The Neighbors - ONE
Read Chapter One on Wattpad here!
SO I don't know if I’m sticking with this title but give the first chapter a read and let me know what you think! :)
It was hot. When my dad told me that my new home, Easton, would be in the mountains of North Carolina, I was expecting that sort of non-humid, pleasantly warm weather during the summer. I always watched movies with old people living in the mountains whose wardrobe didn't extend past long-sleeved flannels and jeans. However, on this densely-humid, 98-degrees-er of a Saturday, I was dripping sweat in just shorts and an old college t-shirt. It didn't help that I was standing in the back of my dad's trailer while he took an eternity to decide what we needed to carry into my new apartment next. It was basically like standing in an oven.
"Let's just take the couch," I said, using my thumbs to scoop the sweaty hair off of the back of my neck and into a high bun on the top of my head. I felt cooler for a moment, but the moment ended when I stepped backward into the sun and felt the heat burning down directly on my neck. "Then we can come back for the dresser and mirror," I said, stepping back into the trailer. It was the last three things we needed to unload, but by far the heaviest things. We'd been unloading for the last hour - boxes, lamps, clothes, shoes.
My dad looked tired and older than ever as his sweaty gray hair matted against his forehead. He wiped his upper lip on the back of his hand to clear the sweat beads that had gathered there. "Yes, I suppose that's a good plan. Ready?"
He positioned himself at the end of the couch, struggling to suck in his belly as he squeezed between the end of the old green couch and the white dresser it was pushed up against. The couch had belonged to my grandmother. The dresser had belonged to my mother when she was in her teen years. I squatted down at the opposite end of the couch and felt along the bottom of it for a good grip, wrinkling my nose in disgust as my face neared the mystery stain that had been on the arm rest for years. It was brown and shaped like the state of Florida.
"One... Two... Three-" My father grunted as we lifted. I knew his old knees were probably hurting him. If only I had another sibling to help us out. We managed to carry the couch into the apartment, taking three breaks between the 100 yards from the trailer to the front door of my new home. Once inside, we argued over where the couch should sit, but ended up agreeing that facing the wall parallel to the kitchen bar was best. Eventually, when I could afford it, I would have to get a TV to place in front of the TV. Until then, I would be staring at the dull, gray walls of the apartment.
We reentered the trailer and got in position to try and lift the dresser. It was heavy. Ridiculously heavy. The thick wood lasted almost 45 years in my parents house and it was ornately decorated with more wood carvings of filigree and flowers. I'd always loved the dresser, especially when my mother died when I was four years old. The bottom of the six drawers was deep enough for me to climb into while I was small enough. The smell of her clothes lingered, and my father would often catch me tucked into the drawer, engulfing myself in the scent of my long-gone mother. I loved the dresser. However, I was certainly not loving trying to carry it 100 yards into my apartment on this densely-humid, 98-degrees-er of a Saturday.
My father and I hadn't even shuffled past the apartment complex parking lot before I caught myself straining to keep my fingers gripped around the bottom wood panel.
"Shit," I heard my dad swear. "Put it down put it down put it dow-"
We both dropped the dresser onto the concrete. On my side, a smudge of orange stood out against the white paint where my face had rubbed against it. I was sure I looked like a melting crayon, sweating off the makeup I'd paid so much money for. I instantly regretted putting on so much of it before we packed up and left my home in Greenville that morning. Why did I need to contour for unloading crap into my new place? My dad put his hands on his hips and let out an exasperated breath of air.
"Leah, this might take us a while," he told me, looking at the dresser.
"Take your time, dad," I told him, glancing around at the back of the two-story buildings we were surrounded by. The complex had a few different "quads" of buildings - four buildings in a square. My quad was the only one that had a large space of grass in the middle of it, which I could walk out to directly from my front door. The buildings were all two stories, but I was still provided the luxury of a front "porch" area with my particular quad. As I was admiring the buildings and praying for the outside temperature to decrease by about 1000 degrees, an obnoxiously blue sports car wheeled into the parking spot closest to us, beside a police car. The blue car had been lowered so that the bottom of the front door was nearly scraping across the sizzling pavement of the parking lot. The bass from the driver's music was so loud that it seemed to rattle the old drawers in the dresser.
