A Quiet Neighbor (4 page)

Tuning out the annoying yaps from the tiny dog
that lives across the way, the constant clanging of the wind chimes that hang
tauntingly in the condo behind us, and the phlegm-laden hacking that comes from
the smoker with the overgrown banana trees next door, I clear cobwebs from the
metal pergola, water the thirsty plants, and regain order in my small haven.
The smell of roses wafts in the wind and calla lilies dance in the breeze as I
bend to sweep up the final bits of dust and leaves with my trusty dust pan.

Working in the backyard provides me with a
sense of accomplishment and enjoyment. It’s my chosen escape from the daily
humdrum of life. Everyone needs an escape from the real world. Stress seems to
stand still as I work with my hands among nature’s beauty. It’s as if I can
reset my mood with just an hour in the garden. It’s even better when my wife
joins me. She’ll tend to her miniscule flower box or sit in a comfy lawn chair
and read to me while I’m sweating up a storm with the pruning shears.

The fountain kicks on. I have it on a time
clock, along with the drip system and pergola lights. Listening to the slow
gurgling stream, I breathe in the semi-fresh air. Life seems almost bearable
when you have a sanctuary and a family to come home to.

Elizabeth is the love of my life. She is all I
need in this world to get me out of bed each morning. And she can still rattle
my heart whenever she looks my way. At fifty, she holds a soft and demure
presence, with her silky brown hair, pale ivory skin that illuminates her lake
blue eyes, and slight frame. Wrinkles now fan across her face in elegant
creases.

It is a small wonder that years ago that
delicate face was tarnished by dark shadows and a crippling fear that pales
even the scariest horror story. I painstakingly and lovingly cleared her of
those nightmares. Nightmares that prickled her flesh and haunted her soul. It’s
a miracle what love can withstand and produce.

She no longer trembles at my touch and can be
at peace with the skim of my lips against the hollow of her throat. And
finally, after a few years of marriage and patience, we are able to love each
other completely and without restraint.

Hallelujah.

The day I was able to make love to my wife
without having to hold back, I cried. Her frail body used to tense under my
pressing weight, and I went slack instantly. Do you know what that can do to a
man? The go and stop, go and stop build up was not to be desired, but I
managed—we both did—and slowly, in time, her screams and cold sweats diminished
while trust and love took root. Patience and unfaltering love cured Elizabeth
of her fears and haunting memories.

And the day I managed to both save and lose
Elizabeth was the day I got my wake up call. I started to devise a plan to save
us both.

During the day I’d attend my mandatory classes,
while every free moment in between, I’d take up odd jobs around the
neighborhood and save my crumpled bills in a tin cookie box wedged under my
growing pile of dirty socks and underwear. At first I tried hiding my hard
earned money under the mattress but my drugged out, good-for-nothing mother
found the stash and spent it all on her happy pills. I chalked the loss up to a
mistake and got smart. I thought, “Where would Cherie never go?” Not once in my
life did I remember Cherie doing the laundry.

Although Cherie was not going to win any mother
of the year awards, she still had some use. No matter how hard things got, she
always returned home and stayed with me, and for that I was grateful. If she
hadn’t, who knows where I’d be, or who I’d be, or if Elizabeth would be there
with me. Most likely, I would have been scooped up by Child Protective Services
and thrown into foster care or worse. Somehow, Cherie always found her way back
home, picked up by my junkie father (when he was home) or shuffling down the
street screaming my name after rousing from a bender.

Then one night she didn’t return. At that time
it was just me and her left in the house. Johnny split awhile back and my dad
had left in his truck to be with his then five-month-pregnant girlfriend.

Using my brain, I figured I’d have a few months
before people started nosing around, becoming curious and calling the
authorities. In my old neighborhood no one looked too closely or got involved.
All I had to do was make sure the bills were paid on time and everything was
gravy. The first thing I did was call my mother’s current employer and tell him
that Cherie was ill and wouldn’t be able to waitress at the bar anymore. The
manager wasn’t shocked. I think he was relieved because now he wouldn’t have to
fire her. In a way I was also relieved.

