The Golden Neighbor

        As Charlotte was pouring the hot water over her tea bag into her favorite mug, she couldn’t help but feel unresolved after last night. She didn’t get much sleep because he was gone. Maybe it was her fault, maybe it was his, but either way, she didn’t know if or when he was coming back. It had been like this for some time, arguments growing more and more heated, each one of them pushing a little bit too far. This time felt different. She was scared this was it, they had finally crossed that line that they might never be able to come back over again. She looked out the window across the overgrown hedges and wondered if anyone would ever do something with that old abandoned maison de campagne with the green shutters.

               She walked outside and felt the salty air from the Atlantic wash over her. She could hear the waves crashing beyond the trees. The chilly breeze was rustling through the fig tree her grandfather had planted all those years ago. The sky swirled between ash and pearl, like most days in Les Portes en Re. This weather always brought comfort to her, especially when she was in this type of mood. Charlotte sat down, trying not to spill her tea, in one of the lounge chairs near the tree. She was glad they didn’t have any neighbors this far down the street. There was some comfort in knowing no one was going to barge into the yard to try to make small talk. She grabbed the book that was left out there last night before everything went down. She just wanted to get away. Anywhere was better than reality without him there.

Crash! Charlotte woke up to a clap of intense thunder. I must’ve fallen asleep while reading. She hadn’t even noticed the small drizzle that would usually warn her to go inside. She scrambled to get out of the now soaked chair, but could hardly see the ground through the thick fog that had come down during her nap. She heard another small shatter as her tea mug fell to its doom among the chaos. Why wasn’t this forecasted on the news? You’d think they would’ve warned us about something like this! She finally felt the door with her outstretched hands and as she pulled it open, it smashed against the siding of the house with the force of the wind. It was a storm of biblical proportions, and Charlotte was in the eye. She hopped inside and pulled the door shut as hard as she could. She looked at the outline of the shards of her favorite tea mug through the fog and the downpour, then turned away to get changed.

Later that evening, after hours of wiping up the cascade of rainwater that had followed her into the entryway, Charlotte lit a candle on the coffee table. The power was out because of the storm, and the phone lines were down too. Despite that, she was finally warm and finally dry. She sat down on the couch and curled her knees into her chest. He was still gone. The rain was still coming down pretty hard outside. She had no idea where he was, if he was safe, or if he had experienced the same torrential downpour that she had. Thunder rumbled off in the distance. She figured she wouldn’t be getting much sleep again that night. She looked out the window, and between teary drops of rain, she could make out a little glimmer of glowing light in the decrepit maison de campagne across the way. It grew in intensity for a couple of seconds and then in a blink, it was gone. “What a day,” murmured Charlotte into the dark. She stretched out her legs, settled into the daybed, and willed herself to close her eyes.

Hazy is the best word to describe how Charlotte felt early that next morning. She wasn’t sure if she had slept at all, but couldn’t remember lying awake either. It felt like a dream, the whole preceding 24 hours. Outside the sun was shining strong in the budding morning hours. Harder than it had in recent years if Charlotte remembered correctly. It didn’t even look like a storm had happened the day before. She heard a light, feminine voice humming. What? There shouldn’t be anyone this far down the street here with me. It definitely wasn’t him. Perhaps it was a group of kids trying to sneak onto her beachfront. She groggily stood up and poked her head out the door. The humming continued, but it wasn’t coming from the beach. It was coming from that old maison de campagne. She remembered the light she had seen last night, but at the time she thought it could’ve been a dream. But then again she didn’t even know if she had fallen asleep in the first place.

“Bonjour? Hello?” she called out. The humming stopped. “Hello? Is someone there?” she tried again.

“Oh, excuse me! Hello!” The airy voice replied from beyond the bushes. “What a storm it was yesterday! How are you feeling my child?” Charlotte couldn’t see anyone over there, but the voice was as clear as the unusual sky above.

“Uh… I’m fine… How are you?” she replied hesitantly.

“I am how I am my child. Now, you’d better go clean up. You haven’t slept a wink in days, and I know how much you and your soul need refreshing. Go on, leave me be.”

Charlotte was shocked at the curtness of her reply, and how intruding this neighbor was being. What did this mysterious newcomer know about her? Despite her reservations, Charlotte couldn’t help but feel compelled to do as they said. She hesitated by the door for a second to see if the neighbor would follow up on her comment, but all she heard was that humming. Charlotte closed the door and leaned back on it, looking at the condition of her home. She saw her clothes and the towels she used for cleaning from the day before strewn about, half-soaked and half-dry. The tea kettle had some leftover water in it, now gone cold. There were things thrown everywhere from the fight, dishes in the sink even though she hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Even before he had gone, she let cleaning obligations and chores build up in defiance of their circumstance. She had pretended all of it wasn’t there, the storm justifying her negligence. Charlotte slowly picked up the dirty laundry and headed towards the shower.

Curiosity got the best of Charlotte that afternoon when she decided to sneak near the bushes to see what she could find out about this new neighbor. She crept across to the edge of her yard and stood near the bushes, close to where the voice came from earlier. She listened for any sign of anyone on the other side and heard nothing. She didn’t know what she was planning, maybe simply to watch or to put a face to the whimsical voice she’d heard. She peered around the corner, trying to look into the broken windows of the maison and she saw that same small glow she’d seen in her dreamy state. As she stepped forward to get a better look, it swelled and flashed in her eyes with a force that threw her back into her own yard. She tried to keep an eye on it, but it had dispersed like one of those soft, golden fireworks you’d see at le fête nationale. There was that humming again.

Perhaps this new neighbor had an explanation for what just happened. “Did you see that?” Charlotte called out to the neighbor.

“You wanted to see me, didn’t you? You can’t. I am everywhere possible and nowhere at all,” replied the voice.

