They're Coming to Get Me
He sat dejectedly in the chair, his head in his hands.
She stood beside him, looking down on him, her arms folded.
“You aren’t going to do it, are you?” she asked, a distinct edge in her voice.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“It’s against the law, you know,” she observed.
He raised his head and looked at her.
“You don’t care, do you?” her voice was more accusing now.
“Of course I care!” he responded defensively.
“Well?” She wasn’t making this easy on him.
“I don’t know,” he repeated.
“Oh stop it!” she said in exasperation. “Will you please just talk to me?”
“About what?” he asked weakly.
She stared at him in stunned silence.
“Please don’t play dumb with me. Neither of us has time for it.”
He fumbled for words then finally threw up his hands in despair, “Seriously, I don’t know what to do! I’m screwed either way!”
“Life sucks,” she told him.
“Come on, I could use just a little sympathy,” he pleaded.
She wasn’t in the mood. “You did this to yourself,” she told him coldly.
“Don’t remind me,” he snapped, “So I made a mistake. How long do I have to pay for it?”
“As long as it takes,” she replied softly.
“It’s not right,” he whined, “People do this type of stuff all the time and never get caught. Why me? It’s just not fair!”
The little sympathy she felt for him was snuffed out in an instant. She despised that whiney voice of his.
“Since when is life supposed to be fair?” she asked, “Try selling that to someone else, but I’m not buying it.”
After a long silence he finally stood up and announced, “I’m not going to do it!”
“Okay, fine,” she answered, her tone non committal.
He started to walk towards the door, then suddenly stopped and turned on her.
“You think I should do it, don’t you?” he asked, his voice suddenly uncertain again.
She threw up her hands. “Do whatever you want, I really don’t care anymore.”
He stared out the window, suddenly frightened.
“When will they be here?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.
She simply shrugged in response. “I don’t know. I thought they would have been here by now.”
The fear finally overcame him. He ran into the bathroom and locked the door.
“For crying out loud, you can’t hide in the bathroom!” she yelled at him.
She was distracted by the flash of headlights in the window. A car was pulling into the driveway.
“Dear God, don’t tell them I’m in here!” His voice was muffled through the closed bathroom door.
There was a knock at the door. They were here.
She sighed, walked over to the door and opened it.
A young girl with a serious look on her face was standing on the porch.
“He’s here, isn’t he.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes he is,” she answered.
“Well, tell him that he either has to return them or pay for them.” The girl paused for a moment then added, “And tell him that if he steals Girl Scout cookies again I’m going to call the cops!”
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