Page 5 of Baby, It’s You (Clairesville #1)

Hunter

P ulling up to my house, I see a black Camry with smashed glass in my driveway with an “FBI: Female Body Inspector” sticker on the bumper. I guess Dennis came straight over here after I texted him my address.

I drive through my grass around his car and park in front of the big maple tree to the left of my house.

Mentally preparing myself to be surrounded in all of his douche glory, I sit in my car for a minute and stare at the tree until I hear a knock on my window.

Turning to look, I see Dennis’s pale, hairy butt plastered up my window. He laughs like a hyena.

“Dude, get your hairy crack off my window,” I say, shoving my car door open.

He falls back, still cackling, and quickly jumps around while pulling his pants back up in one motion.

“HUUUUUNNNNTTTER!” he yells out my name like an announcer at a baseball game and yanks me into a bear hug.

I clap him on the back twice and maneuver out of his hold.

“Remember this is only for a few days,” I tell him. “I am leaving on Friday, so you better have your stuff figured out by then.”

He nods like his life depends on it. “No problem, man. My girl and I will be gravy by then. Just a little hiccup. A little bump in the road, you know what I’m saying.”

“No. I don’t,” I respond, grabbing my equipment out of my back seat and heading towards my house. “I keep my place clean, so please don’t disrespect my house while you’re here. Dishes in the dishwasher, trash in the can, and for the love of god, flush the toilet,” I say, looking back at him.

Last time he stayed with me, he thought it was funny to randomly leave what he called a “floater” in the toilet for me to find.

Like I said, the guy is a douche, but I have given him one too many chances in life because I know the person he used to be.

I always hope that he will wake up one day and shed his unruly behavior like a skin and act like a functioning adult.

“The whole YouTube thing must really be working out for you, bro. Look at this place!” he says, looking at my house in awe.

I look up at my home as well and feel a little pride well up inside.

I worked really hard for this house. Many people think I just uploaded a few clips to the internet and made money instantly, but I had to consistently work with pro skaters and brands to grow my name to what it is now in the industry.

For every filming gig I got offered, there were twenty I applied for that shot me down.

I was motivated to make something out of my passion, and I sacrificed family holidays and milestones to travel with the pros for work.

To prove myself worthy. Looking back, if I knew my dad was going to get sick, I would have spent that time differently, but I was a young guy with stars in his eyes and I didn’t understand how fleeting time with family can be back then.

This house was my first big purchase. I used to always drive by it with my parents on the way to our house as a child and I loved how different it looked.

The house is a dark wood A-frame cabin that has one side of giant windows that opens up to the forest behind.

The front door is a weaving pattern of stained-glass flowers that connect at the bottom and the front yard has a full garden.

There is truly nothing like this house in Clairesville and when the previous owner passed away, I knew I had to make it mine.

I unlock the front door and I’m immediately greeted by my little black Bombay cat named Dog.

I bend down and give her a scratch behind her ears, and she purrs, rubbing herself against my ankle.

Dennis clobbers in the door behind me and closes it with a thud, causing all the hair on her back to stand up before she runs off.

Good intuition, Dog, I wish I could run, too .

I walk into my kitchen and set my bag on the island. Turning towards the cabinets, I ask Dennis, “Need any water or a snack?”

“Nope. Just had a burrito at Nacho Bay.”

“Weren’t they just busted by the health inspectors last week for multiple cases of food poisoning?” I ask.

“Yeah! I’ve been eating there almost every day since. If I get food poisoning there, I can sue and then I won’t have to work for years. Work smarter, not harder, my friend,” he responds, touching his temple, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I place my fingers between my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Alright, man. I’m headed upstairs. The guest room is off to the left. You have your own bathroom in there and the towels are under the sink.”

I unzip my bag and grab my camera. He nods as I head out of the kitchen.

Taking my stairs two at a time, I jog upstairs to the master bedroom. Once I’m in my room, I close my door and quickly change out of my clothes into some baggy gray sweats to work out.

I was always an active skater kid growing up and was in shape, but never muscular.

As an adult, I needed the endorphins from working out to keep my mental health in check after losing my father.

Every time I lift weights or do cardio, I feel the tension and stress from work and everyday life leave my body like steam rolling off me.

I installed a home gym in my basement when I moved in. Since I travel often for work, there’s no point getting a gym membership. I also have a crazy case of insomnia, so instead of sitting alone with my thoughts in the dark at 4 A.M., I work out.

I grab my camera and hook it up to my laptop so the footage of Wes from today can upload. Then I head back downstairs and beeline past the kitchen, where I hear Dennis snooping through my drawers, going to the basement.

When I get down there and click on the light, I feel like I’m in my safe space. The walls are covered with photos from my favorite moments with pro skaters and I have a wooden shelf full of my dad's collectibles and old records.

Walking over to one of the little model cars on the middle shelf, I brush some dust off the top. “I promise I’ll shine you guys up soon,” I say, looking over the pieces of metal that hold way more memories than value.

The loss of my father never gets easier. Some days the sadness feels smaller, and I think, “Hey, I’m coping pretty well now.” And then the next day the loss will wash over me, consume me, and take all of the progress I thought I made with it.

Glancing at the clock, I get ready to start my thirty-minute warm-up on the treadmill and head to my speakers.

What will it be today , I think to myself as I scroll through my playlists.

The Strokes? King Diamond? No, I find the artist I’m looking for and smile.

The sound of Cher singing begins to blast through my sound system.

Real men listen to Cher.