“Help! Help me!”She definitely heard it that time. A female voice was calling out for help from the darkness of the alley. The odd thing was… th... voice almost sounded like it was coming from deep within a tunnel. Or a hole. It was so distant and echoey. This seems like a trap. Joyce resigned herself with continuing on before she was frightened by a much louder scream of terror.“Hello?” Joyce called into the alley. “Are you okay? Should I call the poli-““HELP! HE’S GOING TO KILL ME!”Joyce. My wife kind of set the schedule for dinner. She got in, got changed, and then served what I’d prepared. It worked out really well most of the time. Unless she was late, like yesterday.The sauce to go with the meatballs had been a challenge. Usually if the element is turned up too high, I reduce the heat and cover the sauce. There’s always a few splatters on the stove to clean up after dinner, but I found out today that the splatters make a big difference when I’m not wearing a shirt.“Hi, boy,”. I don’t remember what my reply was, but I’m convinced it was some inadequate, inane mumble. Moving past my embarrassment at being called on my obvious avoidance of contact with her, I went through the details of the questions I had, all the while distracted by watching her lips part with every word and wondering what it would feel like to kiss her, hug her. Over the next few weeks, I continually made reasons to talk with Ellie–once the initial hesitancy had been overcome, I forged forward with. I am under a spell of sorts and don’t even hear what she says and notice they are both just looking at me. “I’m sorry, I was lost for a minute, what did you say.” They both laugh. She tells me that she said she was glad we finally decided to sit at the same table, and turns to walk away. “Well she could at least take our order.” I mumble a bit too loudly. He laughs again, “she did, I ordered for you.” He ordered for me? “We’re having grilled chicken salads. Don’t bother saying you don’t like.