Guess I Have The Big Mouth

I crossed the street as soon as his truck pulled into the driveway. I marched myself right across the street and shouted, 

“Hey Bigmouth, don’t be talking about me to the fucking neighbors!”

He blinked, dazed and confused before his eyebrows knitted together and replied, “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” 

“Oh yes you do. You told Ms. Winston I was home. You had no right.”

“No,” he spoke slowly as though I were a child. “I told Mrs. Winston I didn’t know. That I wasn’t your keeper and neither was she. The fact that she found you means you’re not very good at hiding out from her. Instead of yelling at me, why don’t you do better to avoid her.” He slammed the door to his truck and went inside his house. 

A few neighbors had stepped out to see all the commotion, including nosy old Mrs. Winston. I waved tentatively and slinked back across the street inside my house, praying for a black hole to swallow me whole. 

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