by Dawn Sister
Something is not right. He is a mystery I need to solve.
I take out my note book again and see where he might conceivably have run off to. He usually goes to the drugstore right about now, so I try there next.
The town's one and only drugstore is quite large. We have a growing population of retirees here in Oakwood Bay, so the drugstore does a roaring trade in old people drugs and stuff. Things I have not personally felt the need to examine too closely as yet. It recently expanded so it has several aisles of mostly vitamins and other food supplements that oldies seem to take by the bucket load, as well as the regular stuff that drugstores sell.
The first aisle is empty but the second one has my target, standing examining something on a shelf and giving it the same careful consideration he gave the choice of a melon in the Market.
I don’t bother calling out to him this time, since the head phones are still firmly in place. I grab a basket to make my presence in the store look legitimate, tip a couple of items into the basket to make it look even more authentic and approach him.
I reach out and touch his shoulder then step back with a cry as he whirls around in much the same way he did on the sidewalk. This time he presses himself back against the shelves, tipping some things onto the floor in the process,
"What?" he asks, in a pained, scared half to death way that has me spluttering and lost for words.
For a moment I simply stare at him and his eyes search my face in a way that makes me feel just a little uncomfortable. Apart from the fact that they are perhaps the bluest eyes I have ever seen in my entire life, they are wide and intense and unblinking and I feel like he is staring directly into my soul. No one has ever looked at me so intensely before. I feel naked and exposed.
His eyes move slowly and warily down to my basket and then dart back up to my face. He has a look of abject horror on his face now and with what seems like an involuntary squeak he turns and rushes away from me, leaving his basket and its contents on the floor at my feet.
I stand in the middle of the aisle at a loss as to what to do now. He has run away from me twice in the space of five minutes. Am I really that scary? It's not as if I'm even that much taller than him. Is he just naturally afraid of talking to strangers? I'm really not that strange.
I glance down at my basket and groan, face palming as I realise what he has seen there and what was the possible source of his fright this second time. I do wish I'd checked what I was casually throwing in my basket as I approached him; it's full of several different varieties of coloured and flavoured condoms and a bottle of self warming lube. God he must think I'm a pervert or a sex addict or something. No wonder he ran. At twenty one, I would have run too if some forty plus guy had approached me in a drugstore with a basket full of condoms and lube.
Fucking hell, I've become the guy my parents warned me about when I first came out to them.
Operation "Meet the Neighbour" has been an unmitigated disaster from beginning to end. Now this guy thinks I am a pervert of the highest order and I still don't even know his name.
I had his wallet in my hand as well. I could have looked inside to find his name. What's the matter with me? I'm losing my touch.
I glance down at his abandoned basket and begin to form another plan. I pick it up and, after replacing the condoms and lube on their correct shelves, I get what I actually need and pay for my stuff and the stuff he left behind. I'll deliver it to him when I get back. I'll put it on his door step with a note apologising for being a creepy neighbour.
Feeling much brighter, and with a much better plan in my head I abandon my stalking in favour of getting the rest of my own shopping done and then make my way home to put "plan B" into action.
Chapter Four: Plan B
This seems to be going well so far. I placed all of the stuff he left behind at the Drugstore in a basket, along with a bunch of flowers and a note explaining that I am not as scary as I appear and that I am in the house all the rest of the day if he wants to come over for coffee, or something to drink anyway. I added that if he isn't free today that I'm free most days.
Is that too much? Are the flowers too much? Everyone likes flowers right? He's not going to read too much into it is he? I don't want him getting more spooked.
Oh, god, he's opening his door. He's looking down at the basket. He's frowning at it and now he's reading my note.
Shit, he just looked over. I duck behind one of the pillars supporting my front porch. I hope he didn't see me.
Next time I peek he has gone back inside with the basket of stuff and the flowers.
Mission accomplished. Now I just have to wait for him to come over. The ball's in his court so to speak.
So I wait, and I wait, and I watch from various different locations in my house. He's placed the flowers in a vase, and put them on his kitchen bench, near the window, I can see that much.
Is he actually going to come over then? The suspense is killing me.
From my kitchen window I can see into his kitchen, but because of the angle and slight height difference in our houses he can't see into mine, and he can't see me watching unless I am standing right at the window, so I don't. I stand a little way back from the sill so I can still see him but he can't see me.
Every time he passes those flowers he touches them, frowns, bites his lip and glances over at my house. I can see his eyes, troubled and indecisive, and so expressive. I can see the blue from here. He's so damn gorgeous.
