The Fool

Dee has always lived next door to him, his life as much a mystery as her own.

My family had lived next door to him my whole life. It wasn’t until I was in the 5th grade that I had realized his name wasn’t actually Boo, an easy nickname to give any shut in. He was as much a part of this town as the weeds that fought their way up towards the sun through the cracks in the pavement. Though, unlike the headstrong weeds, the man preferred the quiet suffocation of four walls, shut doors, and locked windows.
One of my first memories was sitting at the window, nose pushed up against it in sophomoric enjoyment, as I watched the cars pull up to our street, the kids and parents pouring out of them. I pulled my nose away from the cold window, leaving my nose print like a signature, and ran to my mother. I grabbed at her knees while she sloshed the water in the sink washing a dish far above my head.
I called out her name, Mommy. “yes dear?” she said in the sticky sweet voice adults use when they tall to children.
“when do I get to go to school?” I asked her in protest.
“In a few months, I promise”
I ran back to the window and watched the kids walk with familiar steps into their classrooms, so like a second home to them that they could walk the way with eyes closed. I watched them like my favorite TV show, picking out what girls I wanted to be. The girls with the most sparkly backpacks and the shiniest hair. The girls who laughed with their whole face, daring others to join in.
I busied myself with my dolls that morning, acting out the lives I imagined grown ups lead. I made them kiss and fall in love the way they did in the movies my mother watched. After lunch I left the scene in touched, the folks laid out around the doll house like a crime scene.
My nose pressed up again against the window, drawing hearts and swirls in the wake of my warm breath on the glass. I watched the kids across the street on the playground, wondering what it would be like to have so many people to play with. That’s when I saw them, two boys sneaking through the gates, their lithe bodies turned sideways as they made their escape. I saw an unrecognizable shadow on their faces that I would someday learn was the smirk of adolescent abandon.
They his behind a bush, out of sight from the adults with their bright orange vests. They darted across the street and crouched behind the trash cans that had yet to be brought in from this mornings pick up.
I had to move myself to the corner window now, perching on the old orange easy chair that my father sits in on Sundays while he yells at men who can’t hear him on the TV. The old springs creaked and yawned as I stood on my tippy toes, eyes focused on the boys. They darted from one trash can to the next, stealing furtive glances towards the school yard.
I watched as they walked with hunched backs and quiet feet up to The Man's front porch. They peaked into his windows as my heart rate sped up, not entirely aware t was happening. I stared unblinking as they had a terse conversation apparently about which one of them was going to ring the bell.
Eventually the taller of the two, the obvious beta, walked with small purposeful foot steps up to The Man’s front door. His right hand slowly lifted from his side with the index finger shaking ever so slightly. It hovered for a moment in front of the chipped and rusted doorbell before, in a lighting stroke of courage, he pressed it.
As soon as the deed was done the boys ran with abandon back to the fence and the safety of the school. I alone watched the front porch n curious agony, waiting for a man who would never come.

I was 10 when I started noticing the packages. Almost everyday a man or woman walked up to that front door without a semblance of adventure that had been worn like a medal by the two boys. They dropped off packages of all shapes and sizes.
Some days I’d sit at the window and imagine what the boxes contained. Stores of blood that he’d keep in the fridge to drink at his leisure. Maybe they contained the secret pieces used to make bombs, my pre teen mind trying to place what those things could be. Maybe the boxes were filled with bones or rats or snakes, all the horrid things a young girl thinks about.
I asked my friend Mackenzie one day what she thought were inside the boxes, the two of us sitting cross legged in the crab grass on my front yard. Uninterested in the reddening lacerations that it painted on our bare legs.
“Probably something creepy like stuffed dead animals or used underwear or something” she said with an air of uninterest that was only detectable as a farce by the wild look in her blue eyes.
“used underwear?” I gagged on air at the ludicrous thought.
“what?” she protested, “it’s a thing, some guys are into it” she said in the same cool voice as before. Mackenzie was good for that, spoiling my innocence.

