For All You Have Left

Chapter Six Next door

It’s 6:30 in the morning. I’m barely awake. The light pouring in through every window in this little apartment is blinding me. I readjust my sweatshirt and let it hang over the boxers I sleep in every night. There are exactly eleven steps from my bedroom to the door. Sometimes I get bored of doing the same thing over and over again, so I count. Ten. Eleven. I swing open the door and reach down to pick up my paper. It’s there every morning — without fail. I slide the rubber band off — like I do every morning — and unfold its accordion pages. And as if it were second nature, I turn to the last page just when the door across the hall opens and a man freezes in the doorway and stares at me.

I panic. I feel as if I should be embarrassed of stalking him yesterday — as if he knows or something — even though it really was Hannah who was doing most of the stalking. I quickly roll the newspaper back up and force my lips to move.

“Hi,” I say and quickly drop my eyes.

Oh my God. I notice my bare legs where my sweatshirt ends. It looks as if I’m not wearing any pants. I tug at the boxers, trying to will them to be longer, but I don’t think they’re any match against my oversized sweatshirt.

“Hi,” he says, with a warm smile. “I just moved in.”

There’s a second where I don’t say anything. I know it’s my turn to talk, but I haven’t got the foggiest idea of what to say. What if he heard Hannah yesterday through the door? What can I say that makes me look less like a creeper?

“Really?” I ask, at last, giving him a pretend, puzzled look. My voice sort of cracks, and I clear my throat and try my best to recover. “You must be a really quiet mover. I didn’t even notice.”

He chuckles and looks down at his welcome mat.

“I tried to keep it down,” he says, looking back up. “I’m Jorgen.”

He takes a step and extends his hand toward me.

“Ada,” I say, meeting his hand.

“Ada,” he repeats, almost as if he’s questioning whether I know my own name or not. But he seems strangely relieved, at the same time.

My eyebrows instinctively wrinkle a little in response to his questioning look as I take my hand back and run it through my wild strands of hair. But I figure out quickly that trying to tame my bed head is pretty useless, and I give up.

He’s still staring at me — as if he’s trying to place me in his memory or something.

“We’ve uh…,” I stutter. “We’ve never met, I don’t think,” I try to reassure him.

He doesn’t quite look satisfied.

“I’m a…,” I start and then laugh nervously. “I’m not a one-night stand or a girl you never called, I promise,” I say, forcing out another laugh.

He doesn’t even crack a smile, and his deep stare on me turns even more unreadable. I put my hand on my doorknob and start to turn it. I’m now completely and utterly embarrassed. But at least the mystery is solved. He’s a weirdo who stares a lot and who can’t take a joke. I can’t wait to tell Hannah.

“No,” he suddenly says.

I stop instantly and slowly turn back toward him. His eyes are wide now, and his face is flushed.

“That’s not what I was thinking.” His voice is softer this time.

“No, I know. I’m sorry. I was just kidding,” I rattle off.

He lowers his eyes and shakes his head. “I know,” he says, starting to grin.

Then, there’s another awkward pause, and I start to turn again but something stops me. It seems as though I’ve come to acquire some sort of an affinity for strange neighbors. Plus, maybe the joke wasn’t the best for having just met someone. I feel weird just leaving on that.

“Are you new to Columbia?” I ask because I don’t know what else to say.

He looks up at me.

“Uh…no, actually, I’m just moving from across town. You?”

“No,” I say, “not new. I’ve basically been here my whole life. My family moved here from Independence when I was young.”

He nods his head. “I grew up in a small town east of here — Berger.”

I immediately recognize the name. I did a story several months back about a guy in that area. The little town was next to some other small town, and they were both known for something. It takes me a second, but it finally comes to me.

“By Hermann,” I say. “You have the wineries.”

He nods. “That would be us.”

There’s a pause before I open my mouth again. “Well, welcome to this side of town. It’s quiet. Nice. No complaints.”

He’s smiling by the time I finish.

“I like what I see so far,” he says, looking around and eventually landing back on my pantless legs.

And that would be my cue to exit. I haven’t ruled out that he’s not a dangerous weirdo yet.

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” I quickly stammer.

I reach again for the doorknob.

“It was nice to meet you too, Ada.”

I meekly smile in his direction one last time and then turn the knob and push through my door. It closes behind me, and I twist the dead bolt and let go of a breath.

A moment goes by, and I’m still standing with my back against the door replaying the last few minutes of my life, thankful that they’re over, until I slowly slide to the middle of the door and fix my right eye over the peep hole. He’s still staring at my door. Startled, I quickly move my eye away from the little window. But after a second, I find myself gravitating toward the glass again. I watch as he picks up his newspaper and looks at my door one more time — and this time, I don’t flinch. He looks my way for a second, arches one eyebrow and then turns and slides back inside his apartment.

God, Hannah was right. His eyes really are so blue, and his muscles are definitely…well, noticeable.

I close my eyes and for a second, I think about him and his blue eyes and his big muscles and his perfectly tanned skin. And I forget about my luck with neighbors and my big, awkward mouth and his staring obsession, until another image skips to the forefront of my mind and plops right down. It’s of Suri at a table with her four cat-people sitting across from the Renaissance queen, a horse and a jousting stick. A sigh instantly follows.

“Damn it,” I whisper to myself. “I wonder where he hides all his cats.”