The Neighbours

He just wanted to stay in, but there was no choice. With a day off from school, Michael had to clear snow off the sidewalk, driveway and front steps before his stepfather came home. And he was done, but his mother noticed that their neighbours were very quiet that afternoon. No car leaving the house early that morning. No tire tracks or footprints in or out of the house. He looked over and sighed deeply.

They had known them from the moment they had moved in eight years ago. Michael did not want to move again, leaving friends and a neighbourhood he knew well, but his mother and stepfather had found a place they now liked and they were determined to have a home in the quietest neighbourhood he had ever known. No one else was out and seen doing anything, even on the weekend when they moved in. It was only when he walked into their new backyard that he noticed the older and heavier man over the fence watering some creeping plant. Michael knew he would have to be neighbourly, so it was better to start now while there was a friendly face in front of him. That was the first day.

His mother was surprised to see her son looking over the fence and laughing with this stranger. The man seemed cheerful as he held a hose and a rake and talked loudly about the neighbourhood, his family, and how he made his own wine from the grapes grown on his vines. She could hear it all from behind the curtain and it made her smile. Her son had made a friend in a place he did not want to be in.

Friend? His mother had said it to herself without wanting Michael to hear it. It must have grown from that moment. He had no contact with the neighbours besides this one man in his impressive backyard and the occasional greeting given very quickly from the driveway. But winters brought them together. They had snow to clear, and they even challenged each other to see how quickly they could do it (Michael was kind enough to let his neighbour win and to listen to his mother when she told him to give in). Yes, a friend…

He was actually sent over to ask if they needed their snow cleared (first time he ever had to do such a thing). There was the temptation to clear it without asking (very strong). Wouldn’t work, though; his mother would ask about their home and what little he could see standing on their doorstep; might even call to see if he spoke to them (did she get their number? why didn't she just call?). No, he had to go over, disturbing the drifts of snow growing around both their homes.

No doorbell. Why hadn’t his family ever come over for a visit or just to talk? He wasn’t that social, but he knew that his mother loved to talk and then talk some more with other people about what she had learned from just a short stay in someone’s kitchen or living room. Michael knew that he was being sent in undercover and wanted to stay out of the game. He knocked again.

After the second knock, he saw a hand go up to the curtain in the windows facing the balcony. It was the man’s wife, a very nervous-looking woman he had never spoken to before but had been friendly enough to from the distance of his home. She opened her eyes wide when she saw him standing in front of the door with his shovel.

“Michael…”

“Hello, Miss V.” He felt a little colder now. “Do you need help with your snow?”

She moved away from the falling curtain and he could see her body grow bigger behind the frosted glass.

“I don’t think it’s…” She spoke as she opened the door, but then paused at the blinding whiteness of the grey sky and drifts outside. He understood this, even though it was overcast. He took his shades off.

“It really came down overnight. Even my school shut down.”

She just stood there in a heavy baby blue housecoat and matching slippers, staring at the snow.

“Miss V?”

“Yes, I think you should clear it. But when you do, come back for some hot chocolate and biscuits.”

“Okay.”

As he walked down the steps, he heard the door close slowly behind him with a strong metal groan. The wind picked up and whistled in his ears; the drifting snow began to sting his face.

*

It did not take that long. From the front steps to the driveway and sidewalk, it was under an hour. The wind had died down and he felt his entire body give a long and unexpected quiet howl for rest. He was soaking in his sweat but it felt good to sit on the steps and stare at what he had done. A few cars passed by and he knew that the snowplows would push all the dirty snow up onto the edge of the road, but so far, it looked pretty good.

There was a promise of hot chocolate and biscuits.

“Miss V?”

Not a sound. He knocked again.

“Miss V? It’s all done. Steps, driveway, sidewalk… Everything.”

He saw her slowly reform behind the frosted glass again.

“Thank you. You are a good boy.”

She opened the door and he noted the table with a tray carrying steaming hot chocolate in a large plastic mug.

“Oh, thanks. It was nothing.” He took the cup, passing it quickly from one hand to the other. It was very sweet.

“Please, come in.”

This is what his mother wanted. Michael knew that she would ask for all of the details he could pick up about their home and how they lived in it. In the hallway, he quickly glanced down to the kitchen and over at the front room. Same design as their place; same set up of furniture that no one was allowed to use. Some family photos, too. A daughter he never met was posed on the lap of a young Mrs. V, and seemed quite happy. It was only after sipping the cooling chocolate a second time that he noted how the furniture – all wrapped in plastic – was almost the exact same shade of blue as her housecoat, her slippers, the carpeting, the walls, and what little he could see of their curtains in the living room. Michael felt the air grow tighter in his chest.

His mother would want to know everything. He shifted his weight from boot to boot on the small powder blue front mat.

“I am sorry that I did not bring biscuits. Or make them. I thought I had some there in the kitchen.”

“No problem.” He shifted his weight again. “This is very good.”

“Thank you. I never know if it`s right. He always says that I make it too dull.”

He did not know what to say. The drink felt a little more comfortable in his hands. He looked down the hallway and noted how dark she kept the home even in the afternoon. He could not smell any cooking or baking.

“All the time, not sweet enough or not enough nutmeg and cinnamon for him. Not enough of anything. Like I don’t know how to make him just a stupid drink when it’s cold, or cook meals for him. My whole life, that is what I do for him. Just cooking and cleaning and him eating and complaining. Is that what a marriage is all about? Really?”

Was he supposed to give her an answer? Michael wanted to leave, but he also could not think of what to say to her. He had not spent any time with this neighbour in her home and now it seemed like she was giving him a confession about her life and disappointments. Maybe she had no one to really talk to (never saw kids visiting the place; no one, really). The wind was growing harder outside and he could feel the cold crawl of sweat down his back.

“Next time, there will be biscuits. I promise that.”

“Miss V, that’s okay. Okay.” He handed her the empty cup. “And I will help with the snow again if you need anything, okay? Don’t worry about the snow.”

She smiled, but it was a smile he had never seen anyone give before, at least not to him. There was something unpleasant behind all of it. But what was it? What was she saying? He did not return it.

“That is nice of you, Michael. We will take care of it. Okay…”

“Okay.” He stared back at the work he had just completed. “See you, Miss V.”

“Right. Good kid.”

He could not control his feet this time. He was at the end of the neighbour’s driveway before the door closed again, and he began to walk a little faster. Just a little bit faster, almost slipping on the refrozen patches of ice now exposed on the sidewalk. In the garage, he had to catch his breath and look out at the snow covering the facing homes and street. The odours of oil and well-used tools was comforting. He stood there with the melting snow on his shovel.

What was it that was bothering him? Why was it bothering him?

The wind began to pick up, bringing small drifts into the garage. The weather was going to continue for a little while longer.