Pickles & Motor Oil | Post 501

Pickles!

So much has been happening, I can barely keep up. Where should I even begin today?

Well, I don’t want to bury the lead, so let me jump right in. Guess who’s been lurking around someone’s trailer park lately?

I’ll give you ladies exactly one guess.

YES! Mister Motor Oil himself.

At least, I think.

I’ve seen a very familiar-looking blue pickup truck passing by on more than one occasion. That is, it shows up on the little camera thingie I installed once I learned I’m being SPIED ON BY THE NEIGHBORS AND THE GOVERNMENT!

Yeah, looking at you, Shirley and Ned. Cahoot buddies!

I tried pausing the video, but it’s a whole street over and I can’t make out a driver or any details.

Its him. I know it is. I knew he’d come crawling back eventually.

But girls, it’s got me on a spin cycle, fer sure.

I mean, what if he stops by?

I’ve played this out a drillion times in my head. Would I answer or ignore him? Right away or leave him waiting?

Like he did to me. For ten years.

I thought of whether he’d be able to see me behind the door...

But then I started thinking of the state of this place. My little stacks and piles inside and Mount Trashmore out back. You can hardly move inside or out. Not that I’ve been outside in the decade since he left.

And what about me? The way I’ve let myself go.

How would he even react?

What if he took one look at me—

I can’t let him see me—or this place—in this condition. I need a month. Just a month.

Maybe two.

And so I bit the bullet and called to have some garbage cleanup crew come take care of the outside.

Maybe Mark will get jealous if he sees me flirting.

Sure, Clara, he’s going to be jealous of some seventeen year-old who barely looks up from his phone, and me at...a certain age, barely squeezing through the front door.

No, I can’t let him see me. Not yet.

But if he knocks on the door?

I could pretend I’m not home. He doesn’t know I still have no social life. I could have changed.

I could have!