A man slivered out of the driver's seat which almost looked like it was only mere inches off of the ground. He was about my height - 5' 7" - short for a man. However, he was fairly wide in the shoulders thanks to some muscles that made it clear he was one of those gym-every-day-for-six-hours kind of people. He couldn't have been older than 25. His short blonde hair was slicked back and his gray polo and khaki pants seemed to be two sizes too small. He snapped the front seat of his car forward and snatched a backpack from the back seat, slinging it onto his back before turning and flashing a bright, white smile at myself and my dad.
"Hiya, folks. Need some help? Some hands? Some helping hands? I have two," he laughed.
Before I could protest, my father blurted, "Well yes, actually. We are taking this to this building," he said, raising a tired finger toward the building that the blue car had parked in front of. "Apartment 104."
"Oh, gnarly!" The blonde exclaimed. He threw his hands into the air and smiled even wider. "Neighbors! I'm in 105! Rock on!"
For as attractive as this guy's face was, his "hiya" and "gnarly" were already turning me off to him. My dad didn't seem to notice the blonde's oddities. "Oh, good. Well if you can just get that end down there-" He pointed toward me.
"No," I objected. "Take over for my dad, will you?" I asked the blonde, pointing right back at my father.
"Ah, so he IS your dad. Groovy, dude! I've been trying to figure out if you two were married for the last three minutes," the blonde said, laughing heartily to himself. "I was gonna ask how the hell that happened if that was the case."
My dad and I - about 35 years apart in age - exchanged a glance. I didn't know what my dad was trying to tell me through his expression, but I was trying to tell him all in one facial expression that I was tired, hot, and becoming a little bit afraid that I was going to be living next to this goon for the next year or more. The blonde's cheesy smile and bizarre vocabulary was already giving off that murderer-y neighbor vibe. Like, you step on his petunias once and suddenly he is no longer hiya-ing or groovy-ing you. Next thing you know, you're dead. As I was trying to imaging exactly what I was going to accidentally do in the future to get myself murdered by him, he stepped over in front of my father and squatted down, adjusting his grip on the bottom of the dresser. My dad immediately protested.
"Really, I can get it. It's Leah I'm worried about."
"Dad," I grunted, squatting down on my own side and preparing to lift. "I've got it. You just had knee surgery. We can't have you doing too much."
"That was months ago, Leah. I'm plenty fine now," he said.
I nodded once at the blonde and we lifted. "Dad," I choked out. "Just cover the middle, won't you?"
He sighed in defeat as he knew I wasn't about to let him do too much work. "I'll help tell you which way to go," he said.
"Thanks," I choked out again as we started walking toward the apartments.
My father, the blonde, and I rounded the corner of the quad, passing the front stoops of all of the bottom-floor apartments. We were about twenty feet from my front door. My arm muscles were screaming. My father ran to open the front door. I could feel the sweat from my fingers slipping between my skin and the wood. I gripped tighter. The blonde was going too quickly for me to ask him to put the dresser down. We only had fifteen more feet to go. I could make it. Only ten more feet. I squeezed tighter. My fingers were slipping. "Help-" I began to sputter. Five more feet. I wasn't going to make it. We were standing directly over the pavement of the front porch and I knew dropping the dresser would shatter the wood.
"I gotcha-" A body shoved beside me, gripping the dresser and lifting it easily. I let go without the stranger having to ask twice, stretching out my fingers and touching the bright red, painful creases that had been created from gripping so hard.
The blonde and this new stranger carried the dresser into the apartment, through the living space and into the only bedroom.
"Over here," my father instructed them, helping guide the dresser where I previously decided I wanted it to go. I was so busy looking at my throbbing fingers to notice that the stranger who caught me end of the dresser had walked back to where I was just inside the front door.
"You alright?" He asked, reaching out his hand for mine and taking it gently. He pulled my fingers straight to look at the marks, but stopped when I winced.
