Reincarnated
Neighbors
It was another, typical day. The hot sun was bearing mercilessly down upon the pavement and reflecting blindingly off the roofs of the suburban houses. I was sitting on my porch, drinking a glass of cool, slightly sweetened lemonade and rocking back and forth in my chair.
Across the street, Mrs. Jenkins, dressed in stained, baby blue overalls and a wide-brimmed hat, leaned over her garden. I watched her shovel away at the fertilized earth with a smile on my face, enjoying the normalcy of the early afternoon.
This was the way life should be all the time.
The kids, even though all of them grew up eventually, will always play on the road without fearing traffic. The husbands would leave early for work and come back just in time for supper, being greeted by excited youngsters who would shout, “Daddy, guess what I did today?” The housewives would meet at each other’s houses and talk about whatever housewives talked about.
Yep, this was home to me. But as I was mulling all this over in my mind, a moving van made its way down the street, followed by another one, and behind that one came a forest green SUV. I watched all three vehicles pull into the driveway of the house on my left, right next door.
Even though I shouldn’t have been all that surprised, the appearance of these cars disturbed me. I have gotten so used to seeing that house empty that it unnerved me to realize that someone was finally moving in. After Mr. Longlife died, all the neighborhood residents kind of made the house a shrine to him, keeping up its maintenance but never really intending for it to be sold. Of course, the whole notion was silly. The land and the building on it didn’t belong to anyone but the bank because Mr. Longlife hadn’t had any family to pass it down to.
So, my lemonade long forgotten, I watched curiously as the moving men began unloading furniture from the back of the vans, their muscled arms bulging under the weight and sweat pouring down their faces and necks. The SUV’s engine finally shut off with a final click and the doors on both sides flew open.
The first one out was a little boy about eight years old. He had a small build for his age, fiery red hair, and sun-kissed freckles all over his cheeks and nose. Over his shoulder, he carried a backpack with a transformer on it and in his hand he held a portable game of some sorts. Without waiting for anyone else, the kid ran up the steps, avoided crashing into the movers, and disappeared inside the house.
Then, almost as if planned, two adults climbed out. One was a woman, who I assumed was the mother; the other one was a man, who I predicted was the father. They both wore shorts and loose t-shirts. The woman was short and average build, neither skinny nor fat. Her red hair was pulled back into a pony tail like a school girl’s and she was fanning herself with some kind of traveling brochure. The man was slightly pudgy, but I assumed he was handsome back in the day. He still had a full head of hair, though gray in color, and wore smart-looking glasses on the bridge of his nose.
Together, they gathered up some things from the opened trunk and began walking towards the front door, the man shouting orders to the huffing and puffing movers. I was about to turn back to my lemonade, expecting that to be the highlight of the new neighbor’s arrival, but a movement from the SUV caught my eye.
A girl of about seventeen was getting out of the car. She was petite, maybe about 5’3 in height, and slim as a walking stick. Her reddish brown hair was loose, falling in rippling waves down her shoulders and to the middle of her back, and her pretty face was contorted into an expression of the greatest displeasure. She was talking to someone on a cell phone which I would have missed seeing if she hadn’t been pressing it tightly to her ear, and I caught a few words of her conversation.
“What do you mean you can’t visit this weekend?” she asked, her voice rising and falling with anger and…disappointment. Obviously, whoever was on the other end didn’t make her feel any better because she grimaced and said, “Whatever, Andrew, I get it. Don’t bother calling me back.” With that, she snapped the phone shut and took a deep breath.
I was about to turn away, but she sensed me watching her and looked up to meet my eyes. I drew in a breath, the air wheezing through my tightly clenched teeth. Up until now, she looked just like the average, American teenager, pretty but nothing too out of the ordinary. But as soon as those orbs of hers landed on me, I couldn’t help but feel like I was about to pass out.
The moment only lasted a short time, and she dismissed me. Sighing, she turned from me and trudged up the steps, following the rest of her family inside. I stared after her with a sinking feeling in my stomach, feeling like I had just seen a ghost.
