LITMIR.BIZ

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breath and open my eyes.

      There. All’s better now.

      I rock slowly, my head against the wooden headrest. Amos meows, jumping in the window this time to look out with me. He stares at a robin perched on the picket fence as I study the two-storey across the street. The bird looks so out of place against the rotting leaves. A bird like that belongs in the perfect white snow, a crimson marvel in a sea of plainness.

      It flaps and drifts upward and away, landing on the spouting of 312 Bristol Lane.

      I smile as I look at the perfect bricks, the adorable little window at the top, the shining windows in the front. It’s such a lovely house, made even lovelier by the fact there’s a couple there now, a couple I get to study.

      I rock in my chair for a while, staring at the house, wondering where they are. The car is gone, and the house is so empty. I realise I’m so lost without them. It’s odd being on Bristol Lane all alone yet again. I really don’t know how I used to survive when they weren’t over there. What did I do with myself? It feels like a lifetime ago.

      My mind drifts back, and I think about how not so long ago, the house was always empty, the creaky sign in the front yard begging someone to move in. It felt like ages and ages that 312 Bristol Lane was abandoned, desolate, and lonely. Just like me.

      I furrow my brow, massaging my forehead with my thumb and forefinger. Before Bristol Lane, before the empty months, someone lived there. I know they did. I remember there was a couple there for a while, a short while. I remember they left in a hurry on a day not unlike today. Was it last year? Two years ago? Was it October they left or was it summer? Everything’s messed up in my head, and I can’t seem to set it straight. What happened to them? Why did they leave so quickly? My memory fails me.

      But sitting here by myself with nothing to watch, I challenge myself to remember. It’s good to push the mind. I shake my head, trying to recall, searching the inner recesses of my brain for faces and names and details. My head starts to ache from the process, but I can’t let it go.

      Who were they? I can’t believe my memory is so hazy. It frustrates me, causing me to rock a little faster, to rub my head a little bit harder.

       Think. Remember.

      Images come to mind of a couple, a black-haired woman with very tanned skin and an exotic look about her. I see her fuzzily in my mind, the details of her face blurred. She was lean and lanky, but in a model sort of way. She was married, her husband a rather large man. I remember thinking he didn’t need any pie. I do know that much.

      I recall images of them moving in, angrily yelling in the front lawn. There were no sweet kisses. There was no laughter. They were miserable over there from the beginning. I remember feeling like they didn’t deserve a house as grand as 312 Bristol Lane.

      I remember sitting here thinking I wished they would just move out, even on day one.

      Still, I don’t remember the ins and outs of their lives or the details of what they were all about. What did they do all day? What interactions did I witness? I can’t really recall. It’s hell to get old, for the mind to start to fade. It’s crazy what we remember and what we forget.

      I rock for a bit more, staring at the house, still trying to jog my memory, but it’s not really working. It’s like I can’t remember a time the sunshine-yellow woman didn’t live next door. Maybe it’s just that I don’t want to remember a time when she didn’t. I like them. They bring energy to the street.

      The longer I think, though, the more anxious I get. I feel a bit like my skin is crawling, the prickling of the hairs on my arms making me uneasy. I may not remember the last couple so well, but I do get this sense of dread, of heaviness.

      And even though I can’t remember the details, I do get one overwhelming vibe from my jaunt down memory lane: I don’t think I liked them very much.

      In fact, the more I stare at the house, the more I’m certain of it. I didn’t like them at all, especially her. That dark, luscious hair didn’t fool me. She was beautiful on the outside, I know that. But she wasn’t a good person.

      She was nosy. That’s it. I remember. She was so, so nosy. Always looking at me, perusing me like I was some kind of person to keep an eye on. The nerve of her. I’ve lived here so long, and this young thing moved in and thought she could take over the lane. She thought she could be rude, could get in my business. She was always glaring at me, always staring. And not in a neighbourly way or a curious way. It was in a way that told me she didn’t like me.

      There were no afternoon teas with that one. There were no sweet gestures or pies or kind exchanges. There were just nosy stares and questions about what I was doing. There was no neighbourly love, I remember now.

      I was so glad when they left. Surprised but glad. Did they leave in the middle of the night? I think they did. If my memory serves me correctly, which in fairness it doesn’t always, I think one morning I got up and the couple from 312 Bristol Lane were gone. They must’ve packed their belongings in the night and left like some scoundrels disappearing under the cover of darkness.

      I knew she shouldn’t be trusted from day one. And I was right.

      I guess none of it really matters now, though, in truth. Because those neighbours weren’t even important. The new people in 312 Bristol Lane are all that matters. I’m glad the other couple left so early. These two suit me so much better.

      Still, I wonder what happened to them, the old neighbours. Where are they now? Is life working out as they planned?

      I’ve lived long enough to know that life has a way of working out differently, no matter who you are. And now, the couple across the street get a chance to live out their story here, me bearing witness. I hope they get it right. I hope they make the story a good one. I hope they don’t turn out to be scoundrels. I hope with all my heart they find the life they want.

      But even as the thought dances in my deepest wishes, I look down to see my hands slightly shaking. They deserve happiness … but will they get it? Will they find a way to make it work?

      I inhale deeply, clutching my hands together in a prayer-like pose, trying to calm down the tremors.

      It can happen. They can make it work. They can find the life I couldn’t. They can make their own happiness, can’t they? It’s possible. It’s certainly possible. But then again, life doesn’t always work out how you hoped.

      * * *

      It’s dinnertime. I spent the morning in my chair, of course, with my cup of tea. At noon, I watched my soap operas and read the newspaper. I even grabbed my favourite novel, Gone With the Wind. I was feeling literary today I guess, the dusty pages dog-eared from being reread so many times. After all, I was so bored today with the couple from 312 Bristol Lane gone. I wish I knew where they went, if for no other reason than to entertain my mind today with fancy visions of them doing whatever it is they’re doing. I hope they did something fun.

      I was sitting in my rocking chair, flipping through the pages of my book with Amos on my lap when they came home. The car pulled into the driveway. It was late afternoon when they returned, smiling and holding hands up the walkway before heading inside. They looked good, happier than usual. I smiled at the sight of their return, the sun lowering on the horizon. I was so glad they were back. I closed my book and studied them, waiting to see what the view would uncover today.

      It makes me a little sad that my day depends so much on their actions. How crazy that my mood clearly improved when they came home. Then again, they are the only sense of life left in my days. They’re the only things that remind me of what it means to do more than simply exist. Maybe I just need to escape from this house, from the memories – and from the date.

      I have a cup of tea in my hands now as I settle back into the rocking chair. I ate a quick meal at the table, mainly to stretch my legs a bit. I found myself hurrying, though, to get my eating over with. I wanted to get back here so I didn’t miss anything. I hardly got to see any of them today, so I want to make the most of tonight.

      Darkness

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