by Xyla Turner
The man was funny! We'd get along swimmingly.
Extraction: Breakfast
Phoebe
The next day, I went through my regular routine of calling my dad to get the latest on his healthy life journey. A few years ago, he had a scare with a mild stroke. The doctor told him to start eating right, exercising, and to keep his stress levels down. He didn’t want me freaking out, so we made a deal; I would send him recipes to cook and he'd send me pictures of his meals. I encouraged him to start blogging about his journey and let people join him, but he pleaded technological incompetence and I left it at that.
I made a few bracelets, posted them on my site, and checked my sales to see if my favorite piece was still available. It was and while it was my most expensive piece, it was also the most treasured one.
On my way to my destination, I stopped by Ollie’s to see how he was doing. He's had a slight case of bronchitis and sounded terrible; to the point that I almost called his sister.
“How ya feeling?” I greeted him.
“Better since you showed up, sexy.” His voice was a scratchy, hoarse whisper that could barely be heard.
“Still flirting, even though you're sick.” I laughed out loud.
“Sure am.”
“Am I going to have to call Carol?”
“Ahh.” Ollie waved me off. “She’s just gonna fuss.”
“Somebody needs too.”
“That's why I have you.” He managed a semi-laugh that turned into a cough.
“Well, I'm here.” I stood up and poured him a cup of water. “You have to stay up on your liquids.”
“See what I mean.” His voice barely made a solid noise.
“Okay, enough talking. I'll be back around lunch.”
He nodded as his tired eyes followed my hand when I placed the cup down on the table next to him.
Raising my arm, I waved goodbye and made my way out of his door.
My loosely balled fist tapped twice on the door across the hallway.
No answer.
I tapped two more times with my knuckles so it echoed in the small hallway.
No answer.
With a tightened fist, I used the side of my hand to bang harder, almost causing my wrist to connect with the groove in the door.
There was a crash, like someone tripped and then the click of a lock.
The man from last night slowly emerged in the barely opened doorway to reveal half of his body.
One sexy body.
His hair was sticking up everywhere, eyes low and there was a red line going across his cheek.
The man had on no shirt, red mesh shorts and socks covered his feet. He had a confused look on his face and his hair was sticking out in all directions as if he had just woken up.
“Hey,” I said a little too loudly. “I'm Phoebe, from last night. We met outside while at the dumpster.”
No response.
“Well.” I tilted my head to the side and placed one hand on his door. “I just wanted to say thank you for taking …, uh.”
I stopped myself because he would think I was crazy.
Oh well.
“I guess I'm thanking you for taking out your trash.” I burst out in laughter.
His face remained the same, but his eyebrows slightly drew together.
Once I regained my composure, which was hard because I thought I was crazy so I know he did, I figured I'd go with it. I pushed the door open further and he let me enter.
“Well, since we’re neighbors we need to know each other,” I yapped as I looked around the room. “As I told you, I live right upstairs above Ollie.”
I pointed toward my elderly friend’s door directly across from his.
“What?” he managed to say as his furrowed eyebrows pulled together.
“You're so silly.” I laughed. “Well, what do you need? I feel obligated since you pulled me out of a bind. Fish is the worst.”
I walked into the living room from the narrow corridor. The place was spotless as in there wasn't a single thing out of place. Not even a piece of lint was in sight. Despite some of his wicker furniture, it almost resembled a museum. The single mahogany table against the wall in the living room held one lamp. The leather cognac-colored couch had a matching love seat that had to be brand new. There was a cream colored plush rug in front of it and was similar in shade to the wicker bench on the opposite side of the love seat.
There was no television, no pictures, and no signs of life other than the half-naked body that exuded massive amounts of heat on my back.
“Well, seems like you're a tidy neighbor,” I chuckled more to myself. “Let's see what you have to eat.”
I skipped into the kitchen, eager to see and just as equally to make sure he didn't turn around and toss me out.
The kitchen resembled the living room but it held a seating area for four. He probably ate all of his meals here.
“Breakfast?” I said as I opened the old refrigerator.
More silence.
I peered over the door of the cooling appliance and saw his hand running through his hair as his brows were pulled together.
“What are you doing?” he asked through gritted teeth. His voice was deeper than it was the night before.
“Making breakfast.” I raised an eyebrow. “Last I checked it was eight o’clock.”
“Why are you in my apartment?” His patience seemed to be held together by a thread.
His hand was gripping the locks of his hair to the point that his forehead no longer had the horizontal worry lines.
“You helped me out of a jam and I’m cooking for you.” I stood to my full height and looked around the room. “Unless there is someone else that you have that can cook around here and you’re keeping them in hiding.”
“Fuck,” he exhaled sharply. “I was just taking out the fucking trash.”
“And,” I pulled out the carton of eggs, “I just happened to be going to do the same thing by myself.”
He stared at me for a bit but said nothing. So, I grabbed the butter and bacon from the refrigerator and looked around for the pancake batter.