Because, even if it seemed impossible, she was the exact copy of Mary-Beth, my deceased wife.
Across the street, Mrs. Jenkins, dressed in stained, baby blue overalls and a wide-brimmed hat, leaned over her garden. I watched her shovel away at the fertilized earth with a smile on my face, enjoying the normalcy of the early afternoon.
This was the way life should be all the time.
The kids, even though all of them grew up eventually, will always play on the road without fearing traffic. The husbands would leave early for work and come back just in time for supper, being greeted by excited youngsters who would shout, “Daddy, guess what I did today?” The housewives would meet at each other’s houses and talk about whatever housewives talked about.
Yep, this was home to me. But as I was mulling all this over in my mind, a moving van made its way down the street, followed by another one, and behind that one came a forest green SUV. I watched all three vehicles pull into the driveway of the house on my left, right next door.
Even though I shouldn’t have been all that surprised, the appearance of these cars disturbed me. I have gotten so used to seeing that house empty that it unnerved me to realize that someone was finally moving in. After Mr. Longlife died, all the neighborhood residents kind of made the house a shrine to him, keeping up its maintenance but never really intending for it to be sold. Of course, the whole notion was silly. The land and the building on it didn’t belong to anyone but the bank because Mr. Longlife hadn’t had any family to pass it down to.
So, my lemonade long forgotten, I watched curiously as the moving men began unloading furniture from the back of the vans, their muscled arms bulging under the weight and sweat pouring down their faces and necks. The SUV’s engine finally shut off with a final click and the doors on both sides flew open.
The first one out was a little boy about eight years old. He had a small build for his age, fiery red hair, and sun-kissed freckles all over his cheeks and nose. Over his shoulder, he carried a backpack with a transformer on it and in his hand he held a portable game of some sorts. Without waiting for anyone else, the kid ran up the steps, avoided crashing into the movers, and disappeared inside the house.
Then, almost as if planned, two adults climbed out. One was a woman, who I assumed was the mother; the other one was a man, who I predicted was the father. They both wore shorts and loose t-shirts. The woman was short and average build, neither skinny nor fat. Her red hair was pulled back into a pony tail like a school girl’s and she was fanning herself with some kind of traveling brochure. The man was slightly pudgy, but I assumed he was handsome back in the day. He still had a full head of hair, though gray in color, and wore smart-looking glasses on the bridge of his nose.
Together, they gathered up some things from the opened trunk and began walking towards the front door, the man shouting orders to the huffing and puffing movers. I was about to turn back to my lemonade, expecting that to be the highlight of the new neighbor’s arrival, but a movement from the SUV caught my eye.
A girl of about seventeen was getting out of the car. She was petite, maybe about 5’3 in height, and slim as a walking stick. Her reddish brown hair was loose, falling in rippling waves down her shoulders and to the middle of her back, and her pretty face was contorted into an expression of the greatest displeasure. She was talking to someone on a cell phone which I would have missed seeing if she hadn’t been pressing it tightly to her ear, and I caught a few words of her conversation.
“What do you mean you can’t visit this weekend?” she asked, her voice rising and falling with anger and…disappointment. Obviously, whoever was on the other end didn’t make her feel any better because she grimaced and said, “Whatever, Andrew, I get it. Don’t bother calling me back.” With that, she snapped the phone shut and took a deep breath.
I was about to turn away, but she sensed me watching her and looked up to meet my eyes. I drew in a breath, the air wheezing through my tightly clenched teeth. Up until now, she looked just like the average, American teenager, pretty but nothing too out of the ordinary. But as soon as those orbs of hers landed on me, I couldn’t help but feel like I was about to pass out.
The moment only lasted a short time, and she dismissed me. Sighing, she turned from me and trudged up the steps, following the rest of her family inside. I stared after her with a sinking feeling in my stomach, feeling like I had just seen a ghost.
Because, even if it seemed impossible, she was the exact copy of Mary-Beth, my deceased wife.
♠ ♠ ♠
Comment please?-creature