by Dawn Sister
I was a wreck when it first happened, and all of my family and friends kind of smothered me. I don't take their over protectiveness for granted though, I am grateful for everything they've done to help me get through it. Sarah's mothering is the last remnant of that horrible time, and I guess she just got into a routine she can't bear to break.
I follow her into the living room but she is now in my study that overlooks the deck and the beach.
There is no way I will let her disturb anything in there though,
"Sarah, don't move anything on my desk, please?" I call in a slight panic.
She is flicking through the pages of a note book when I get there and not just any note book: The note book!
"What's this then?" she asks lightly, as I have a minor coronary, "Someone's schedule it looks like, but not yours." She grins, "There's no way I could imagine you even being awake at seven in the morning let alone jogging along the beach."
I snatch the book from her and close it with a snap,
"Sarah, you know better than to go snooping around in my study." I tell her and she raises her eyebrows,
"Afraid I'll see something I shouldn't?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips, "You do know I have read all your books don't you? Some of them can be a bit gory and graphic." I roll my eyes and place the telltale note book back on my desk, hiding it underneath other research notes, "I hardly think an imaginary schedule is anything that would cause me trauma, not like some of the things you've written, Jake." She flickers her eyebrows at me then changes the subject as she looks out across the beach, "Have you met your new neighbour then, you never told me when I asked before?" I push the note book further beneath the piles of scribbled notes and newspaper cuttings trying desperately not to blush but failing miserably, "Oh!" she giggles, turning to face me, "Can I assume from that blush that you have, and that he is a he and is very nice?"
"He is a he, and I haven't met him yet so I have no idea if he is nice or not." I steal a glance at the beach where he is still actually laying reading in the sun.
He's tanned, but his skin looks fair. He might burn if he stays out too long. I wonder if he needs someone to rub lotion on his back. I can actually feel my hands itching to do just that, and I am certain he will make my fingers tingle as I touch his skin…
Stop it, Jake, just stop it.
"What are you looking at Mr Daydream?" Sarah asks as she joins me at the French doors.
Her eyes fall on the figure lying alone on the beach quietly reading, then her eyes move back to my desk and to the notebook now hidden from view. They widen in realisation and I groan inwardly,
"That schedule isn't an imagined one is it?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her tone but also caution. She sees my embarrassed grimace, "Oh my god, Jake, are you stalking the guy?"
"No!" I tell her indignantly, but I know what it must look like,
"You have his every move written down in your note book, Jake, what are you doing if you're not stalking him?" I grimace,
"I was just making notes, Sarah." I try to explain, "I was hoping to find out a bit about him so I could get to know him before I speak to him." My sister shakes her head in helpless frustration,
"Jake, most normal people would just go over there and introduce themselves." I gasp,
"Are you insinuating that I am normal?" I ask her in mock horror, "I have never been so insulted." She giggles, "Besides I went over there on his first day and he didn't answer his door." I manage to look a little dejected. She sighs,
"You are hopeless." She tells me then turns and leaves my study, "I have to go because Sam has a tournament tonight." I roll my eyes, my nephew is a black belt in Taekwondo and I've been to several of his "tournaments". As far as I can see they're an excuse for kids to beat the crap out of each other and parents to compare their kids' accomplishments in beating the crap out of each other.
As Sarah gathers her stuff ready to leave she gives me her usual instructions for the coming week, or until she comes by again,
"Call Mom and Dad." She tells me, and I nod, "Eat the casseroles and stuff I put in your freezer." I nod again, licking my lips, "And go over and introduce yourself to your neighbour before he gets a restraining order out on you."
"There's no guarantee he won't anyway." I say, thinking about how young he looks and considering how old I am. Sarah gives me a soft affectionate look,
"Jacob Reuben you are a lovely, kind and generous man. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. I know I am proud to have you as my brother." She stretches up to kiss my cheek and strokes my beard appreciatively, "Mmm! Nice beard, it suits you."
She leaves me feeling flushed and happy. She always does. I know she worries about me quite a bit. She thinks I've been on my own too long now and should start looking for someone else. It's not that I don't want to. Josh and I had something special though and that would be hard to replicate. I know every time it is different but I really don't think there is anyone out there who would even consider taking on a writer who doesn't shower for days on end when he's on a writing streak, or who sits around in sweat pants he's worn until they can walk to the laundry by themselves.