"I'll be oka-," I said, retracting my hand and glancing up at him. His intense gaze caught me off-guard. It was like his green eyes were pulling my soul from deep inside my body. "Okay," I finished. "I'll be fine."
He touched the tip of his long finger to the top of his tan forehead where a sweat bead was forming, just below his wispy brown hair. "You should probably turn on some air conditioning in here," he chuckled, looking back at the thermostat that I'd neglected thus far. His voice was deep and smooth. He said the words slowly, each word lingering for a half a second on his puckered lips before they actually reached my ears. "You might die of a heat stroke if you stay in the heat much longer." The stranger dared to wear black jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt, which he'd rolled up to his forearms to reveal a whirlwind of colorful ink. The collar of his shirt stopped just low enough to give me a peek at more ink that reached just up to his collarbones.
The seemingly now-plain blonde emerged with my father from my room and, upon seeing the stranger, began to walk almost like he was marching and swinging his arms. It was so weird. "Ah, Mister H," he said. "Mister H. S. Mister Harry Styles. Mister Harry British Styles. The village foreigner."
Harry glanced at the blonde, completely unamused. He looked back at me and pointed to the blonde. "Wilson. The village idiot."
I nodded as Wilson tried to laugh a genuine laugh. He slapped Harry on the shoulder. It seemed like he had to reach an entire arms' length just to touch Harry's shoulder. He was so tall that I felt like I was looking straight up. "How about village protector," Wilson said. He smiled at me and pulled out of his pocket a golden badge, revealing it to me. "Officer Wilson Kilmer, at your service."
"Ah," my dad interrupted. "You'll be good and safe here then, Leah," smiling at me. "You're protected by the village protector," he said, patting Wilson on his shoulder.
"Are you going to be living here by yourself?" Harry asked me.
It was as if his voice pulled me out of reality into another dimension. I nodded sheepishly, feeling embarrassed that the first time I was meeting this striking foreginer was when I looked like I'd just jumped into a pool of my own salty sweat. "Just graduated college. I'll be working here in Easton for a while," I breathed.
"Haz!" Someone called from across the quad. Their voice echoed into the front door where the four of us had congregated.
Harry stepped out into the heat and called back to a large, bearded man and a short, black-haired girl. The girl tossed her long, black curls over her narrow shoulders and said, "Let's get this over with! I'm on a time limit."
"Oi, be there in a minute," he told them. The man and woman continued to stare our way but whispered amongst themselves. Harry leaned into the doorway and reached out to shake my dad's had. "Nice to meet you." He stepped backward out of the doorway, winking at me. "See you around, Lee. Welcome to Easton."
"Leah," I blurted.
Harry merely grinned as he turned away from us and crossed the quad. Wilson stood next to me and watched as Harry disappeared into apartment 403, directly across from my own living quarters. "He really is kind of a village hoodlum. He's got some questionable friends, if you ask me. I've just been waiting to catch him doing something illegal," Wilson said, suddenly not so smiley and way more serious than he had been.
"What's he doing that's illegal?" I asked, my eyes locked on Harry's front door as I hoped he might come back outside and across the quad to talk to me again.
"... I don't know just yet," Wilson said. "I will catch him though. That's the most I've ever heard him talk. He's also the village quiet guy. The village..." He stared up at the ceiling as he tried to think about what to call Harry next, following the now annoying "village _______" theme. "Village hot guy," Wilson laughed and looked at me. "I'm joking. The village hot guy would be me," he said, pointing two short, stubby thumbs at himself.
As Wilson laughed yet again, I looked at my dad. He was laughing to himself in the corner of the room, shaking his head.
After a few more minutes of talking, Wilson left and entered his apartment directly beside my own. I could hear him singing Bohemian Rhapsody through the walls. My dad only laughed. My dad helped me unload and set up some of the bigger things - dishes, lamps, the microwave. Then, he left. Back to Greenville he went. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. If I was able to find another job straight out of college in Greenville, I would have stayed closer to him. We were the only family we had left. I hated leaving him, but he assured me he would be fine. He wanted me to start becoming my own adult. Establishing myself. I just wanted to make sure someone was looking after him while I wasn't.
