My unfriendly neighbor is standing outside
again. Today, he dons a wife-beater that reveals his bulky, tattooed arms,
which are currently folded across his chest. His lips are slightly pursed as he
squints in my direction, and he is surrounded by small stacks of cardboard
boxes.
He just moved here.
From prison.
He was required to tell us that he
had been an inmate for the past ten years; however, he was not required to tell
us why. That scares some of the other neighbors, but not me. He might be able
to smell fear.
He moves his arms so that they are
draped over his fence. There’s a particularly gnarly-looking tattoo on his arm
of a shark devouring what looks like seaweed, although I could be very wrong.
My eyesight is terrible—in fact, I had to cheat on the DMV test because I’m
practically blind in one eye, but honestly, they should have a waiting area or
something when they administer the test, because I could hear every letter the
kid in front of me read. All I had to do was memorize them. I’m a perfectly
safe driver, though—except I have to squint to read street signs, kind of how
my unfriendly neighbor is squinting at me now, and then I realize I’ve totally
been staring this whole time.
My first instinct is to freeze. I’m
not sure if I’m supposed to make eye contact with him. Will he get aggressive?
Then I remember I’m inside the house.
He starts to cross the street.
But what if his crime was breaking
and entering? Although, I feel like the whole philosophy behind that is to do
it when nobody’s home. He did get
sent to jail, though, so maybe he’s just not very good at it. Wait. Breaking
and entering isn’t punishable for ten years. Unless it was breaking and
entering to commit murder. No, that’s probably good for more than ten years.
Involuntary manslaughter? Battery ? Assault? Probably
battery.
Knock,
knock.
Oh, shit. He’s here.
I consider not answering, but that
would be incredibly rude, since he saw me staring at him. I determine that I
most certainly am not rude and open the door impulsively. I hope I don’t die.
He looks angry, but I think that’s
just his face.
“Hello,” I say when he offers no
greeting. I’ve already chosen the considerate route, and there’s no sense in
changing now.
He responds by removing the
cigarette from his mouth and stubbing it out on my butterfly welcome mat. I
think he likes me.
He begins to study my face in a way
that would probably freak out most of my neighbors. I fix my eyes on the tattoo
of the shark, only to see it’s eating a scuba diver instead of seaweed. There’s
a name on the scuba suit that says “Tony.” I don’t know who Tony is, but I have
a feeling I won’t ever be meeting him. Despite all that, I don’t feel scared of
my unfriendly neighbor. Except I think I want to run away right now.
“I talked to your dad today,” he
says finally.
I nod like it’s completely normal
business for my father to fraternize with ex-convicts.
“He said to keep an eye on you,” he
continues.
I flinch. I should’ve known.
Dad’s been fighting me on my own personal
security guard for ages. He’s never really had much success—he’s pretty picky.
The Sandersons are too deaf. The Walkers are too blind. Bitchy Mindy is too
bitchy. The Lincolns
“You’re my daughter, Lissy. I need to protect you.”
That’s how it always started.
“You were never this hard on Susie,” I would
grumble.
“You’re my baby.”
He was not thrilled when I moved out. He would
stop by once a week for dinner, which I never really minded. But then I caught
him interviewing the neighbors.
I held out for three months. Then, at my
father’s constant insistence, I finally got a roommate. It was my boyfriend,
Garret.
Dad was even less pleased.
We broke up about two weeks ago, though, so I
guess Dad’s back to interviewing the neighbors. The only difference this time
is he found the one who isn’t afraid of him.
“So when do you start?” I mutter.
“I’ll be watching the place,” he
says as he walks away. I’m not sure if that was supposed to reassure me or
scare me.
* * *
“Dad.” My voice cuts across the line
before he gets a chance to say “hello.”
“Susie?” he asks, even though he
knows it’s me.
“Your other daughter,” I snap.
“Lissy!” he says with an extreme
amount of false joy.
I don’t reply. He knows what he did.
“Lissy?” he asks more timidly.
I keep waiting.
“Lissy,” he acquiesces. “You know
how I feel about you living on your own.”
“He just moved in!” I say shrilly. I
quickly adjust my voice to a more appropriate volume. He could be anywhere.
“How do you know you can trust him?”
“We talked for a little bit,” Dad
says. “He’s a great guy. Perfect for the job. Doesn’t like to go out a lot.