The thought of sharing my life with someone now seems kind of ridiculous. I'm too set in my ways and that part of my life has past. So why on earth would I suddenly be thinking that way about someone I have only watched from behind my curtains and is probably young enough to be my son?
I have no idea, except for the reasons I quoted: he's beautiful, he's enigmatic and mysterious. There's an air of tragedy about him. He looks so serious and sad all the time. In three weeks I don't think I've seen him smile. Could I be the one that puts a smile on his face? I think I'd like to be, even if it's just as a friend. He doesn't appear to have any friends, at least he hasn't had any friends over, and he doesn't go anywhere. He has his main groceries delivered, so he answers the door to them but not to casual callers. He spends his time reading in his living room or surfing and running. He's fit, oh boy is he fit.
So, maybe I should just go over there and introduce myself, or at least put a plan in place to actually meet him.
Chapter Three: Operation: Meet The Neighbour
My plan is quite simple really. This guy next door seems to be a creature of habit. I get up and consult the notes I've made of his schedule over the last three weeks.
It is seven am on Monday morning, and according to my notes so far, he usually goes for a run along the beach about now.
Yep, there he is, in his running shorts and rather tight running vest. He has the biggest set of head phones I've ever seen. What happened to those really discreet earphones you could get? The fashion for massive ones really doesn't make sense, and I am sure they must cause some sort of wind resistance when he's running. He jogs down the decking stairs onto the beach and turns right. Off he goes.
I watch him disappear along the sand. He'll be back in about forty minutes.
I have just enough time for breakfast then. There is no way I'm going to be able to join him in a morning jog. I'm just not that sporty. So meeting him this way is not an option.
Forty minutes later: yep, there he is, leaning against his gate post and drinking from his bottle of water. He's all hot and sweaty and when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand the action makes me catch my breath. He disappears up the steps into his house while I spend a few moments recovering. Going out and talking to him now seems a little inconsiderate really, since he probably wants to go have a shower as soon as possible.
I consult my notes again. He will be out again in twenty minutes, showered and changed and still wearing those damn headphones. I don't think I've seen him without them, except he doesn't appear to wear them in the house. It's Monday so he always goes into town to do some grocery shopping. I've pretty much decided the best way to meet him is to "accidentally" bump into him there, either on the street or in a store.
Twenty minutes later he is out on his front porch, showered and changed and ready to go. He
always catches the bus into town. He doesn't have a car. He always checks he has his key before he shuts his front door. He always checks he has his wallet and checks inside it before he sets off for the bus. He always seems to be so careful with things like this, like he's not had to do it before: as if he is used to having someone else to remind him.
Why is he here on his own, eh? He looks so young to be anywhere on his own. And if the thought of getting the bus anywhere gives me the heebie geebies how does it make him feel? If he'll let me, I'll gladly give him a lift into town, since I've decided that Monday just happens to be my day for shopping too. That's a very happy coincidence.
I won't ask if he wants a ride today though because a strange man slowing his car down to ask a guy if he wants a lift? Yeah, he will definitely think I am curb crawling. Best get to know him first before I do that. Ask him for a lift I mean, not curb crawl.
I watch him disappear along the road to the bus stop and then I dive out of the house and into my car.
I park in my usual spot outside the best coffee shop in town and go inside to wait for the bus to arrive. The bus stop is just across the street. That's convenient. I know I've beaten the bus here because I over took it.
I order a coffee and wait.
There he is, getting off the bus and looking around to get his bearings. He always does that, as if checking out where everything is. His movements are always so deliberate and careful.
He squints across at the coffee shop and I duck behind my cup, pretending I'm reading a newspaper I have spread across the counter. Is he coming over? I can't see without lifting my head and making it obvious I am looking at him. He'd be diverting from his routine though, if he stopped for a coffee, because he doesn't usually.
I give it a few minutes then look up. Oh shit, he's gone. I check my notes: nine fifteen, he is usually in the market across the street getting fresh fruit and veg. I duck out of the coffee shop thinking I might return with him if I get the opportunity to ask him for a coffee or whatever young people drink these days. Fingers crossed.
In the market I watch him from behind some stacked crates. He is always a long time in here, checking out the best fruit. He takes so much time choosing a melon I consider asking him which one came second.
While he is sniffing a Satsuma with his perfect, slightly freckled nose he frowns, cocks his head to one side and turns to look in my direction.
Shit. I think I ducked out of the way in time. Did I?
