Vacant(2)

She’s standing there smiling as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, obviously not knowing people around here don’t smile. I peer at her through the ripped screen of my front door as the heat and humidity of the day filters in.

“Hey, what’s up? I’m Emily. I just moved in next door.”





~Window~


I’m staring, which is something I don’t make a habit of. Eye contact typically invites people into conversations, and I’m not a fan of chit-chat. I stand in the doorway with an awkward pause, like I’m unfamiliar with waving as an appropriate means to say hello. My pause before I answer her is a pace too long, and the situation is somewhat uncomfortable as I stand there waiting for her to offer up more information. More importantly, I want to know why she’s knocking on my door, and I hope it’s not so we can get to know each other.

Since several more seconds pass without further exchange, I finally cave in and offer myself up. “Hey, I’m Ethan,” I say wanting to keep it simple. I don’t want to get sucked into a conversation with her, but I don’t want to be rude, either. She can tell I’m a little put out with her presence, so she gets right to the point. The last thing I need is an overly perky neighbor who thinks we’re “pals.”

“Sorry, I was just having trouble getting a window open. It’s going to be a hot one, you know, and I don’t have the electricity turned on yet. They want some freaking deposit since I don’t have a credit history. It’s like, ‘Hello, I’m living in a crappy house, in a crappy neighborhood. If I had good credit, I wouldn’t be living here.’ Anyway, I want to get the window open to get air moving through, and I think it’s painted shut. I don’t want to be all ‘damsel in distress,’ but I can’t pry the darn thing open…”

My thoughts trail off and I realize this is the most anyone has said to me in years. Perky girl is still talking, but I’m continuously distracted by her mere presence and the fact that her chest spills over the top of her tank. She’s pretty cute, but I try not to dwell on her appearance as lustful thoughts won’t lead anywhere good.

“So you think you could come help me?” I know I missed some information in there, but I’m not going to ask for clarification or for her to repeat it.

“Sure, no problem.”

I follow behind her, but at a safe distance. I don’t want the offer of my help and me being polite to some girl mistaken for flirting. It sounds conceited, but it’s happened before. It’s better not to give them any sense of false hope. I mind my own business and live my life; today will be no exception. She shows me the window in question, and sure enough, it’s painted shut. I roll my eyes at the incredibly inept and lazy maintenance people for doing a half-assed paint job.

“Um, I’ll be right back. I’ll have to get something to cut this open.” I turn to head out her front door, but she stops me.

“Oh, wait. Like a box cutter? I have one of those. I think the maintenance people left it here by mistake.” She rummages in a kitchen drawer then presents me with a paint covered box knife. As I work the window, she asks me several questions related to the area. My answers are succinct since I’m not really receptive to the Getting-to-Know-You game. The “Twenty Questions” moderator doesn’t get the hint though, and keeps on with the game. “So, how long have you lived here?”

“A few years.”

“Do you know many of the neighbors?”

“I don’t talk to the neighbors much, so I don’t know anything about them.” I’m hopeful my continued shortness helps her get the hint that I’m not interested in a conversation.

“Wow, you’re pretty quiet, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what do you do for fun?”

I’m caught off guard by her question. I can’t recall when I’ve had fun, so I’m not sure how to respond. I stand up straight, rolling my shoulders back and craning my neck in a stretch, attempting to buy a little time for my answer. While I don’t particularly care what this girl thinks of me, I don’t want to come off like a total loser, either.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’ve bothered you enough this morning. You’ve been so nice, helping me out and all. I’m gonna…” she trails off and I go back to working the window, popping it open a few seconds later.

“I’ll see you around,” I tell her, raising the window to its fully open state. She quickly dismisses me with another small wave, and I leave to go back to my own little corner of the earth. Despite the fact that I’ve been in her unit for less than five minutes, it doesn’t escape my notice that there’s no furniture or a TV, just a mattress on the floor of her bedroom. Maybe the moving truck with her stuff hasn’t arrived yet, I think to myself. In the back of my mind, I know there isn’t more stuff coming. People like us don’t have stuff or the need for moving trucks.