Tough. Intimidating.”
“Maybe because he’s a convict!” I
explode. Damn, I’ve really got to work on my indoor voice.
“I know,” Dad says, as though
everybody knows my neighbor is a convict. Which they probably do now, as loud
as I’ve been talking.
“So he’s the guy you trust,” I say.
“Lissy, you’re vulnerable.”
By “vulnerable” he means “single.”
“Dad, I lived by myself for three months before
Garret moved in. Nothing happened. This neighborhood is fine, I promise.”
“You don’t have Garret to protect you anymore,”
Dad points out.
“I don’t need
Garret to protect me! I don’t need
anyone to protect me!”
Dad sighs. “I know you’re strong, Lissy, but you
look like a seventeen-year-old,” he admits.
“Gee, thanks.”
“You don’t look
strong,” he tries again.
My eyes narrow. I know my dad too well for this.
“There’s something else.”
“No,” he answers.
“I wasn’t asking.”
He pauses for a second. “You need someone to
protect you from Garret.”
“What?”
“He might be one of those obsessive
ex-boyfriends, sweetheart. I mean, how well did you really know him?”
“Dad.” I stop to muster the strength it takes to
say these words. “He dumped me. Usually the one who does the dumping doesn’t
stalk the other person.”
Judging from his silence, Dad is thinking this
concept over.
“Dad?”
“I told Will about Garret,” he says suddenly.
“Who?”
“Your neighbor,” he says. “I told him about Garret.
I told him to protect you from him.”
“Garret’s not coming back, so I doubt the two
will ever meet each other.”
“Unless he tracks Garret down.”
“Did you tell him to?” I demand.
Dad is silent again. He’s not going to talk.
“How did you know he was an
ex-convict?” I ask, changing the subject instead.
“He told me,” Dad replies.
“He told you?”
“He’s required to by law.” Oh,
right.
“I don’t understand why you decided
on him. The Smiths wouldn’t have minded.”
“They’re awfully shifty,” Dad says.
“They’re pro-gun,” I remind him.
“This guy knows the criminal mind,”
he counters.
“Do you know what he did?”
“Sure, I do.”
“He told you?” I say again, feeling
a little hurt. He didn’t tell me, and
I thought we were making excellent progress friendship-wise.
“He wanted to make sure it was okay
with me before he started watching you. See, he’s trustworthy. And he thinks
like a criminal.”
“What kind of criminal?” I pursue.
“I can’t tell you,” Dad replies
mysteriously.
“Does he think like a thief?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Does he think like a rapist?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Does he think like a murderer?”
Silence.
“I have to go.”
* * *
I drum my fingers on the table, just
to make some noise, while I wait for her to say something.
JoJo takes a couple bites of her
sandwich and then sets it down. I know the only reason she’s eating is to stop
herself from talking. And I know she
wants to say something. She’s just afraid to, because we’re in public. I had to
choose a public location, though; otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to control
herself.
This is weird. JoJo and I are never
quiet for this long. In fact, JoJo and I are never quiet at all. I don’t like
it.
Impatiently, I grab the final bites
of her sandwich and stuff them in my mouth. Now she has to talk.
“You mean he just told you he’s been to jail?” she says at
last.
I exhale. I thought she was going to
explode. “He’s required to, federally.”
“Lissy, he’s a convict. He’s got no
regard for the law! No regard for human life! He does what he wants, when he
wants. He doesn’t have to answer to anybody! He’s—”
“JoJo, calm down.”
“How big did you say his arms were?”
“They’re about as thick as your Chihuahua
She opens her mouth.
“The fat one,” I reply before she
can ask.
“Ooh,” she coos with a mischievous
smile. “Mama likes a badass.”
“He’s like forty.”
“Oh that’s not cute, that’s just
creepy.”
“Anyway, Dad asked him to keep an
eye on me.”
“Is he getting paid?”
“I don’t know, but Dad sent him
after Garret.”
“Right on!” JoJo says. “I want in on
that action. Can you send him after anyone else? Like Bitchy Mindy?”
I just stare at her.
“What? You know that’s why I never
come over.”
“Bitchy Mindy’s scared of him. I
never see her around anymore.”
“So can I come over later?”
