Sugar Glider

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

Unemployed, after MATC said they no longer needed my teaching skills, I was living with my friend Jake. My parents didn’t want my 37-year-old sorry ass at their place, so I was happy Jake said I could crash.

During the day, he went to his UPS job, and I basically did nothing. 

In the evenings, we’d smoke weed and watch TV. 

One night, I shifted my gaze toward the door. “She left 6 months ago. Just throw her shit out.” 

“Amanda will come back,” Jake muttered.

“I never really liked Amanda–”

Jake leapt off the sofa, loomed over me. “Take that back.” 

“Dude, chill.” I bit my lip.

Eventually, he sat back down. 

I was lying. Amanda was awesome. She listened while I talked as if I was telling the most interesting thing she ever heard. She laughed at my jokes. TBH, I don’t know what she saw in Jake.

Weeks rolled by. Things grew awkward. Depressing. Jake was a big guy, and I could smell his locker room stench from the other side of the sofa.

It would surely be more fun if Amanda was around. She could introduce her friends. Maybe we could even fool around when Jake was out. Perhaps I could find a clue in her bedroom to help figure why she left.

While Jake was at work, I saw her door ajar and went in.

What I discovered meant me and Jake could no longer be friends.

Just then, I was jolted from my trance by a creak from the floorboards. 

I spun around, and there was Jake, filling the doorway. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” 

I bolted straight for the second-floor window.