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Your name is Dirk Strider, and you turn at the sound of your neighbor's voice calling your name.
"Hi, Dirk!" she says, hustling up behind you with her arms wrapped around a large bag of flour. You silently hold out your arm and she hands the bag to you. "Whoo, thanks. I have a lot of baking to complete by Monday. Are you just getting home?"
"Yes," you reply. This seems obvious to you as you're standing in the lobby of your building waiting for the elevator, but you suppose it's one of those tedious conversational practices you have yet to perfect. "You?" The question is just as asinine the second time around. You are trying, though, and Jane at least seems the most sane of your current network.
"Yes, but I've been in and out all day. This is my third time back from the grocery store." The elevator arrives and you wait for Jane to enter, stepping in after her.
"Is this for a contest or an order?" you ask as she presses the button for the top floor and the doors shut.
"An order. A huge one at that. It's a lot of work, but nothing to complain about." She smiles brightly at you, and you struggle to find a way to follow that up.
"I suppose that's true," you say finally.
You're relieved when you reach your floor--though, judging from her still smiling expression as she discusses the intricacies of her plan to tackle this weekend's baking, you seem to be handling this conversation better than you give yourself credit for.
You hand her the bag of flour at your door and take out your keys. "Thank you again," she says. "If I end up making to much, I'll bring some by."
"Thanks," you say, opening the door. "Jake will apprecia..."
The rest of your sentence is drowned out by a earsplitting screech that rings out of your apartment the the second the door breaks away from its frame.
You immediately slam the door shut again, rubbing the ear most blasted by the noise.
"What was that?" Jane asks, wide eyed.
"I have no idea," you say. "You might want to cover your ears."
She obediently rests the bag of flour against the wall and presses the heels of her hands to her ears.
You turn the doorknob and push the door forward enough to keep it from latching but not enough to open it, cover both of your ears, and then plunge into the room.
The area around the TV has been wrecked, speakers pulled down or smashed against the wall, couch cushions torn and thrown about, the tv barely held on its stand by the cords still plugged into it. A movie is playing, and, according to the numbers on the DVD player, has been for over ninety minutes.
You push the TV back into a steady position on its stand with your shoulder and then stomp on the power strip that all of the entertainment system cords are connected to, shutting it off. You can work out what went wrong later.
The sound dies and you drop your hands from your ears. You glance at Jane, still standing in the doorway, and she does the same. She gingerly steps into the apartment, looking at the damage.
"What happened?"
"I don't know," you say. You lean toward the hallway and call, "Jake!"
"I doubt very much he's here," she comments. "That sound would drive anyone crazy."
"Yes, well, he's not always the most logical person when things go wrong." You step into the hallway and call again. "Jake!"
"You know, it's amazing I heard that movie at all," she says, following after you. "Your apartment is practically soundproof.
"What?" you ask distractedly. A second later, you realize she's referring to when Jake almost escaped and screamed in the hallway. "Oh, you mean the Tarzan movie?" you say quickly. "I think there's less soundproofing between our apartments than between the apartment and the hallway."
You berate yourself immediately for that poorly reasoned answer. Had you really thought this would never come up again just because you and Jake have declared a truce? You should have been prepared.
You've already thought of a dozen better explanations and are ready to retract your statement and try again when she says, "Oh, that makes sense."
That's right. You'd forgotten that other people don't think about things as much as you do.
"Jake!" you call again, walking into the bedroom. You glance in the closet, but there's nothing but a pile of clothes. Maybe he had his head on him enough to leave the apartment after all.
Then you notice that the pile looks bigger than it normally does.
"Jake," you say, kicking the pile. He springs out instantly, pinning you to the ground. Jane squeaks and covers her mouth, looking between you with wide eyes.
You stay perfectly still and speak calmly, trying to keep from further alarming either of them. "Are you okay?"
He bares his teeth at you but doesn't move to attack. Slowly his eyes become less wild and his body relaxes. He sits back so that he's straddling your legs.
"You stopped the noise," he says.
"I turned off the power strip," you reply. "I'll show you how to do that in case something like this happens again."
"Okay." He looks up at Jane and cheerfully exclaims, "Jane! Did you bring any of your delicious sweets?"
"Oh, I..." She slowly lowers her hands. "No, not today," she says hesitantly. "I'll have some in a couple of days, though."
"Great!" He jumps off of you and offers you a hand. Jane continues to stare as you clasp his hand, pull yourself up, and dust off your clothes.
"I should probably get home," she says finally. "Lots of baking to do!"
"Of course," you reply.
She continues throwing Jake nervous glances as you walk back to the family room, but he doesn't notice. He turns towards the futon and surveys the room.
"Boy howdy, this does seem a bit excessive, doesn't it?"
You bite back your reply, but you notice that a small smile is tugging at the corners of Jane's mouth. She shoots you a curious glance, and you say, "I'll be right back, Jake."
"Sure thing, Dirk Strider."
You walk with Jane to the door. She starts to heft up the bag of flour, but you say, "Here. Let me carry that the rest of the way for you."
As you walk into her apartment, almost identical to yours except with a much better stocked kitchen, she says, "Well, that was something."
"Jake is... peculiar," you say slowly, trying to think of the best way to explain what happened to a layperson.
"But lovable?" she finishes for you.
Yes, I suppose there's that."
"He must be difficult to live with." She directs you where to place the flour and starts pulling out mixing bowls.
"At times, but so am I. He puts up with my less appealing behavior, so I owe him the same in return."
She gives you a probing look, and then pats you on the shoulder with a small smile. "Don't sell yourself short, Dirk. You're peculiar but lovable too."
You return her smile. "Thank you, Jane. I'll leave you to your baking."
"Thanks! I'll make sure to have some cupcakes for you boys by the end of the weekend."
When you return to your apartment, Jake is picking at the pieces of broken speaker.
"The next time you destroy any of my equipment, I will kick you out," you say.
"It's not my fault the blasted thing attacked!"
"I suppose not," you concede with a smirk. "Help me clean this up."