Like A Good Neighbor

They had been neighbors for years, living right next door to each other, sometimes getting each others mail by mistake.  They would see one another occasionally as they were coming and going; maybe once a week out to the market or into town and they would wave politely, as neighbors do.

She had been a widow for over 14 years and had owned her house since the neighborhood was first built.  Many years ago she was president of the homeowners association.  She found that to be fun at first but quickly grew tired of constant suggestions and endless complaints.  It became more of a bother than she had thought it would be and after her second year stepped aside. 

The old man next door, perhaps a little older than she, was always dressed as if it were Sunday.  He was dapper and quiet reserved.  His yard was as manicured as he and his flower bed always the talk of the neighborhood.

They never really ventured outside in the winter; she lived mostly in her den reading whatever she had gotten from the library, while he often sat in the eating area of his kitchen, watching the news on the small television that sat on the counter next to the microwave.

For weeks at a time there would be no signs of life from either house.   Then last Friday night as the old man sat watching CNN, the walls of his kitchen flashed with the reflected lights from a fire engine.  He went to the window and could see firemen rushing up and down the driveway of his neighbor’s house.

Something happened to him at that very moment.  As he stood looking out, seeing the red flashing lights of the fire truck contrast against the stark white of the snow covered ground his heart sank.  His fingers tightened around the curtain he held open.  His breath fogging up the window as he hoped harder than he had ever hoped before that she was alright.

He would have given anything at that moment to turn the clock back, to change the events of last summer.  Instead of casually nodding hello he would have spoken; he would have been just a little less reserved and spoken to the woman that he admired so much.  He would have asked her to dinner, if only to talk in generalities about the neighborhood, their houses or the new coat he had seen her wearing but never commented on.

He let go of the curtain and sat back down in front of the flickering television.  He wasn’t hearing any sound but was blankly staring at the images of some foreign countries fighting each other, bombing cars and buildings and an old man standing behind a podium most likely proclaiming his side was right.

 A tear rolled down the old man's cheek as a State Farm commercial came on.