Five years later Mackenzie and I would cease to be friends but not before one last careless fit of youth. It was summer time once again, the hours of unstructured daylight striking an unsettling chord. Left alone to our own devices, Mackenzie, who went by Mac now after puberty graced its loving hands upon her, and I were drinking stolen wine in the bed of a rusted red Toyota.
The truck belonged to some recently graduated seniors from our rival high school, the Roosevelt Raptor sticker on the back window was cracked and faded.
The guys spoke in sentences with locked doors, no entry point for she and I to insert our selves into the conversation. I studied Mac as she leaned back on her hands and pushed her chest ever so slightly up towards the heavens, her tanned skin giving off an ethereal glow in the summer sun. I felt the sting of jealousy as I looked down at my own skin, legs prickly from having forgotten to shave. I felt like a child as I took a long sip from the bottle of wine. It bit my throat as I swallowed. I was roused from my thoughts at the mention of my name.
“Dee lives next door to him” Mac said, perking up at the opportunity to join the boys conversation. “Don’t you Dee?” my face must have betrayed the slightest bit of confusion. A twitch of the upper lip or nearly undetectable furrow of the brow, something only a person who has known you for a decade could see.
“Boo, you live next door to Boo” she said exasperated as though my slow reaction time was making her look less desirable in the eyes of her male suitors.
“Oh yeah, I do” I said with the nonchalance of someone who had seconds before been in a day dream. A childish glow over took the boys faces. Where there had once been strong jaws and hard lines now softened with the remnants of youthful wonder. I had stumbled upon something magnificent, something that made me more desirable than my friend.
The guys asked me a rapid fire of questions, had I ever seen him, is it true that he comes out at night and walks the streets, had I seen anybody go inside, had I ever been inside.
I answered each question, attempting to make my answers more exciting than they really were in a desperate ploy to keep their eyes on me. The wine mixed with the unwavering gazes of these 18 year old boys was instilling a new found confidence in me. I felt mature. I felt like a woman and not a scrawny virgin who didn’t want to shave her legs because she was afraid that she’d nick one of the many mosquito bites that had populated her legs.
When the guys suggested we go to the house I didn’t think twice. I didn’t think about how my parents would be home and I certainly didn’t think about the fact that all five of us had been drinking. These guys were practically men, but in my eyes they more resembled gods. Something as trivial as drinking and driving couldn’t effect them the way it did mere mortals.
The five of us squeezed into the front seat with Mac and me sitting on top of the boys, our bodies forming into malleable puzzle piece. Mac's legs grazed mine as we hugged a tight corner, her head lolling back in laughter. Both windows were down in the car creating a whirlwind of air coming from all directions. My hair whipped across my face aggressively, cutting my vision into snapshots like an old movie reel.
Mac's squeals of delight only egged Stephen, our fearless pilot, on more. His foot hit hard onto the gas pedal, daring death to try and come for us. A voice in my head struggled to be heard, urging me to get out of this car. I quieted the voice by copying Mac, by being a wild girl who didn’t care about living to see the next day. I stuck my head out the open window and howled to the moon that was just beginning to greet the early evening sky.
Stephen parked the truck around the corner from my street, close to the entrance to the gymnasium of the school that sat across. He turned the key and the sudden silence of the night crashed upon us. The silence of suburbia filled our ears and crept up our spines. Silence has a way of allowing our minds to recess to its darkest recesses.
“let's go” the one who’s lap I had been predominantly sitting on exclaimed. His quick exit from the car jostled me into the glove compartment, noticeable to only Mac.
We all followed suit, exiting the car in the ungraceful fashion of an over packed car. The air was colder. I wrapped my arms around myself in a hopeless attempt at retaining some of that body heat we shared in the car. I hadn’t realized how eager I was to be out of that car until I felt the reality of solid ground.
The one I had been sitting on eyed my stance, eyes moving from my bare arms to the small breasts that had been growing the past year, slowly but steadily.
“you want my jacket?” he asked me. I nodded my head and watched with undivided attention as he reached behind himself with one arm and pulled the hoodie up over himself.