* * *
My unfriendly neighbor is standing
outside again. He’s in his front yard this time, making no effort to conceal
the fact that he’s scrutinizing JoJo as she parks her car next to mine. And
when JoJo gets out of her car and notices him, she makes no effort to conceal
the fact that she’s scrutinizing his arms.
“You live here, Homes?” he demands,
making his way up the driveway.
Sensing a confrontation, I run
outside. JoJo can get pretty sassy if there’s no one to hold her back.
“She’s staying with me for a while,”
I tell him.
“What’s your name?” he says,
ignoring me.
“Why do you need to know?” she
shoots back.
“JoJo,” I answer quickly. “Her name
is JoJo.”
“You want to repeat that?” he says
dangerously.
“JoJo!” I shout over her response.
“It’s short for Josephine, but she doesn’t like the ‘sephine’ part.”
My unfriendly neighbor yields a bit.
“Can I see an ID?”
“Excuse
me?”
“Yes, you can,” I say through my
teeth, glaring at JoJo.
She relents and shows him her
license.
He thoroughly inspects it, then
hands it back.
“You’ve known her a long time?” he
asks me.
“Yes,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” he says and heads back
to his house.
“Buttlicker,” she mutters at his
retreating back.
“You’ve got to find more mature
insults,” I tell her.
“Fucktard.”
“Better.”
We head inside my house, and
immediately my cat, Pizzicato, runs away. I throw an accusatory glance at JoJo.
“What?” she mutters quietly. JoJo’s
voice is never quiet. That’s how I know when she’s hiding something.
“You brought them, didn’t you?”
She mumbles something incoherently.
“JoJo,” I say pointedly. “I can’t
hear you.”
“Fine,” she snaps. “I brought the
dogs. But I can’t just leave them at home, can I?”
I run my fingers through my hair.
We’ve been over this. “They terrorize my cat. And she’s been through enough
lately, don’t you think?
JoJo stares at me, making her eyes
as big as possible. This is her “innocent” face. She almost looks like one of
her Chihuahuas
“At
least keep them outside,” I grumble.
“Thanks, Lis!” she says, and goes
outside to fetch her Chihuahuas
She comes back, hauling the fatso
under one arm and the gremlin under the other. They are yapping incessantly,
trying to break JoJo’s hold, so they can track Pitz down. They won’t find her,
though. She’s hiding in the bathtub, which is unfamiliar territory to those
animals.
“Say hi to Auntie Lissy, Charles,”
she coos to the tubby one. “You too, Francis,” she adds to the ugly one. I roll
my eyes and go to shut the bathroom door, just in case.
“You may release the hounds,” I say.
She obliges. “How’s Pitz doing?”
JoJo asks, much to my surprise.
“She’s doing better. I don’t have to
empty the litter box every day now.”
“How are you doing?” she asks a bit
softer.
I knew this was coming. “I took all
the pictures down last week. There’s nothing left of him anymore.”
“Good,” she murmurs. “Can we burn
them?”
I laugh. “I threw them in Pitz’s
litter box. I think she had the worst end of the deal.”
“I can’t believe he dumped you and
then fed your cat yogurt. Even I know that gives her the shits. What a
turdbucket.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Dickhead,” she amends.
I shrug. “He knew he wouldn’t be
around for the aftermath. From me or the cat.”
“He was scared of you,” she replies.
“Oh?”
“Let’s face it, Lis. You’re a
hundred times scarier than any piece of cat poop. Especially when you’re mad.
You could probably even scare your unfriendly neighbor.”
“You know why Dad wants him to watch
me.”
“Because you’re living by yourself,
and if you don’t have a roommate, then you at least need a bodyguard,” she
recites dutifully, as if she’s heard Dad’s lecture as many times as I have.
“Bingo.”
“Not anymore!” JoJo says happily,
putting her arm around me. “Because I’m moving in! Now you can fill your walls
with pictures of me instead. They’ll be much prettier. And good for your feng
shui.”
“He won’t like it,” I tease, nodding
my head over towards my unfriendly neighbor’s house.
She shrugs. “He can suck it.”
“It doesn’t mean he’s going to stop
watching either. Dad wants another man to be around, now that Garret isn’t
living here.”
“Anyone who tries to come after you
will have to deal with this vicious monster,” she says, picking up Francis, who
looks at me with twitching, bulbous eyes.
“That face would scare anything off,
I’m sure.”
“Meanie.”