I didn't want to offend my father, but I was tempted to ask him to come live in the nursing home I was going to be working in. He wasn't really at that age yet where he needed someone helping him with every day activities, but it would have been a way for us to stay closer and for me to keep an eye on him. He'd worked hard for a construction company his entire life, and I knew he would never be okay with sitting in a home playing bingo and coloring for the last years of his life.
The temperature outside became more tolerable as the sun began to lower in the sky. I microwaved some Chef Boyardee and threw it into a bowl for a quick dinner since I didn't have much else to eat yet. I had to open every drawer in the kitchen before I remembered where I'd put the silverware, grabbed a spoon, and headed right outside my front door. My father had surprised me with a small white wicker chair and table for the move, so I slid into the chair and began to eat my meal at the table. In the middle of the quad sniffing some grass was a brown and white dog. It's owner, in apartment 205, called to the pup from his front porch. The dog made it's way back home. The owner was a short, fat, middle-aged man. He smiled at me and waved before returning inside.
The front stoop to my right was covered in plants, so much so that I hadn't noticed the small old woman who was watering the plants. "Beautiful night, eh?"
I stared at the plants along her banister and the plants hanging from the porch ceiling, confused, until she spread two hanging plants and poked her head out to see me. She was tiny and had a little red bandana wrapped around her delicate head, gray hair sticking out of the sides. "Oh, yes," I finally agreed. "It was horribly hot earlier but nice right now."
"This heat is gonna kill my ferns," she said, brushing her wrinkly fingers along a fragile fern frond. "I've had to start watering these poor things three and four times a day to keep them from drying up."
"Well they look lovely," I said, smiling at her.
"Oh child," she chuckled to herself. "You don't have to lie to me. They look horrible."
At that moment, on my left, Wilson's front door swung open and he stepped out, clad in a tan and brown officer uniform. He had a hat in his hand and a gun on his hip, as well as what I could only guess to be a taser, a baton, handcuffs, and a walkie-talkie of some sort. He was still humming some song. "There are my gorgeous ladies!" He said, leaning on his own bannister toward the old lady and me. "Leah. Miss Jones. Enjoying the late afternoon?"
His walkie-talkie made a loud ruckus. I couldn't understand what it said other than the word "urgent."
Wilson sighed. "Well, I must be off. There's a storm a-brewin' downtown but I'm going to save the day!" He turned and began to walk around the building toward the complex parking lot. "Oh! Leah, your father told me your birthday is this upcoming week. Tuesday, right? Party! Get lit! Celebrate good times!!" He said, doing a little dance in the grass. "Let me take you out to dinner."
I wanted to be mad at my dad for telling Wilson about my birthday at all. While it may not have been obvious to my dad, it was obvious to me that something inside Wilson's brain was... off... to say the least. At least he could have told Harry. That dark, handsome Harry. Although, however mad I wanted to be at my dad, I couldn't be. I knew he was just trying to make sure I made friends and actually celebrated with someone instead of sitting in my apartment alone with Netflix and a cup of Ben and Jerry's like he knew I would do.
Wilson's talkie went off again. "Kilmer, we need backup!"
He held down a button on the side and replied, "Ten-four." He looked at me again. "I can't go until you say yes!"
I didn't know what to say. I felt bad for his fellow cops that needed help. "I just- I have more unpacking to do this week-"
"Just a quick dinner! Nothing fancy," he pleaded, running his hand over his slick hair.
"I just-"
"I'm not leaving until you say yes!"
His talkie sounded once more.
"Okay!" I exclaimed. "Fine, just go help whoever needs helping," I said, laughing partially in disbelief that he didn't take his work emergencies more seriously. I shooed him away with my hands.
Wilson bowed to me, then pretended to rip open his uniform shirt like superman, and shouted, "Wilson! To the rescue!!!" He turned and sprinted to the parking lot. From the other side of the buildings, I heard him start up the sirens to his police car. The sirens faded as he disappeared out of the apartment complex and onto the main road.