Did he sense me watching him or something? What the fuck am I doing?
When I'm brave enough to search for him again he is at the check out paying for his stuff. The guy at the check out speaks to him and he smiles in reply, like he always does, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes, it's just a polite response rather than a natural one.
He seems unnerved though, because he turns to look in my direction again and I actually squeak as I duck behind another stack of crates then grimace as I upset one and have to gather all the apples up in my t shirt as the crate crashes to the floor. Holy crap, he must have heard that.
By the time I've scooped up all the apples and peeked over the top of the crates he is leaving; rather quickly. Did I spook him? Oh god I hope I didn't. I need to stop this now and rethink my strategy.
Then the guy at the counter calls him back, waving something about in his hand, just as the door begins to close,
"Hey dude, your wallet."
I shoot to a standing position with apples still held in my shirt and watch, suddenly alert, as the guy calls again but my neighbour just keeps on going, oblivious. He must have his music turned up so loud he hasn't heard.
The check out guy has a dilemma now, because he is alone in the store. I make a snap decision,
"I'll take it to him." I offer, almost tripping over a crate of bananas in my haste to reach the counter. I dump the rest of the apples I've picked up back into a crate and stretch out my hand for the wallet. Check out guy recognises me and smiles,
"Oh, hey My Reuben, that guy left his wallet." He explains, even though he saw me watch the entire thing. He must think I'm crazy, but everyone here thinks I'm a little eccentric anyway. I nod and indicate that he should give the wallet to me,
"He's my new neighbour." I explain, "He moved into the Steele place."
Check out guy, his name badge reads "Steve", nods in understanding and releases the wallet to my care. I thank him and rush out of the store in hot pursuit and with a sure fire strategy to get talking to this guy without creeping him out.
Outside on the sidewalk I look up and down the street to try and locate him. Where does he normally go now?
I consult my note book then look left. There he is at the newspaper stand across the street, and he's feeling for his wallet. It's not there! I shout as I cross the street,
"Hey, I have your wallet." I call.
He has his back to me and those damn headphones are a barrier to normal interaction. I can't see the attraction really, walking about totally cut off from the world around you. I mean, I like listening to music, just not all the time, and definitely not in situations where I might be expected to converse politely with real people.
Kids though, they all seem to feel the need to fill perceived silence with music blasting in their ears. And what is the point of having the damn headphones plugged into your ipod or mp3 player or whatever, when the volume is so high everyone can hear every word being sung anyway?
Do I sound like a grumpy old man? Oh my god, I'm a grumpy old man.
As I cross the street he has realised his wallet is missing and he looks positively frantic. I don't think I have seen a look of such absolute panic on anyone's face before. His entire body is about to lift off the sidewalk he's in such a state. I wave to gain his attention and call, but he gives me one look and turns away to run in the direction of the Market by crossing the street to avoid me.
Is he serious? What's he doing?
"Hey, I have your wallet here." I call but he doesn't hear me because he still has those damn headphones on.
I'm not fit by any stretch of the imagination, but I manage a burst of energy and catch up with him. The only course of action I have left to gain his attention is to reach out and grab his shoulder before he can move away. He turns with a cry and immediately takes up a defensive position, you know: narrowing his target, having his hands ready to push away or deflect a blow. His reaction shocks me and I hold up my hands in a kind of corny surrender type gesture,
"Hey!" I give a weak laugh. I hold up his wallet in plain sight for him to see, "You left your wallet in the Market." I hold it out to him.
Damn he looks terrified though, his eyes are darting everywhere, checking me out, checking out escape routes, checking out other pedestrians for potential threats. He's so jumpy and defensive it's unbelievable. He reaches out and takes his wallet from me like a timid animal taking an offered treat. Then, just like that timid animal, he takes off before I can even get another word in. He doesn't even thank me,
"You're welcome." I call sarcastically after him, but he doesn’t turn because of course he doesn't hear me: head phones! They are probably blasting rap music and vibrating his brain out through his ears, at least the part that controls good manners.
For a few minutes I stand and wonder what to do next. My first opportunity to talk to him has ended in disaster, since he was so fucking scared of me he looked like he was about to pass out. But come on, I'm not that scary am I? I glance at my reflection in a shop window. I have clean clothes on: jeans not sweats. I showered and trimmed my beard, and I even brushed my hair. It isn't a strange colour, which can sometimes be the case. So why did he run away from me?