“Oh, great. You have a waffle maker.” I was basically talking to myself.
He didn’t respond anyway so I kept moseying around, whipping, baking, and preparing the food to eat. Mr. bare chest and mesh shorts remained in the doorway without saying one word, staring at me while I continued to take over his kitchen. Twenty minutes later, the food was hot and ready. So after searching high and low for his dinnerware, which were found neatly stacked in the top cabinet, I prepared our plates.
“Okay, Zou. Breakfast is ready.”
Placing his hot plate on the table closest to the seat he was near; I returned to the counter to retrieve mine as well.
“Sit, the food won’t eat itself.” I waved my hand towards him as he continued to stare. “Zou, are you really going to have me waste your food and then eat alone. That’s just poor hospitality.”
Reluctantly, he let his hair go, turned the chair around backwards and sat in it straddling the back of the chair, then pulled the plate towards him. Although he watched me cook every bit of the food, he examined it until he felt satisfied enough to consume it. After one bite of the eggs, he continued to eat without saying one word. I silently ate my food because I didn’t want to bother him anymore than I already had. When he finished, I picked up our plates, washed the dishes, pots and pans, and let them dry in the dishwasher rack.
Turning to him, I said, “Well, thanks for breakfast. Maybe tomorrow we can have some music playing.”
“Music?” His eyebrows went up.
“Uh, yeah. I must pay off my debt.” I nodded and headed towards the door. “This was fun, Zou.”
Smiling at him, I opened his front door and walked out.
“I’m not cooking fish tonight, but you’re welcome to come by say seven-ish.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I’ll have food.”
“What?” He was standing in the doorway.
&n
bsp; “Zou, you’re so funny. Is that all you say?” I pursed my lips and tried to mimic him, “What?”
The corner of his mouth turned up either in confusion or a smirk, but I laughed.
“See ya.” I waved my hand at him and climbed the stairs.
There was so much to do, but having my morning energy was important to make sure that I could focus for the next few hours. I was in a bracelet making mood, so that’s what I intended to do.
***
The next morning, I knocked on my neighbor’s door for almost fifteen minutes. After I started to pound, he opened it slightly and asked, “What?”
“You know what.” I pushed the door but it didn’t budge. “Zou, we have to eat.”
“I will eat.” He countered.
“You’re in a silly mood today.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Did you eat breakfast without me?”
I laughed.
He mimicked my stance and crossed his arms over his shirt, so I took advantage and pushed the door open to enter.
“Same thing as yesterday?” I called behind me, while I made my way to the kitchen.
“Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?” The growled words seemed to get louder and closer, causing me to turn around.
“I’m making breakfast.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Why are you so grumpy?”
“It’s eight in the fucking morning and you barge in my place to make some goddamn breakfast. You don’t know me. Do you do this with all the neighbors?”
“Oh no, just you.” I opened the refrigerator and pulled the eggs from the top shelf.
“I’ll ask again.” He was closing the refrigerator. “What are you doing here? You don’t owe me shit and I haven’t asked for anything. I just want to be left alone for fucks sake.”
My hand patted his chest twice.
“Wow, coffee it is.” I smiled. “You might need it dark because you definitely didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Just tell me, you’re crazy, right?” his arms crossed over his broad chest again. “You’re on medication.”
I stared at him for a beat, then I burst out laughing.
“Zou, you are hilarious.” I shook my head and pulled out more breakfast items. “The next time you go shopping, be sure to get some yogurt.”
This time, I scrambled the eggs and cooked sausages instead of frying the bacon. Pancakes, instead of waffles and orange juice instead of apple. Portions and variety were key since he was clearly a grown man and had these items in his kitchen. When I finished, he reluctantly sat down, ate his food in silence and we parted the same way as yesterday. My promising to come the next day, he asking what and me laughing as I continued to my place to make more bracelets.
My jewelry business had been booming over the past few months, which led to an increase in my savings account. My father would be happy since he thought I was bat-shit crazy for leaving my permanent nine-to-five job with benefits. The business started off slow, but after a while I was able to afford health insurance and other small luxuries like Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. The town of Lily had been a great home for me for now, but most of my income was from mobile sources and not local. I chose the area because I wanted the peace and quiet. Now, my new neighbor was full of jokes and slightly disrupting my peace and quiet.
Well, I thought he was funny.
Every day that week, I went to his door and knocked. The third day, he took much longer to answer but after my insistent banging, he opened and we repeated our little dance of the ‘why are you here’ nonsense. However, on Friday, he simply opened the door and let me in. There was yogurt in the refrigerator.
“Oh my God. He did listen to me!” I exclaimed.
He shook his head and kept up his usual silence. Sometime around the mid-week mark, I began to fill the silence with my musings.
“You know that wooden front door is the only original wood left in the place. Everything else in the apartment building has been renovated from wood to brick or sheetrock. It's not stainless steel or marble counters, but it works and it's clean. When I first moved here, it dawned on me that I wouldn’t have all of the luxuries that I was used to. However, I’d take Lily any day.”
