GIRL NEXT DOOR

Abigail Mendez As I sat on the chair in my room, scrolling through my laptop with a mug of coffee in hand, I heard the sharp beeping of the door keypad. The hurried, angry tone in the beeps told me all I needed to know, George was here. I had messaged him earlier, asking him to come. I was just about to stand when he burst in, storming toward me and pulling me up by the hands. "Is it true?" he demanded, his feet stomping in frustration. "Hurry and answer!" he added, grabbing my shoulders. I wriggled out of his hold and gently led him farther into the room. Taking his hands, I made him sit down. "Today is important... but not as important as tomorrow," I said, folding my arms like a general about to give orders. "I'm giving you a very serious assignment helping me pick an outfit for tomorrow’s interview." "It’s true, then... You’re really leaving me, aren’t you?" he asked, pouting. "Shall we begin the order of the day?" I replied, dodging the emotion in his voice as I opened my wardrobe. The truth was, I was scared. Scared to leave him here. George was the only real friend I had in this city, and I was going to miss him more than I could admit. I clung to the wardrobe handles, fighting back tears. I didn't want him to see me cry. As I rummaged through my clothes, I felt arms wrap around my waist. "Don’t go," he whispered, pressing his head softly against my back. "Georgie, I have to. You, of all people, know how important this is to me. Please… don’t try to stop me," I said gently as I turned, prying myself free and cupping his face. He nodded, hugging me again with quiet understanding. And so, the fashion assessment began. I picked outfit after outfit, holding them against myself and waiting for his feedback. But he barely reacted, giving the same half-hearted look every time. "Shhh!" I hissed, making a sharp sound with my mouth. "Focus!" "Okay, fine," he muttered, straightening up. George was the right person for this. His fashion sense was impeccable even though I worked in fashion, too, I trusted his eye. We eventually settled on a look and promised to celebrate our last evening together with some chicken and beef. --- “Did you find a place over there yet?” George asked as we left the convenience store. "Hmm, don’t worry about that…I’ve got it sorted," I replied, mumbling around a mouthful of ice cream. "What do I do with you?" he sighed, stepping closer. Switching the nylon bag to his left hand, he reached out with his right and gently wiped a smear of cream from the corner of my lips. "You’re right," I said, grinning. "How will you live without me?" --- When we got home, George set up two chairs and a small table outside my house. We sat down to eat, talking and laughing. But soon, he was already tipsy. We were both light drinkers, but George was worse than me. “Don’t worry, Abby. I’ll come and save you,” he slurred, swaying in his chair. "Yes, sir. I’ll be waiting," I teased. "I’m serious. I’ll… I’ll… I’ll..." He fell asleep mid-sentence. “Take your time,” I whispered, patting his head gently. --- The next morning, George was still asleep on the couch in my room as I stood in front of the mirror, applying lipstick. I was dressed and ready, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and sadness. "Good morning," I said when I noticed him stare. "Who are you?" he said dramatically as he stretched. "It’s me, it’s me …Abigail," I replied, playing along. "Ugh, when did you get this pretty?" he asked, pretending to be shocked and placing a hand over his mouth. "Quit the act and get dressed. You’re accompanying me to the bus stop," I said, smacking his arm. "Ouch! And who says ‘accompany’ anymore? 'Accompany'?" he laughed as he headed into the bathroom. Soon, we were both ready, and he met me in the living room. "You know, I could just drive you to New York City," George offered as we walked out of my door. "Drive from Syracuse to New York in your God-forsaken car? Please," I scoffed. "Abby, don’t say that! He’ll hear you!" he replied, patting the hood of his parked car. "What will hear...? Ugh, never mind," I muttered, shaking my head and walking ahead. It was a short seven-minute walk to the train station. Once there, he handed me my bag. "If it works out, I’ll come back today to pack my stuff," I said, gripping his hand. "Pray for me, alright?" I smiled as I stepped onto the bus. He stood there, watching, waving slowly as the bus pulled away. "I’ll be back," I whispered under my breath, watching him from the window as the city began to fade behind me.