I took my time putting it on, imaging myself in slow motion like a woman playing a teenager in one of those teen dramas Mac and I used to watch together, studying it meticulously. The smell of him on the collar like an intoxicating perfume. I breathed it in deeply trying to not make a sound.
“Just give it back, OK?” he said as I breathed out, “don’t be one of those girls who steals jackets.” A look of far off disdain written on his face.
“oh no, don’t worry, I’m not like those girls” I said confidently, all the while wondering who those girls were.
Stephen led the way. I watched as his hand lifted and rested itself on Mac's hip, how naturally it all played out. I studied their movements as he leaned in towards her and whispered something. I listened to the mellifluous ringing of her laugh, familiar and far away.
We walked with the confident gait of teenagers, unable to imagine the any moment past the never ending present. I stopped and watched Stephen unlatch himself from Mac, her body shrinking ever so slightly in his absence, as he made his way to the front window.
I knew the curtains would be pulled tight, whether to keep the outside world away or vice versa I never was sure. Stephen cupped his hands around his face and leaned I to the dusty glass. He turned to the rest of us and shook his head. Straightening up, he looked right and left before nodding to us to follow him.
I stole a glance towards my house. The only sign of life was a few lights left on in unattended rooms. I saw the flicker of colors across the curtains in the front room, an indication that my parents were likely watching TV in silence completely oblivious to the outside world.
I trailed behind the rest of the group, walking with shoulders hunched and precise footfalls. I had never been in the man’s back yard before, the state of disarray was no shock to my preconceived notion of the man. Tall grass swayed in the late summer evening breeze, the coarse weeds picked at my legs as we walked through them.
“Stephen, what are you doing?” Mac hissed. I saw he had a small rock in his hand.
“Nothing” he said in a cool calming tone. Mac opened her mouth but closed it again without saying another word. “Just having a bit of fun, right?” he said as his eyes met mine, he winked.
I looked at Mac as if to say sorry for his flirting but she crossed her arms and kept her eyes firmly on Stephen.
I didn’t like the rock but I kept my eyes on it as his threw it up and caught it again, repeating the hand eye coordination lazily. Without further discussion, he threw the rock, it his the faded blue paneling and rolled down, harmless.
I wanted to go but said nothing, the fear of looking uncool kept my lips glued together. The other boys grabbed stones from the dead grass and followed Stephen’s lead, some of them hitting the windows of the second story.
I waited for Mac to tell them to stop being immature, to leave, to do anything else. I watched as Mac slunk down into the grass, the haunch of her back the only thing visible in the moonlight. She arose with a rick in her hand, larger than the ones the boys had been using. Stephen and the others didn’t notice.
“Mac” I whined under my breath, a pleading for only her ears.
“Lighten up Dee” she laughed as she held the rock up towards her ear and shot it forward. It hit a first floor window, the sound of the breaking glass cutting through the silence of the night. A dog barked in a nearby back yard, the sound of each yap gripped my spine and sent a shock to the base of my skull.
The boys ran first. Wildly and recklessly they sprinted through the side gate, down the street, and back to Stephen’s truck. Mac and I followed in their wake and jumped into the truck bed before they sped off. If we had been any longer I doubted they would even have waited.
Mac thrust her head back in orgasmic laughter as I clung into the rim of the truck, trying not to get jostled from the reckless driving. Mac, noticing my less than pleased face yelled “what?” the words barely audible from the wind raping on my ear drums. I shook my head and looked away.
A few minutes later the truck was parked in the lonely parking lot of a church. The quiet of the night now settling in once again around us, I heard the carefree laughter of the boys in the truck. Mac hoped out of the truck bed and I followed her lead. The Stephen passes Mac the left over bottle of wine but pulled it away from her before she could grab it.
“Not without some payment” he cooed at her and pursed his lips. She stood on tippy toes to give him a peck on the lips but he put his strong arms around her and held her firmly in place. They stayed that way for a few moments, the stomach churning sounds of their wet tongues pushing against each other.
One of the other boys handed me the wine bottle and I took a long chug from it.
