Res Judicata by Vicki Grant Page A

matter. I knew it was Biff. I distinctly saw the crease in his jeans. I distinctly smelled his cologne.
    I didn’t think anything of it. It didn’t seem creepy to me or anything. Like,
au contraire
. I was happy. I mean, Biff was back!
    I started thinking, Here’s my chance. I can talk to him, reason with him, work this thing out.
    I ran around to the front of the building to try and catch him. I went, “Hey, Biff!” He was across the road by now, walking away from me down a side street. I screamed, “Biff!” again and ran after him.
    I called him three times. I had to grab him by the arm before he finally turned around.
    He acted all surprised. He went, “Oh, hey, Sport. What’s up?”
    I’m like, “What’s up with me?! What’s up with
you
? I saw you behind the apartment. I called to you. How come you didn’t answer?”
    He went, “Behind your apartment? Nope.” He frowned. “That’s weird. Wasn’t me. I wouldn’t have any reason to be behind your apartment. I’m just down in the neighborhood to...um...issue a, you know, summons.” He couldn’t even look me in the face. He squinted up at the street signs. “I should know this—but how do I get to Gerrish Lane from here?”
    I just stood there and stared at him for a while. The guy was lying to me. I knew it. That was absolutely, positively his leg. Nobody around here irons their jeans. Nobody around here wears that much cologne either, unless you’re countingthe old lady down the street with the big hair and the souped-up walker, but I somehow doubted that “Grizzly” was her signature fragrance.
    I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to accuse him of anything. I didn’t want to make things any more awkward between us than they already were.
    I finally just went, “It’s the next left. There’s the old auto body shop at the corner. You know.
Gerrish
Auto Body. You used to walk by it every day on your way back from court...”
    â€œOh, right. Sure. Of course! Don’t know what I was thinking. Thanks,” he said. He nodded and took a couple of steps away. I thought he was leaving—maybe he did too—but then he turned around and put his hand on my shoulder.
    He looked terrible. He had big black circles under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in days. Even the little Velcro pad of hair he had on his head managed to look messy. All he needed was plaid pajamas and fidgety cartoon lines squiggling around his head and he’d look exactly like the “before” picture in a sleeping pill commercial. It made me think this breakup had been as hard on him as it was on us.
    He said, “You taking care of yourself, Sport? Your mom okay?”
    Here was my big opportunity to make my case, but I didn’t know what to do with it. Should I tell him things had completely fallen apart? That I hadn’t had a vegetable in weeks? That there was mold growing in the laundry hamper?
    That Andy was really, really sad?
    Should I tell him to call? Drop over some time? Would that just make it worse? Should I beg him to come back and fix this mess?
    Or should I just butt out?
    It’s not like I knew what was going to work. It’s not like I had any magic formula to deal with Andy either. Who did? The only thing I could think of that might work on her were tranquilizer darts, but I doubted they were legal.
    Part of me just wanted to grab Biff and drag him back to the apartment and go, “Okay, you guys. Would you just start acting like grown-ups? Can we all just go back to living like normal human beings? Is that too much to ask?”
    Instead I went, “Yeah. Sure. We’re doing okay.”
    He nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it. See you soon, Sport.”
    That’s what he said. I really, really hoped he meant it.

chapter 12
    Loitering
To linger or hang around in a public place or business where
one has