I am now on my third cup of coffee and sitting on my deck because the sun is shining and the weather is still unseasonably warm. It's almost evening and my neighbour still has not made an appearance. My cat has made an appearance though and she has something in her mouth as she jumps up onto my lap,
"Holy shit, Jezebel." I screech as I realise it is a mouse. I jump up, dumping her off my lap in the process. Oh god the mouse is still moving! "Jezzie, whilst I accept that you love me enough to bring me your prize catch of the day you have got to understand that humans just don't eat mice; or bats; or birds; or salamanders." I inform her as she watches me indignantly, "I'm not taking it off you, Jezzie, go take it somewhere and eat it or whatever you're going to do with it." I wave my hands at her, "Just do it out of my sight."
She gives me a disdainful look, slinks past me and pushes through the railings of my decking. I watch as she casually walks across the garden, over the drive and jumps up onto the decking of my next door neighbour.
Oh no, she is not going to try and present that mouse to him. He'll freak out. A strange man handing him his lost wallet caused him to almost have a coronary: a strange cat depositing a half dead mouse at his feet is going to kill the poor guy for sure.
I watch helplessly though, as my neighbour chooses this very moment to make a rare appearance on his deck. I lean over my railings to try to gain his attention, knowing it is useless shouting because he has his headphones firmly in place and I am now convinced they are actually surgically attached to his ears. I lean further over as I see him sit on his railing and lean down to caress the ears of my disgustingly traitorous cat.
I am slightly distracted by the fact that neighbour guy is wearing only a towel that is sitting precariously on his hips, and the fact that his hair is wet announces that he has just stepped out of the shower. That's two showers he's had today, not that I'm counting, but he's actually had more showers in one day than I've had in a week.
So, okay, maybe that's not a very good reflection on my personal hygiene. I am usually a little cleaner than that.
Back to the problem in hand though, since he is about to discover the prize my cat is trying to show him. I lean further over, trying desperately to catch his eye; further; just a little further, hoping he'll see me as I wave frantically.
He looks up and I gasp as his startled eyes meet mine. I give one last frantic wave and the next thing I know I'm flat on my back in the flower bed beneath my deck.
What the fuck just happened?
I lie, slightly stun
ned and winded, staring up at the sky and at the railing I just fell from then close my eyes again feeling a little queasy. It's a damn good job it isn't that high, plus the fact that my flower bed is so overgrown with ivy it broke my fall. Things could have been so much worse,
"Are you okay?"
Things are so much worse.
I open my eyes again to look up into the sky blue orbs that belong to the object of over three weeks of fruitless stalking. My neighbour is looking down at me with such concern in those blue eyes I think my heart just melted.
Hell, if I'd known I only had to fall from my balcony to get him to come over I would have saved myself the trouble and just done this sooner. He's even taken off his head phones, although they are still there, just hanging around his neck. He's pulled on some shorts, which was probably wise. He hasn't pulled on a t shirt though. His chest is exposed, tanned and oh my, there's a six pack and a treasure trail.
Eyes front, Jake. Keep your hands where I can see them. He's too young for you, too young.
He holds out a hand to help me up and I take it, groaning that old man groan that is compulsory when you get past a certain age. It's not as if I find it difficult to get up, it's just one of those things that starts happening after the age of forty: you discover hair in your ears and you groan when you stand.
Once on my feet, a little unsteadily, I brush the dirt, leaves and sand from my clothes. I do a quick check of everything and think I have escaped injury. I stretch out my hand to my neighbour in a proper greeting,
"I'm Jake, and I'm sorry about my disgusting cat." The guy's eyes widen and he tips his head to one side. He is watching me intently though and I get the same slightly uncomfortable feeling that his scrutiny caused in the drugstore earlier today,
"The cat is yours?" he asks and I nod, frowning, because there's something about the tone of his voice that isn't quite right, "He was trying to give me a mouse." He informs me in a matter of fact tone that sounds a little hollow to be honest. I grimace at what he's said,
"Yeah, sorry about that. She tried to give the mouse to me but I sent her packing. She must have decided you were her next victim." He smiles, then bends down to stroke said cat who is shamelessly rubbing and weaving between his legs.
He looks back up and directly at me before speaking again,
"My name's Cal, by the way." He says simply, waits for a reply which he doesn't get, then turns his attention back to my cat.
I don't reply because I am processing the way his voice sounds and the way his name is ringing in my ears like a bell.