“That was fun wasn’t it Dee?” Mac said as she craned her neck away from Stephen, her body still being held firmly against his. I took another long gulp from the bottle before passing it, noticeably avoiding the question.
I walked home later that night forgetting that I had promised to return the sweatshirt. Alone and a little drunk, I drank in the smell of boy on the collar, taking in big luxurious breaths. Mac had left with Stephen and if I had been more sober I may have cared, but in this moment I was happy to be alone.
It wasn’t until I was a block away that I started to feel the creep of anxiety. My mind created a thousand different scenarios of what may be waiting for me when I returned home, when I would see the mans house again. I put the hood on, the scent growing , enveloping me in the false sense of security that men and boys give.
I quietly slunk behind a bush, trying to find a suitable vantage point to view the crime scene. The street was calm, quiet. The street lamps glowed a dull yellow casting ambient shadows on the sidewalks. The street showed no signs of disturbance. The night played on quietly as if nothing of note had ever happened here.

I hadn’t realized how much I had missed our little house and our quiet street until now. I parked my car on the sidewalk in front, pausing for a moment to watch the kids across the street play on their new playground, different from the one I had grown up on. More modern, safer.
I grabbed my purse and the bag if laundry from the backseat, the rest of my things could wait. My father was sitting in his orange chair when I walked in, the sight of me rousing him from his place.
“Welcome home pumpkin” he said while he hugged me for 5 seconds longer than usual. “ Go say hello to your mother, she’s in the kitchen. I dropped my things momentarily in the living room, something I would have never gotten away with when I was in high school.
Mom was throwing flour on a rolling pin getting it ready to flatten some ginger bread. “ You didn’t wait for me?” I protested.
“This is only the first batch, we can make more. I thought you didn’t like ginger bread?” she said with a smirk, feigning annoyance.
I don’t like ginger bread but the sight if my mother leaning her body into he rolling pin, working the dough until it was the thickness she wanted, stirred up sweet nostalgia. I had only been away from home for a few short months yet it felt like everything had changed and yet nothing at all had.
“You have laundry” she said as more of a statement than a question. Nodded my head. “Throw in your darks, I’m about to do a load.”
I grabbed my purse and laundry bag from the front room. My father started asking me questions, how finals went, if roommate had broken up with that boyfriend from back home yet. I said I be right back as I scurried to the garage.
I dumped my black clothing in the washing machine, leggings, sock, bras. I pulled out a jacket from the bottom of the pile, the one the boy had given me on that night almost 3 and a half years ago. The scent of boy long gone from it but the memories of reckless youth stitched into every seam. I threw it in the machine and closed the lid.
My mind went back to Mac as it did from time to time. Knowing her had been like living through a hurricane, the danger banging at your door, enticing and cruel.
My rush of joy at being home for Christmas was suddenly replaced with a gnawing fear that coursed through my veins. Home felt a little less like home.
“Did you hear?” the soothing voice of my mother pulled me from my day dreams.
“Hear what?” I asked, eager to find that warmth I felt upon parking my car not 5 minutes ago.
“The old man next door passed away” she stole a side ways glance at me as she pierced the dough with the outline of a man.
“Boo?” I clarified.
“I never like that nick name” She said, thusly answering my question. “His name with Kurt Sullivan.” She paused, waiting for a response from me. I grabbed a corner of unused ginger bread dough and rolled it into a ball between my fingers.
“The house was a mess when they went though it” she continued. I chewed the uncooked dough, disappointed that the taste of it still repulsed me.
“They find anything interesting?” I asked, grabbing a glass of water from the sink wash out the foul taste in my mouth.
“Every room… books” she said with floury white hands extended in front of her, as if the yellow walls round her were filled with books too.
“That’s it?” I asked, disappointed that they hadn’t found a body or a time machine or a wife made out of 100 sticks of butter.
“They found thousands of them, thousands!” she exclaimed, trying to incite a reaction out of me. “Floor to ceiling, every room. Apparently Mr. Sullivan sat inside all day everyday and read.”
“Weird” I said, finishing the glass of water and placing it in the sink.