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.