I scoff.
“Bitch.”
* * *
“Oh, God,” JoJo says.
“It’s not that gross,” I say,
opening the trash can for her. I told JoJo that she has to help with chores if
she’s going to stay with me. Her least favorite is the litter box.
“Not that,” she says. “That.”
She points down the street with her
chin. Bitchy Mindy is approaching, and she’s five feet and closing.
“I thought you said that cow doesn’t
come out because she’s scared of your neighbor, Homeland Security,” she hisses
under her breath.
Bitchy Mindy is two feet and
closing, so I don’t say anything. She hears everything. She has, like,
echolocation or something.
“Heifer,” JoJo offers, mistaking my
silence. “But that’s as mature as it gets.”
“Talking about your mom again?”
Bitchy Mindy says by way of greeting.
“I haven’t seen you around here
lately,” I respond loudly, drowning out JoJo’s rebuttal.
“I haven’t seen Garret around here
lately,” she shoots back. “Did he finally meet your father?”
I don’t reply.
“I saw him downtown the other day,
holding hands with a rather pretty—”
“Moo!” JoJo suddenly blurts out.
Both Bitchy Mindy and I look at her
in startled confusion.
“Sorry,” she says, without sounding
it. “Just slipped out.”
“Is everything alright between you
two?” she continues.
“Yes,” I answer. “Except that we
broke up.”
“That must not have felt good,” she
says, inspecting her fingernails.
I frown. “No, it felt great,
actually.”
“Did your father have an issue with
him?” she asks, ignoring my comment.
“Well—”
“Oh wait, I forgot,” she interrupts.
“Your father has a problem with everybody!”
“He doesn’t have a problem with me.”
JoJo shrugs.
Bitchy Mindy glances up the
driveway, where JoJo’s car is parked next to mine. “Already moved in, I see,”
she comments. “I’m sure you two will be very
happy together.”
I glare at Bitchy Mindy, tempted to
dump the pan of cat litter on her head, when JoJo nudges me hard in the ribs.
“Well, hello,” she says in a voice much too happy to be considered
natural.
I follow her glance, past Bitchy
Mindy, to see my unfriendly neighbor approaching.
“You live here, Homes?” he asks her.
“Homes?”
Bitchy Mindy sneers. “This is what happens. You let one ethnic person in the
neighborhood, and then more are bound to follow.” She looks me accusingly.
He ignores her and turns to me
instead. “Bitchy Mindy?”
Mindy gasps and puts her hands on
her hips. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, she is Bitchy Mindy,” says
JoJo, looking her right in the eyes. “But she also goes by ‘cow’ and ‘heifer’.”
My unfriendly neighbor looks at
Bitchy Mindy for a long time, nods at me and JoJo, and then heads back across
the street.
“Wait,” JoJo calls. “You forgot to
get rid of her!”
I quickly snatch JoJo by the arm and
start hauling her up the driveway, leaving Bitchy Mindy on the sidewalk.
“Nice talking to you,” I say over my
shoulder.
“Moo!” JoJo snorts.
* * *
My unfriendly neighbor is standing
outside again. He has a piece of paper in one hand and a cardboard box in the
other. He looks surlier than usual.
“That’s how he always looks,” JoJo
disagrees.
He walks up my driveway and stands there for a
bit, crinkling the paper in his fist, looking a bit awkward.
JoJo and I are sunbathing in the front yard,
which is something we normally do in the backyard, because Bitchy Mindy will
make snide remarks if she can see us, and then we feel compelled to go inside
and eat ice cream. But she hasn’t been around the past few days. All the
curtains are drawn, but her car is still there. I guess as long as she can’t
see us, we’re safe. The sun is better in the front yard anyway.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” JoJo asks my
unfriendly neighbor.
He stares at her.
“Great,” she responds, picking Charles up. “Will
you flex for a sec? I just want to see something.”
She holds the corpulent Chihuahua
His gaze shifts from JoJo to me.
I get the message. “JoJo, go inside,” I tell
her.
Reluctantly, she obeys.
“There’s been a car that’s been
driving by. I’ve seen it more than once,” he says when JoJo is inside the
house.
I frown. “How do you know it’s
driving by my house and not the Walkers’?”
“It stops at your house.”
I feel my stomach crawling through
my throat. “Who is it? Do you know?”
He unfolds the paper in his hand.
