mile, but he can feel the sweat on his back and the burn in his calves after another a couple more minutes and is grateful that the distance is as short as it is. He rounds the corner back onto his street and can see his house at the end of the block.

"Good morning, Mr. Davis!"

Jack smiles politely and waves at his neighbor, keeping pace so to not lose his momentum, despite her greeting. Always so kind, the Monroe girl, greeting him every morning on his way back up the street. It makes him smile, and he wonders if she realizes the positive impact she has on his day to day. Once he gets back to his stoop, he ascends the stairs and manages a peek over, catching sight of the woman as she leans over the banister on her deck.

Aymie Ann can't be more than 25, and she's striking. Cute, in her own way, but she's got this elegance to her that always manages to catch Jackson off guard. She's tall and curvy, conservative of dress but has a body to kill, all legs and an hourglass figure. She stands on the back deck with a coffee mug in her hands, looking up and admiring the sunrise. Jack steps inside his front door before she can catch him staring.

He kicks off his shoes on the boot mat and Max greets him at the door. "Ah, did you finally decide to get up? Smell the coffee, hmm?"

Max shakes out his fur and heads over to the door to the deck, waiting for Jack to let him out, which he does. Max then shoots down the stairs to take care of his business, and Jackson hears Aymie talking to the dog from her deck.

"Good morning, Maxy. Did you sleep well? You are such a handsome boy, you know that? Such a pretty boy."

Max sits down in the grass and looks up at her with curiosity and admiration, and the exchange makes Jackson smile, yet again. She's such a sweet girl. They don't come like that anymore. He turns back inside and heads over the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup as he finds the fixings for his breakfast. Whole grain toast, two eggs, a black coffee, and a yogurt are his breakfast of choice and he whips it all up in record time, setting his place on the table and flicking on the TV to watch the morning news as he eats. Just before he sits down, he remembers to grab his phone and check those messages, of which three more have been added, so he listens to the news and replies to each message, munching on his toast and eggs.

Max waits patiently at the door after fifteen minutes or so out in the yard, just enough time for Jackson to finish his meal. He rinses the dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, then lets the retriever in, who promptly does a crazed speed-run through the house, as is his routine in the morning. He then flops down on the plush, black leather couch, atop a blanket of course, and passes back out. Jack chuckles at him as he heads back to the bedroom to change out of his workout clothes and into something more comfortable.

As he is mid-shirt removal, his phone rings in his pocket. Having half a mind to ignore it, he grumbles and swipes his thumb across the screen, answering.

"Davis here. Something wrong, Ted?"

Ted's voice explodes on the other side of the phone. "Jesus, Jack, didn't you get my calls from earlier this morning? We got a massive order in from that new shipping company on the western side of the state and we don't have the materials to get the job done. What should I tell them? Should I stall? How long until we get the new materials?"

"Ted...shut up for a second." Ted's voice finally cuts off and Jackson runs a hand through his hair. "That shipping company is run by a bunch of hippie kids, looking to grow their business by advertising that they ship with organic materials. They market to teenagers and millenials, for God's sake." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "If they want to use our brand, great, but they are going to need to either modify their order size to something more reasonable, or fucking wait for us to get the materials in. You tell them that, Ted, and be firm for once."

Jack can hear Ted's slow, forcefully steady breathing. "Um, right. Okay. Good thinking. Forceful. I can do that." There's paper shuffling in the background and Jack clears his throat, then Ted starts up again. "Oh, and did you remember that that activist woman from the South African rain forest is coming in today to talk to you? I reminded you of the meeting last week."

Jackson swears and runs a hand through his hair. "What time's the meeting? 9?"

"9:30."

He looks at the clock. It's almost eight now, and it takes him nearly a half hour to get to the office. "Alright, Ted, thanks. I'll see you later."

He hangs up before getting a response. Looks like his plan for a nice, quiet day just went out the fucking window.

Aymie loves watching Max in the morning. The morning air on the deck, the sunshine cresting over the hillside trees, and the sound of the early birds waking up helps to lift her spirits every single morning, not to mention the neighbor dog's adorable yard antics. She coos at him from her perch on the deck, sipping at her coffee. She leans over the bannister, letting her long, wavy hair cascade down over her shoulder to shield half of her face. She's in a loose fitting, long sleeved flannel shirt, a tank top underneath, and some lounge shorts. It's warm enough in the mornings now for her to get away with shorts, and that delights her to no end.

