Frying Pan

After Charlie had left for the day, I rummaged through the fridge, looking for something to drink, when the doorbell rang. I froze in place, unsure of how to proceed. Was I supposed to answer it? Was I not supposed to? What if it was Charlie? What if it was a dying person in need of an ambulance? What if he was here to kill me? What if---

My thoughts were interrupted by another dong. Decided that I was going to answer the door, I quickly grabbed the closest weapon I could find. The frying pan.

I kept the pan in my right hand, concealing the right side of my body with the door when I answered it. 

The man standing on the doorstep was tall, dwarfing me by a foot. He had russet skin, and chopped black hair. his face was too handsome to describe. My description would not do him justice. I prayed to god that he wasn't he to kill me. His muscles looked dangerous---in more ways than one.

But it was his expression that has me lower my weapon. At first it held a look of surprise --- I could see it in the lift of his eyebrows --- then after a moment he smiled at me --- a big, broad smile that displayed his straight, white teeth. he grinned at me like I was the key to his salvation.

It seemed as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. he stood straighter, his dark eyes held a sparkle in them now.

He took a brisk step toward me. I took a quick step back, mirroring him, but i raised my weapon.

he froze the moment he saw my expression. then his eyes slid to the frying pan I held posed at the ready above my head.

And then he began to laugh --- a high, hysterical laugh. Almost like he was relieved about something. I took another step back.

"I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was deep. It made my heart flutter.

"Really?" I said. "Because you're the one that came in without invitation. In case you were unaware," my voiced dropped to a whisper, "this is the Chief of Police Charlie Swan's house."

 

 

"I know," he chuckled. "I'm not going to hurt you." His tone light, but serious. When he wasn't talking, his mouth returned to the big grin.

 

"Then what do you want?" I asked impatiently.

 

"Uh," he pauses, looks down and looks back up, suddenly remembering. He lifts a brown paper bag. "I brouhght some fish fry for him."

 

"Oh." I lowered my arm, but my grip was still tight around the handle.

 

"He's not here, is he?" he asked.

 

"Um," I hesitated. "I'm afriad that's classified imformation."

 

He laughed again. "I can tell he's not here. His cruiser's gone."

 

I bent slightly to the side, peeking around his broadness. The driveway was empty.

 

"True."

 

"Here, let me go put the fish fry in the freezer." He slowly stepped forward into the house, closing the door behind him.

 

"Wait a minute!" I retreated toward the stars, my arms above my shoulder again. "I don't even know who you are."

 

"I'm Jacob," he said. "I'm Billy Black's son. My dad's friends with Charlie."

 

"Oh... Okay," I said. "Come on in." But I still held the frying pan back over my head, ready to strike if need be.

 

He troops past me into the kitchen. He had to duck his head under the doorway because he was so tall. At least 6'4. I followed slowly after him. He opened the freezer and shoved the bag of fish fry inside.

 

I expected him to leave but he crossed his arms and leaned on the counter top, actng like he'd been doing it his whole life.

 

"So," he said. " You can put the frying pan down now. I'm really not going to hurt you."

 

Reluctantly, I lowered my arm, but I didn't put it down.

 

"Don't trust me?" he asked.

 

"No, not really," I said.

 

"Well, you can... you know, trust me."

 

"How? I just met you. You haven't asked my name and you haven't even shown the slightest inkling of curiosity as to why I'm here."

 

He frowned. "True. But I don't really care why you're here. I just like that you are."

 

My face furrows, and I back up.

 

"I think you should leave now."

 

"But---"

 

"Get out!" I shouted, pointing with the frying pan.

 

His shoulders slumped, and I could litterally see the light drain from his face. I had hurt him. And I felt... guilty?

 

Before he left the house, he turned to face me suddenly at the door.

 

"What's you name?" he asked. "At least tell me that."

 

"...Lacey," I said quietly.

 

He smiled that big grin again. Happy once more. He swooped down, kissed me on my cheek, and he bolted out the door as fast as he could before I could wack him with the frying pan.

 

I saw him jump onto his motorcycle and ride away.