By the time I turned eighteen, I no longer had
to hide out and keep a low profile. I found a full time job down at the port,
moving boxes of “made in China” lawn chairs from shipping containers to loading
bays. With only a high school education, I was offered the position of a
workhand—grunt work near the back of the warehouse. Diligently I worked eight
hours a day and when asked, worked an extra four. I didn’t complain, steal, or
come to work smelling like stale beer. Mostly I kept to myself and iced my
shoulders and bandaged my gashes at night.

With my first paycheck in hand—which, after
taking into account Social Security, federal, and state taxes, came to a lot
sum of $550.00—I ran all the way to the bank to open up my first savings
account. While most kids my age spent their extra time partying and blowing
their money on girls, alcohol, clothes, and video games, I worked and saved all
my hard earned cash in the bank. Once the amount in my account steadily rose
from $550.00 to $5,000.00, I filled a suitcase with my things and moved out. To
this day, I have no idea what has become of that house on Cable Street.

One of the guys at the warehouse was looking
for a roommate. The guy’s name was Henry Williams, who coincidentally hated
country music and made a deliberate point of informing those meeting him for
the first time that he
DOES NOT go by the name Hank, and the country
legend’s real name was Hiram, not Henry
. He was a high-strung, big man with
leathery skin and tiny eyes that tended to shift uneasily from side to side,
especially when a new shipment rolled in. The cramped apartment wasn’t much,
but for $200.00 a month, I wasn’t expecting the Taj Mahal.

The two-bedroom shack in Logan Heights was more
like roach haven with its blue tarp roof. Every corner and crevice was covered
in cobwebs. The walls were stained with mildew and nicotine and the wall facing
the kitchen was charred from a recent fire. Roaches crawled around the dingy
carpet caked with cat hair and piss, and the couch I slept on crunched from the
thick plastic covering that encased it.

Squeaky pipes dribbled and rumbled behind
poorly constructed walls. Every door—including the bedroom and bathroom—came
supplied with its very own padlock and chain, while steel bars caged every
window. And just as I began to tolerate the horrendous living quarters, I discovered
Henry’s raging meth addiction. So, it wasn’t a surprise that I stayed with
good-ole’ Hank for only three weeks before moving into my own place out in
Clairemont.

Similar cramped space and rundown appliances
housed the tiny apartment, but at least I had an actual bed to sleep on,
privacy, and no opera music blasting in my ear throughout the night while a big
black man crawled around the carpet searching for God-knows-what with a
five-cent comb.

I quickly bought a used Ford (that seemed to
break down every third day) so that I could drive back and forth to Home Depot.
For five months I scraped off layers of old wallpaper, patched holes, plastered
the walls, changed the carpet, fixed the leaky pipes, and scrubbed, bleached,
and hammered until the place was remotely acceptable. The faster Elizabeth’s
face faded from my mind, the faster I worked.

When I arrived on the front steps of Angie
Darling’s cabin in Big Bear to take Elizabeth home I was prepared to grovel,
plea, and beg for approval, but what I got instead was no reception at all.

I knocked on the heavy wooden door, rang the
bell, and circled the property. All the red-checkered drapes were closed, not
even a chink to look through, and the windows and doors were locked. If a
neighbor hadn’t been conveniently passing by at the time, I would have gotten
back into my beat-up Ford and driven around for hours searching for her. All I
knew was I wasn’t leaving Big Bear without Elizabeth.

“Hey kid. Who you lookin’ for?”

I turned to find an old man dressed in a faded
flannel shirt, winter coat, workman’s jeans, and rugged boots. His body was
lean with hints of muscle roped beneath the layers. His face was leathery from
being out in the wind and sun for hours on end and the set scowl made me
believe there was a spare deer rifle resting on the back seat of the man’s pickup.
“Elizabeth Hayes.”

The old man stood for a moment, scowling and
scratching his burnt head. “Oh, you mean Lizzy? Angie’s niece?”