Cal. His name is Cal. I fell from my decking, and could have broken my neck, but it was worth it to find out his name and to finally be talking to this enigmatic and mysterious young man,
"So, Cal." I say, as I kneel down to join him in the caress of my now ecstatic cat. She hasn't had so much attention in a long time. He looks up at me, in that very disconcertingly direct way, "Are you gonna take me up on the offer of coffee? The least I can offer after you were subjected to my cat's misplaced generosity." He smiles and nods, "I also have Mountain Dew or Coke if you prefer." I tell him grimacing inwardly because I've suddenly started sounding like my dad. He screws up his perfect nose,
"Ugh! No thanks, coffee is fine." Well thank god for that because there's hope for someone who likes coffee. I indicate he should precede me as we walk around to my steps and up onto my deck.
So I now know his name and his drink preference but nothing else and he is currently sitting out on my deck while I make some fresh coffee. I had enough for two cups in the pot but meeting a new neighbour calls for freshly brewed really,
"So Cal, how are you liking Oakwood Bay so far?" I call through from the kitchen: no answer. I can see him, he's not so far away he wouldn't hear that. He is occupied with my cat, but still, he isn't wearing his headphones so why doesn't he answer?
He looks up and sees me staring,
"Sorry, what?" he asks, his gaze as intent as ever. I repeat the question as I pour out two coffees and bring them out onto the deck,
"How are you liking Oakwood Bay so far?"
"Oh, it's good." He tells me, taking the coffee, "It's nice, and not too busy."
"Yeah, it's quiet mostly." I agree with him, "The most exciting thing to happen is neighbours falling out of balconies." He smiles, and gives a silent chuckle,
"Are you okay after that?" he asks, "You never said." I grimace,
"I think the only thing that is bruised is my pride." I tell him, "I hope you didn't get too freaked out by Jezzie's welcome gift." Cal laughs again, that silent laugh,
"It's supposed to be a sign that they accept you as head of their pride." Cal tells me and I nod,
"Yeah, but I'd prefer it if she brought me a donut or a muffin, you know." He laughs again in silence.
I am only half paying attention to this conversation, since the rest of my attention is distracted by the way he watches me so carefully when I speak. He moves his head when I move mine, as if to get a better view and his eyes, oh my god those eyes. They should be registered as a deadly weapon. Does he even know how amazing they are? Does he know the effect they have on others? On me?
"So, I'm really sorry about this morning," he's telling me, as I try to pay more attention to his words and not to trying to solve what is driving me crazy about his voice. He runs his fingers awkwardly through his hair which is also quite distracting, "I kind of got freaked out," he continues, "You were running at me and I just didn't expect it, and I'm sorry I never thanked you for returning my wallet."
I shrug,
"That's okay, I'm sorry if I scared you. Twice." I raise my eyebrows and he looks away from me for the first time since this conversation started. I think he's blushing.
Oh, he is. Oh! I feel all weak inside.
"Meeting you like that was just unexpected that's all." Yeah, that and the fact I had a basket full of condoms, "And thanks for bringing my stuff." He says as he turns back and resumes his close scrutiny of my face, and lips, "Oh, and the flowers, they're really nice." I smile,
"That was the least I could do, after freaking you out so badly." I tip my head to one side now, "Still think I'm scary?" I ask him and he smiles, and it does touch his eyes, and I think it might have just touched my heart too,
"No, not any more." He answers with a slight smirk that shows the hint of some dimples in his cheeks. Oh boy!
What is going on with his voice though?
He sips his coffee and looks out to sea as I ponder the mystery. Come on, Jake, solve it with the clues at hand. This is what you do. You're a crime writer, a master of mystery and sinister plot twists. Gather all the information and make the connections.
It's his voice, the way he speaks, that's the main clue. It's as if his voice isn't sure if it's speaking properly or not, and his lips form every word so carefully as if this is the only way he can be sure he's said the right thing.
Oh my god, of course, it's because he's deaf. Everything fits. And he wears the head phones to hide the fact that he doesn't hear what's being said.
So now I've solved the mystery I have to ask if I'm right. I reach out and gain his attention by gently touching his arm. He turns and regards me with a slightly startled but also pleasantly surprised expression,
"Cal, can I ask you something?" He nods, intently watching my lips: because he's lip reading, of course,
"I think you just did." He says with a smirk.
Okay, so being deaf doesn't stop you being cocky. I smirk back,
"Okay, you know what I mean though." He nods,
