It was undeniably an accident. I swear. My Dad, however, would say, "Wyatt, accidents always find you and you should take responsibility." As if it is really my fault that when I was riding my bike on the sidewalk some jerk doesn't bother to look as he is backing up his car from the garage... forcing me to careen into a mailbox and land on a skunk. Or the time I missed the Science and Engineering finals for my county because my chemistry teacher, Ms. Gordon, told me it was at the Ridgedale Convention Center instead of the Ridgedale Showcase Hall? I ended up delivering my speech on subliminal messages to an auditorium full of Furries... Who dressed me up as a rabbit first - oh, the memories! Still, I would argue that none of these occurrences were my fault; only the product of unfortunate events.
And I had never any intentions of manipulating anyone for my benefit. Ever. It all started out with something I was raised to do - help someone when they are in need.
*
"What the fuck, Addison?"
"I'm sorry, Jordan; it won't happen again."
"Damn right, it won't!"
The loud smack echoed which was quickly followed by a crash of broken glass.
"See what YOU make me do! Worthless Hick, you better have your act straightened out before I get back!"
Jordan's footfalls on the stairs were like leaden thuds that gave way to a thunderous door slam; leaving only tears in his wake.
And I heard it all through the thin white wall.
I have lived in a townhouse all my life and have come to realize, my Dad did not have much money. What was once housing for workers of a nearby plastics factory that closed when I was two, was now littered with the few former employees who couldn't go elsewhere (like my Dad who was janitorial and unlike my Mom who worked the main line and left when her boyfriend boss was transferred) and college students from nearby State University.
From the outside, the first floor was a red brick that since turned an orange-ish color covered by a three foot awning that extended the length of the building - what it could possibly protect is beyond my knowledge - but the second floor was sided an ugly brown that truly resembled what comes out of everyones backside. I suppose the architect got it right; the outside absolutely resembled the product interior because two key features exist: first, the floor plans are all the same and second, the architects did not have your privacy in mind when designing the building.
I could easily watch the television set of the three senior college coeds, Shelly, Eve, and Kennedy, who lived across the street. I can't tell you how many reality shows I ended up getting hooked on because my teenage hormones were focused on those beauties and therefore, their television. Who will get the rose this week? I have joined several of the bridge games my eighty year old neighbor to my left, Mrs. White, hosted, all while sitting on my couch as she would call out the cards I had and I'd respond. Most importantly, however, I could hear everything that occurred to the woman who was my neighbor on the right, Addison Stevens, especially since her bedroom was adjacent to mine.
From the information I was able to gather, she came from Alden, Iowa and was a senior at State University in line for her bachelor's degree before she would advance to their veterinary program of another four years. On the phone to her parents, she would put on a front, saying all was well, but to her friends back home, she was miserable. The big city of Hilldale was far more complex than her small populated city back home.
I wouldn't describe her as beautiful, though to me, she really was, just not in a supermodel way - her extra pounds provided her an hourglass figure with amazing ass and tits, err, assets - as much as I would call her innocent and pure. With her curvy auburn hair that always seemed to have a ribbon in it that matched her outfit, dimples, and glasses, she gave off a distinct wholesomeness that was very alluring. Being that I was fourteen and going through puberty, I suppose all these college girls around me were alluring, but I won't lie and say I didn't have fantasies about the girl next door.
But the move from country life to city life generated a social pressure upon her that she could not live up to, falling for the first asshole that showed an interest in her and his name was Jordan Bates.
It made me sick.
I wanted to help.
*
Now, as a fourteen year old freshman in High School, I felt there were limited options for me to assist my twenty-two year old neighbor. I mean, I wouldn't even listen to me, why would she? For the same reasons, confronting Jordan also seemed to be an impossible task. What would I say? "Hey man, stop hitting my neighbor?" He'd probably kill me. No, the answer lied with my science project.
I studied all there was to know about the creation, delivering, and every use of subliminal messaging, even creating one and playing it through a speaker underneath popular pop music. At my station was a bowl of Skittles and my message encouraged the eating of them. Every judge at the city competition did so before realizing what my project detailed. It got me to the county finals, but alas, you know how that transpired.
The delivering of the message would be easy; Addison uses a white noise machine when she sleeps. All I need to do is send what I want through white noise, mirroring hers.
The message, however, was a different story. It had to be clear and concise, and something Addison truly wants to happen. I eventually fell upon the basic principle that no one wants to get their ass kicked.
- Break up with Jordan
- Find someone worthy of you
- Defend yourself
- Listen to my statements
I quickly deleted that last recording. I did want to encourage the following of the other three declarations, but after all, I wouldn't listen to me... So I quickly changed it to something far more direct.
- Obey my Statements
Slight difference, yes, but if you tell someone to listen, what was said may become nothing more than a fleeting thought. Tell someone to obey and they are more apt to take heed.
*
Jordan usually came back every three or four days, basically whenever he felt he needed another power trip. I played my white noise overlapping Addison's white noise every night he wasn't around.
By the end of the first week, I felt dejected. Nothing had changed. Every time Jordan was around, Addison had an additional bruise or black eye.
At the end of the second week, I was set to give up. I was preparing to play the recording one final time before calling it quits when Jordan began pounding on my neighbor's door.
"What the fuck is this text, Addison?" Jordan was relentless with his fist on the wood.
"Exactly as it states," Addison calmly replied through the door. "We're through."