I cringed. Elizabeth hated being called Lizzy.
It was her father’s favorite pet name for her. And he wasn’t anyone’s favorite
person. “Yes sir, that’d be her.”

“Who’s a askin’?”

“Her fiancé.”

“Never saw a ring on her finger before.”

I reached into my pocket and brought out a thin
gold band that glinted in the sun. “That’s what this is for.”

“My almighty if that ain’t there a weddin’
ring. Humph. You know, that there Lizzy, well she’s a mighty special. I’ve seen
other town boys sniffing around her but ain’t never seen you.” He spat after
the last word.

If the comment was meant to rile me up, I
remained unfazed. I already knew that Elizabeth was a beautiful and bright girl
who could attract any man. I would be stupid if I thought I was the only one
thinking of her, but I also knew her secret. A part of her was damaged, hurt,
and that part would be less inclined to speak or knowingly flirt with anyone.
She would be more scared and timid than interested. I was there to protect and
save her.

As far as I knew, I was the only man she had
allowed past her invisible barrier, the only man who understood and loved her
without prejudice or conditions or judgment. In my entire being, I knew she was
waiting for me, just like I was waiting for her.

By the expression on the man’s face, I judged
him to be skeptical. About me, the ring, and my intentions for seeking out a
girl I never once visited during all these years. But I had my reasons and I
was sure, in this small town, he knew them as well. Gossip spreads like
wildfire in a place like this, and Elizabeth’s story was headline material.

After that momentous, life-altering night with
her father, Elizabeth was sent to live with her Aunt in Big Bear. Angie Darling
was a hard woman with piercing dark eyes and a meaty chin. One look at me and
she pegged me as a good-for-nothing kid that was going to get her niece into
more trouble than she was worth. I knew I’d have to prove myself worthy before
I’d gain Aunt Darling’s approval and get close to Elizabeth again, so I got
moving. I worked hard, made money, got a place, and now I was back to get the
girl.

“We grew up together.”

The old man squinted and leaned forward. “You
ain’t that kid who…” Recognition formed in his wrinkled brow and the man
inadvertently took a step back. Reassessing me, the kid with the gangly arms
and legs and mop of brown hair, he stuck by his first assessment that I was virtually
harmless and scoffed. He probably figured Angie was blabbering her mouth again,
casting more imaginations than truths when she told the story. “I think ya’ll
find her at the sports bar down them streets. Angie’s guy owns the place. Got
Lizzy a job waitressin’. You can always find her there. She’s either a workin’
out front or a studyin’ for that exam of hers in the back.”

“Exam?”

“Ain’t you least been writin’ the girl?”

I shook my head, sheepishly.

“Ya, reckon I can understand why not.” The man
rubbed at his thick stubble. “You sure the girl wants to see you?”

“A man can only try his damndist.”

At that the old man chuckled, agreeing. “I
suppose. That girl of yours is a studyin’ to be a dental hygienist. Tryin’ to
make somethin’ of herself. Now don’t go a messin’ things up for her. She’s
bright that one, and if I hear anythin’ about anythin’, you best watch out.”

I thought again of the deer rifle. “Yes sir.
Thank you.”

The old man shook his head and hooked his
thumbs into his belt loops. I could feel his eyes follow me as I jumped into my
beat-up truck and sputtered loudly toward the only sports bar in town.

The Tavern was a local establishment in the
center of town, flanked between the local market and the gas station.
Boisterous laughter and old-timey music seeped into the brisk mountain air.
Smells of fried fish, hamburgers, and French fries billowed out from the vents
and pipes lining the old red brick building. The parking lot was crowded, this being
the main lunch hub for the locals. Most of the locals also returned for happy
hour, dinner, and for a smooth nightcap after their shift at work ended.

I stepped into the heated bar and shivered.
Immediately I could feel my cheeks redden, either from the drastic change in
temperature or from the curious gazes that zeroed in on the lone outsider. I
shrugged out of my coat and hung it on the antler rack by the door. Rolling up
my sleeves, I casually scanned the room, carefully avoiding direct eye contact.