Charlotte was confused. “What are you talking about? Haven’t you moved into the house?”

All she got in return was more humming, and there wasn’t anyone over there as far as she could tell. She debated trying to go over there again but held off, lest there be another bomb of light, or torrential storm or something.

She could be going crazy. Didn’t that happen to people in stress? She wished at that moment that everything would go back to normal. That he would come back and they’d stop their immature antics. She needed someone to verify what was happening around her, and what had been happening for the past 24 hours. Nothing seemed normal, but she felt surprisingly at peace like someone was watching over her and caring for her. She just wanted him there with her.

“He’ll be back my child, don’t you worry. I have it all under control.” The voice decided to speak again. “You just have something to take care of first.”

Charlotte wondered if she had spoken her thoughts aloud “What? W-what are you talking about? What… I mean, w-who are you and h-how do you know these things?” she demanded shakily. She couldn’t see anyone over the bushes because she was so far back from the blast. She hastily stood up.

“Oh don’t be foolish or scared now. You didn’t speak aloud, but I hear you, my child. I always hear you. Just heed what I say and you’ll have what you want,” it replied, “You need to look inward. Look at yourself. You’ve cleaned the outside, but what about the inside? Scrape out the worry and the doubt, and put all of your insecurities on me.”

Charlotte walked quietly toward the bushes, she had to try again, she had to know who this person was. “And h-how will I do that? What insecurities?” She was nearly there.

“Have faith, my child. You’ll know.” The voice faded. “Have faith.”

Charlotte rushed through the bushes, and saw absolutely nothing. Just the old house, overgrown foliage, and broken windows with green shutters. No sign that anyone was there at all. She truly felt like she was going insane. But again, she felt compelled to listen to the voice, to look inward. Somehow, she knew it was for her own good.

As she walked back to her own house, she thought about what had been happening. A strange storm, a finicky, humming voice from beyond the bushes, glowing and flashing lights… It was as if she were in a movie, but no one was there to corroborate it. She was shaken up, but an overwhelming calm feeling surrounded her. She thought about him again, and what he would say if he were there. He’d say something like “You have to trust these things. She said to have faith, so have faith. Do what she says.” He was always so confident in things you couldn’t see. Thinking about him won’t bring him back, she thought, but that voice said to look inward. How could she know about him in the first place? Had she… it… been watching us? She had nothing to lose. She might as well do as the voice said.

Charlotte gathered every book she thought was relevant to self-reflection. She had self-help books, religious texts, magazines, anything, and everything. She plopped down on the floor and sat cross-legged. She surrounded her spot on the floor with candles and incense and set out to find her answers. She took book after book, reading, and rereading, taking notes, and even going so far as to rip out pages that struck her as answers. She didn’t know if this was helping, but it felt like something.

Then she remembered, “Clean the inside… look inward…” the voice had said. Okay… what could that mean? She glanced over her notes and noticed a recurring theme of meditation throughout her readings. She had never meditated before but she figured this was her best shot. If all the experts suggest it, then why not? Charlotte closed her eyes and focused. How else can one look inward? She heard nothing but the distant crashing of waves and a light breeze through the trees. She steadied her breath and waited… and waited… and waited… but nothing. Her eyes flickered open with impatience and she looked around her. “Put all of your insecurities on me…” she heard the voice come from inside of her, that whimsical feminine voice. She tried again. And again. And again.

She wasn’t keeping count of how many times she had to start over, but she was determined. Eyes closed, back straight, arms in her lap, she focused every ounce of mental strength inward. With every breath in, flowed the sweet fragrance of the incense she was burning, and with every breath out, the candles quivered, threatening to go dark. She felt better this time, more serene. You can do this, just find something, anything. Inhaling and exhaling, inhaling, and exhaling. She pictured the bushes this time, and the old maison de campagne. She tried finding that golden glow in the window but somehow knew that it wasn’t going to be there. She tried listening to the voice that had been talking to her beyond the bushes but knew it would be quiet. On her next, exhale, she paused. She felt warm and calm. She dove to the center of her being and felt herself mouth the words I surrender.

When she finally opened her eyes, she felt lighter. She glanced around the room and saw just how much she was blessed with. She saw pictures of herself, pictures of him, pictures of them together, and wondered what it was that they had been so angry about the other night. Gratitude flowed out of her, like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. She understood what it was that the voice had asked of her, and knew she’d done it, but could never dream of putting it into words. It was just too complex, too other-worldly. As for who the voice was, it was someone very close, almost a part of herself, or someone she was a part of. Perhaps it had been God Herself. No one would understand, but she knew she was better for it. She picked up her things and placed them gently back where they belonged.

All the pettiness, the disdain, the worry, the selfishness was at bay. It was as if Charlotte had tried on new glasses that somehow allowed her to push aside her ego and see the world clearly. She saw her mistakes as clear as day, yet didn’t cringe when she thought of them. She didn’t blame him for walking out that night, because it was as much her fault as his. It was a conflict of egos, not of souls.

Charlotte walked outside and felt the balance of the trees, the ocean, and the breeze. It was all anchoring her down, to this place, this time. It was heavy but liberating. She looked over at the hedges and smiled.

“My child,” she heard from beyond the battered green shutters, “You’ve returned.”

Charlotte didn’t have to reply because the voice was but a manifestation of what she now knew was behind it. It started to rain, and a faint humming started to grow in volume, then it faded out as the rain grew heavier. She felt at peace.

A car was coming down the road, and there was only one person it could be. She scrambled to the gates anyway, and tears started streaming down her face when she saw the old, beat-up, American truck she had badgered him about so many times. She started running down the street, and when she saw the look in his eye through the wet glass of the windshield, she knew the voice had visited him too.