Miss Jones shook her head. "Odd one, he is."
I nodded.
"You shouldn't have said yes if you didn't want to go, sweetheart," she said.
"He wasn't going to leave otherwise," I defended my actions, stirring what remained of my ravioli. "One date is harmless, right? Maybe all the weirdness is... just a front? He may be a really genuine guy."
She chuckled and raised a shaky hand holding a green canister to pour some water into a different plant on her porch. "I've never seen him act any differently than that and I've lived beside him for three years."
Just then, the front door to apartment 403 directly across from me opened. The bearded man and black-haired girl emerged. Harry walked out of the front door behind them. They all spoke to one-another, but nothing that I could hear. Harry motioned to a part of the girl's arm that was now wrapped in what looked like plastic wrap and cloth. She was beaming. She hugged Harry. The large bearded man shook Harry's hand. They all laughed at a joke together. The bearded man and black-haired girl began to walk across the quad toward the parking lot. They smiled and waved at me. I waved back and turned my attention to Harry. He was standing on his front stoop staring at me. He smirked and waved when we made eye contact. Even from that distance, his eyes were just as glowing and fierce as they had been the first time. I waved. He seemed to smirk again like something was funny, but then turned and disappeared into his apartment.
"You should buy some plants," Miss Jones said suddenly. She had moved around the front of her plants so I could now see her entire tiny body, draped in a long white dress with blue frills along the bottom hem and wrist cuffs. It almost looked like a nightgown I knew my grandmother would have worn if she was still alive. Miss Jones' blue slippers were worn from years of wear.
"Oh," I laughed, my eyes searching the windows of Harry's apartment as I waited for some kind of movement. "I don't have much of a green thumb," I admitted.
"But you see," Miss Jones said, leaning over the banister of my porch toward me. Her old brown eyes were swirling with stories from her past. The closer she leaned in, she more my nostrils filled with the smell of moth balls. She winked at me. "If you hang the plants from up here, they're hard to reach." She was pointing at the ceiling above my porch, like the space she had lots of her own plants hanging. "Gives you a reason to invite the tall boy over." She motioned toward apartment 403.
"Oh," I breathed, my cheeks turning red as I stared down at my nearly empty bowl. "Maybe," I said, finally smiling up at Miss Jones. "Is he an odd one too?"
Miss Jones returned to her plants. "Harold always has people coming in and out of his apartment. All sorts of people. All the time. At night, it's always dark in there and it takes a lot to get him to have meaningful conversations. He's great at small talk. Exceptionally polite though. Always looking to help me out. Always asks me how I'm feeling in the mornings," she laughed. "I've never seen a consistent person going in and out of there. Not sure if he has friends or a girlfriend... now that I think of it, I don't think I've ever seen family in there."
The sun was dipping behind the quad buildings and the single lamp post in the middle of the quad flickered on. I hummed and stood from my chair, scooping up my empty bowl and dirty spoon as I did. "Well, I should get going. Got a good bit of unloading to do before Monday. Nice to meet you."
Miss Jones poked her head out from behind some more plants. "Leah, was it?"
I nodded and grinned.
"Well, Leah, in my 73 years of experience, it's the mysterious ones who are always the most memorable." She beamed slyly at me and disappeared behind her plants.
I shrugged. "What about long-term though? It's the mysterious ones who are the first to flake in the movies."
"Honey, this is life! Not a movie. Who needs long-term anyway?" Miss Jones said, placing her watering pitcher on the ground. "You're young and beautiful. Just focus on having some fun in the here and now, hmm?"
Before I could respond, I heard Miss Jones' front door open and close. As I was about to enter my own apartment, her front door opened again. "I'll put in a good word for you tomorrow when I ask him to come help me water my plants," her voice sounded from behind the plants. She chuckled to herself. Her front door closed again.
Across the quad, out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw a shadow move in the window of 403. As I turned to get a full look, the lights turned off and apartment 403 went dark.