"Aymie honey, can you come here for a second?"

Aymie waves goodbye to Max and heads inside. "Yea, ma, what do you need?" she asks, stepping across the hardwood floor to set down her coffee mug.

"Can you open up the drapes? It's supposed to be a gorgeous day."

Aymie nods and reaches high to catch the kitchen's drapes between her fingertips and tug them open, letting in the morning sunshine. Her mother wheels herself out of the way, sipping then at her own coffee as well. She hasn't put on her prosthetic yet, which tells Aymie she's having a slow start to her morning.

"What's on the agenda today, mama?" she asks her, tilting her head.

Rosaline peeks over her coffee cup and shrugs. "Just work stuff. Me and the girls are going out after work for drinks, I think, so long as I'm not too tired." She absentmindedly rubs at her stunted leg, right at the kneecap.

What Rosaline means to say is that she'll go out as long as her leg isn't bothering her, and she remembers to take her pain meds. Wearing that prosthetic all day has to be obnoxious and painful, Aymie understands, and so it prevents her mother from doing all the things she loves to do. She gets around well enough for having an amputated lower leg but she's still handicapped, like it or not.

"Just be careful, mama. You don't want to get sores like last time."

Rosaline snorts. "I know, I know. What are you gonna get up to, honey girl?"

Aymie looks into the other room, her painting room, at an unfinished canvas that's been staring back at her for the last two weeks. "Might finish it today, who knows. If the weather's nice, I'll probably play some music."

Rosaline smiles and reaches up to pat Aymie's cheek. "I love that you're so creative, baby. You'll finish the painting whenever it's ready to be finished." She then wheels herself over to the sink to drop off her coffee mug, then heads around the corner towards her bedroom.

Aymie Ann leans over the sink and sips at her coffee, watching the street wake up. Mr. Davis is heading out to his car looking very disgruntled. He whips out of his driveway and speeds down the street like a bat out of hell and she wonders if he has lots of work to get done today. A few of the other neighbors are up as well, retrieving their papers, leaving for work. Aymie's hit with a pang of jealousy that she doesn't have anywhere to be.

She finishes her coffee in another minute or two, then takes a handful of almonds from the jar on the counter as her breakfast, munching away at them. She steps into the painting room to gaze at the unfinished canvas, probing her brain for inspiration or a muse, and coming up empty. She sighs frustratedly and inspects the dozens of other canvases around the room, some finished, some not. She's gone through quite a few phases in her style within the last few years, but is thankful for the growth she's gone through.

"Aymie, honey, I need your strong arms!" Rosaline calls.

Aymie heads into her mother's bedroom and finds her mother mid-prosthetic attachment, and knows exactly what she needs to do. She kneels before her mother and hoists up the titanium calf and foot, allowing her mother easier attachment. She buckles and snaps and screws everything into place, then pushes herself up to standing to test and make sure it's comfortable. Then, she tugs Aymie up to her feet and gives her a hug.

"Thanks, honey girl."

"No probs, mama." She kisses Rosaline's cheek and heads into the bathroom to take her shower.

As much as she loves her mother, she's so happy for the time they spend apart. If she had to be near that woman 24/7 she'd probably lose her mind. Aymie loves her mother, of course - more than anything else in the world. She's beautiful, smart, funny, and an inspiration to anyone and everyone she sees and meets. The fact that she's still so active after losing half of her leg, and that she hasn't really slowed down at all, is proof of that.

...but the woman is exhausting. She has to keep doing things all the time in order to feel normal, and Aymie is always caught picking up her slack. Opening the drapes. Fetching this, fetching that, reaching this, bending over for that, rubbing topical ointments into her mom's stunted leg after a long day, helping her up and down the stairs whenever she's exhausted, etc., etc. It weighs on her more than she lets on but the moments in between, like here in the shower, help her to relax and find her way back into the flow of things. When her mom leaves for work, and she's got the entirety of the house to herself and her own devices for hours on end, that is when she truly feels at peace.