I laughed out loud and voiced another musing. “Well, at least yours is really clean. I would ask you where you learned your skills but you'll just eat and stare at me, right…not one for a lot of conversation. Anyway, you're really funny. I don't need to pour out my strawberry shake. I'll assume you're not allergic to anything.”
My upper body leaned over the table.
“I see no hives,” I murmured as I realized he probably thought I was checking him out because he was shirtless and his blond mussy hair stood every which way.
The scorching blush crawled up my neck like it was waiting to choke me.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
“For what?” He appeared puzzled by my apology.
“Nothing.” I resumed eating my toast.
“It must be for something because you have yet to apologize for anything. Despite coming into my place uninvited, you return daily literally taking over my mornings and my kitchen.” He put his fork down. “So, if you're apologizing then I need to know for what. There's a list.”
O-kay.
Before I could even produce a fake cough to hide it, I burst out laughing, spraying toast crumbs all over my food and on the table.
“Zou, you really are funny,” I managed to say once I calmed down.
“Whew.” My hand hit the table. “I was apologizing because I realized you don't have on a shirt and while I was looking at your chest to see if you had broken out or anything, I didn't want you to think I was checking you out. I wasn't.”
He said nothing.
“I wasn't.” I raised my right hand. “Promise.”
He shook his head and if I’m not mistaken, I saw a smirk on his face.
Well, that was progress and I'd take it.
When it was time for me to leave, I said “Okay, Zou. I don't cook breakfast on the weekends. However, you're welcome to come by. I'll have food.”
He raised an eyebrow at me which made me laugh.
“Right, well I'll see you tomorrow.”
“What?” he asked.
This caused me to laugh again and I said, “You're so silly.”
Extraction: Crazy Neighbor
Goliath
Three months.
I had been in this sleepy town for three goddamn months and life was fine. I kept to myself, minded my business, and kept from being seen. My personal life stayed personal and folks did not get in my way.
The quiet allowed me time to think. Allowed me to escape from the memory of the tumultuous noise and the hustle and bustle that I was used to while in Baghdad. Over there, something was always going on and for a while, when not in combat, it was manageable noise.
For fucks sake, I volunteered and did two tours, but the end of my last tour was the final straw. I was broken and dead inside. There was no life within the shell of a body that remained. There were my routines, things that I was trained to do and that was it.
My parents thought I had post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) but that was ruled out. Well, they said I exhibited slight signs but ruled it out, since I was not reliving the events, avoiding situations that reminded me of war, had no negative changes of beliefs or feelings, and I wasn’t feeling hyper. I was quite the opposite. I wasn’t feeling at all.
Some of my military brothers, Key, Buzz and Jeb, had a hard time assimilating back into society. They said they'd rather just live in the world of war over there because it made sense to them. Nothing about living back here in the states made sense. Relationships seemed to be strained, loved ones distant, and of course the constant reminder that you are a product of your environment. The army life, the only way.
We lived it, breathed it, and became it. Then they wanted us to return to civilian life and function as civilians. It was fucked and so were many of us. Maybe we were the damaged ones? The
ones that could mentally make it in the civilian, non-military world existing as a type of the living dead.
My mom said there was a TV show about the dead walking around after a zombie apocalypse. Apparently, they aimlessly staggered from place to place, hopelessly looking for their next meal, and starved at a slower pace than the humans. She told me that story as she cried for the umpteenth time because I didn't want to come out and eat.
I didn't like the daylight hours; it reminded me of the times while stationed in Baghdad we were all outside playing catch or a game of chess. The good times before we headed towards our various destinations. The sun was shining and the sand from the truck convoys was always in the air.
Why I moved outside of my hometown in Onley, Pennsylvania, I didn't know, but the beach was close here. Maybe it was to be closer to what was familiar from both worlds. I tried to stay with or near my folks for a little over two and a half years, but they were worrisome and I had to leave.
Why Lily? I wasn’t sure, but nothing mattered anymore. All my money from my time away had been put in savings so now my rent was paid in advance, my truck paid off, and I lived a simple life. All I needed were the essentials and that's how I lived.
My cooking skills were subpar, but my best and favorite meal was breakfast. Lunch and dinner were usually sandwiches or things that could be easily heated to make a meal. My grocery shopping usually took place at night right before the store closed. There were times when I had to make an appearance during the day, but I usually slept during that time and spent my nights awake.
I didn't have a television. I have an old radio that can only get a few stations. Occasionally, I turned it on and listened, while others times I just sat and read books.
My family tried to reach out on a regular basis and I tried to answer so they wouldn’t make a trip to find out what was going on with their only son. They wanted me to get a job and do something to keep my mind active. These were the words from my father, who was well-read on everything about war, especially the symptoms and ramifications of being soldiers. He usually informed my mother and she would cry, then curse the war and everything about it.