It’s a picture of Garret’s car.
My stomach slides back down to where
it belongs, but curiosity replaces it. “Why would Garret drive by my house? He
took what he wanted when he left, and JoJo burned everything else.”
“He’s been dropping these by.” He
opens the box to reveal photos of our relationship together. On top is a note
that says, “How’s your cat?”
I take the box from his hand and
swallow my feelings. “I’m surprised he’s still alive,” I mutter.
My unfriendly neighbor says nothing
and looks away. I feel a twinge of guilt.
“JoJo and I would like to formally invite you to
a bonfire that will be taking place this evening,” I offer.
“That’s not enough for a good fire,”
he says, eyeing the box.
“Then maybe we’ll put it off until
he’s brought everything back,” I mutter bitterly.
My unfriendly neighbor studies my
face again, his expression unreadable.
“I’ll be by around eight tonight.
I’ll bring flammable things.”
* * *
“‘Dear Buttnugget Garret’,” JoJo
begins. “‘Remember when I was the best thing that ever happened to you? I have
gotten a tattoo of a shark devouring you in a scuba suit, and I have made the
tattoo artist draw you extremely fat. I think your teeth are ugly, but I never
wanted to tell you because you’re so self-conscious of them, so I told everyone
else instead. Now everyone knows about your weird teeth, and they are laughing
at you. You’ll be pleased to know the cat got diarrhea from all the yogurt you
so childishly fed her, but she went all over your ugly pictures, so nothing
important was damaged. Personally, I think they look better this way. Have a
good life. Lissy. P.S. My neighbor has your picture. He also has a gun’.”
I clap as she finishes reading, and
she takes a bow.
“Seriously, Lissy, I think you
should actually mail this one.”
My unfriendly neighbor shakes his
head. “You don’t want him to know about me. That makes my job less fun,” he
says, handing me another piece of paper from the stack he brought. “And I use
knives.”
We both turn to look at him.
“I’m
joking,” he says gruffly. “I prefer guns. Throw that into the fire with the rest
of that garbage.”
I cheer as JoJo rips her angry
letter to Garret into pieces and drops each one into the flames.
“It looks like our fire is getting
low,” he says, poking it with a stick. “Better make this letter a long one.”
I think for a moment.
“Dear Bitchy Mindy…”
* * *
“Please, Lissy!” JoJo begs.
“Absolutely not,” I reply.
“He’s sick! You’re just going to let
him die?”
She thrusts Charles in my face, trying
to round up some pity.
“If you would’ve kept him outside,
like I told you to, he wouldn’t have gotten into Pitz’s food. Again.”
“I’ll buy you another bag! Just
please let me borrow your car so I can take him to the vet.”
“Why can’t you wait until your car
is back from the shop?” I snap.
“Because the mechanic said it won’t
be ready until tomorrow. Please, Lis!”
I try to give her my best glare, but
she already knows I’ll give in. So, I relent. “I expect my car in perfect condition when you return it to me. Perfect.”
“Thanks, Lis!” she says, as she
snatches the keys from me and scrambles out the door.
“Perfect!” I call after her. But
she’s already gone.
I sigh, plop down on my tacky orange
couch, and try not to think about all of the other times I’ve let JoJo borrow
my things. Pizzicato crawls up next to me and curls up in my lap. She has
almost fallen asleep, when a car pulls into the driveway.
It doesn’t sound like my car.
Pitz hisses and runs away, which
means it can only be one of two people: JoJo or Garret.
I peer through the window in that
discreet way my unfriendly neighbor taught me. There it is, in the same spot it
was parked for the last three years.
In a panic I quickly dive behind the
couch and wait. I want to be completely sure he’s gone, because I don’t trust
myself to bawl quietly at the sight of his ’81 Honda, with the peeling green
paint and the raggedy interior of the backseat that has a huge rip in it from
that first time we—oh, God—it was after we went out to dinner at that fancy
Italian place and he forgot to take my heels off and they tore his upholstery
because I moved too suddenly when he—
I hear a door open and slam, but
it’s not Garret’s.
I shoot up from my hiding place,
because I have a queasy feeling I know who it is.
My unfriendly neighbor is standing
outside.
Now he’s striding across the street.
He has a gun.
He throws Garret’s car door open.
He points the gun inside.
“You live here, Homes?”
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