Aymie stalls in the shower, letting the piping hot water cascade down her shoulders and back, warming her from the outside in. She is soothed, relaxed, and rejuvenated before she steps out of the water and into the steamy bathroom to dry off and go through her morning skin and hair care routine. Rosaline calls her love to Aymie before she heads out the door, and a weight is lifted off of the girl's shoulders immediately. She wraps the towel around herself and heads to her room to get dressed.

She picks out a pair of whitewash, high-waisted jeans and a green and brown, horizontal striped crop top for her outfit today, along with her sling back sandals that she wears nearly year round. She pulls her hair up in a loose pony and heads out to the paint room to eye up her canvas again. She throws on her paint stained apron and fills up a cup with warm water when she hears a set of tires screech, and a loud thud outside the window. What follows makes her heart jump into her throat - the sound of a dog whining.

Aymie throws the cup down on the floor, splattering water everywhere and rushes to the front door to find Max, the neighbor's dog, laying on the paved road outside of Mr. Davis's house, the car that hit him driving away. Max whines loudly, but his tail thumps against the road once Aymie runs out to his side.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck Maxy, are you okay? Oh my god..." She inspects him and can see that both of his lower legs are jacked up, but she can't tell where and she doesn't know what to do.

"Jesus...okay, stay here Max, I'll get my car and we'll go to the vet. Don't move!" she says, pointing at him like he can understand her and she rushes inside to grab her keys and wallet.

Tears sting at the corners of her eyes and her heart is racing faster than it ever has before. Mr. Davis will be so upset...she has to get Max taken care of. Fucking bastard in the car didn't even stop after they hit him! Aymie runs outside with a blanket and wraps Max up delicately in it, eliciting several yipes and whines, before she hefts the dog up into her arms and loads him into the back of her Toyota, then jumps into the front seat and speeds off towards the nearest emergency vet which, luckily, is only a short travel down the road. She blows through two stop signs and cuts someone off, but she gets Max there in record time, screeching to a halt in the parking lot.

The golden retriever looks at her with pained eyes as she lifts him up into her arms and carries him inside, wrapped up in the afghan she brought, rushing to the front counter with tears streaking down her cheeks.

"Can I help y-"

"He got h-hit by a car, he's my neighbor's dog, I didn't s-see him get hit but his legs are messed up. Please, help him..." she stammers out, and Max lets out a whine.

The woman behind the counter, who had previously looked dissatisfied with both her position at the desk and with life in general, perks up immediately and rushes around the side of the counter while calling for assistance from another set of people from the next room. They lift Max out of Aymie's arms and set him on a small stretcher, then wheel him back past a set of double doors that swing shut, whisking the dog out of sight.

Aymie wipes at her eyes but she can't stifle the sob that comes to her throat. "Is he going to be okay? H-He isn't even my dog, I don't know how he got out. M-Mr. Davis is always really good about keeping track of him."

The desk woman lifts a brow. "Davis...Jackson Davis? This is Max?"

Aymie nods, sniffing and wiping her runny nose across her arm.

"Ah, very good, we have Mr. Davis on record, he brings Max here for his shots and checkups. We have his number and information on file."

Aymie nods again and swipes at her eyes. The woman hands her a box of tissues. "We'll know the extent of the damage after we get him put under anesthesia. If you'd like to go...we can give Mr. Davis a call and inform him."

"No!" Aymie insists, holding a tissue up to her nose. "I can't leave Max here all by himself. He must be scared to death." She looks back at the double doors. "No, I'll stay...if that's alright. I-I can just sit over here and wait."

The woman points at the waiting area, consisting of six back to back chairs and a small television in the corner, and then returns to her work, scrolling through information on her computer screen. Aymie hobbles over towards the seating area, taking the tissue box with her, and sets it in her lap. She stares at the floor and wills her heartbeat to slow down, dabbing at her eyes with a fresh tissue, but they well up again within a moment or two. She's worked up. Her attention is pulled over to the front desk again when she hears the woman dialing the phone.

"Yes, is this Jackson Davis? This is Marie from the SmartPaws animal clinic...there's been an accident."