Life in Friendship

The grass was unkept. Random piles of debris littered the driveway. Half-open cardboard boxes. Overspilled containers of dog food. Worn down cigarette butts. The mailbox was tilting to the side; the door half open and overflowing with brown envelopes. The entire house was reminiscent of any living state. Walter Totten navigated his way through the devastation and knocked on the front door. He heard a dog barking behind it. Then silence. Walter knocked again. The dog began barking once more. This time, he heard a rattle, and the door opened. Standing on the other side of the door, was Everett Hopkins. A man dressed in a bathrobe and a pair of holey black slippers. His chestnut brown hair sticking out under a yellow shower cap. Walter had numerous thoughts come to mind but chose to ignore the inclination to speak those thoughts. “Walter? I did not expect you here at this time.” Everett spoke tersely and with slight irritation in his voice. Walter shifted his stance. “Everett…I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner.” Walter spoke with more confidence than he felt. The dog who had been barking, a brown Labrador, was sitting at Everett’s feet, unconcerned with the conversation. “I was actually about to pop a mac and cheese into the microwave.” Walter nodded. “That sounds appetizing.” Walter hoped he had feigned some level of believability in that statement. “If you change your mind, I will be seating down around six thirty.” Everett clapped his hands and tucked them into the pockets of his bathrobe. “Appreciate the offer.” Before Walter could say another word, the door slammed in his face. Walter sighed and made his way back through the confines of Everett’s front yard.

              Four houses down the road, Walter walked through his front yard and into his home. He gazed at the elaborate three Christmas tree setup he had in his living room and wondered if it was a tad overdone. His black cat, Gumps, was perched on the sofa, fast asleep. His chocolate brown Pitbull, Chestnut, was sitting by one of the Christmas trees. He was mesmerized by the lights on the tree, or he was trying to figure out the easiest way to unwrap one of the gifts under the tree without detection. Walter went into his kitchen and opened the oven door. Roasted chicken and roasted carrots were sizzling. On the stovetop was a pot of red beans and rice. He pulled a vegetable tray from the refrigerator, as well as an assortment tray of meats and cheeses. He had set his dining room table with the extremely expensive plates and silverware his brother, William, had given him three years before. A chocolate cake was sitting in the middle of the table. Walter had managed to pull it all together by himself. For the better part of his life, he had only mustered the ability to cook a simple pot of spaghetti and measly mashed potatoes without burning them. Sifting through endless channels of cooking videos had proven fruitful.

A knock came at the door around six fifteen. There stood Margaret Jansen and BB Tompkins. Both had homes down the road and were two of Walter’s closest friends. Margaret was holding a casserole dish of green Jell-O with cranberries inside. “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Margaret simply stated; Walter realizing his face must have read of confusion. “Let us in, Wally. It’s not exactly summertime in Miami out here.” BB brushed past Walter and disappeared into the kitchen. Margaret rolled her eyes and Walter let out a hearty laugh.

              Margaret and BB worked alongside Walter as high school teachers. Margaret taught English and BB taught Science. Walter taught History and substituted in the gym classes from time to time. Somehow the three of them had managed to be neighbors in a small neighborhood on the outskirts of their city. They often carpooled and often convened in the teachers’ break room about the many grievances of the day. All three were unmarried even though BB had been married at one time. They had chosen animals for companionship instead. Margaret, with a cat named Garfield, and BB with a dog named Mont. This was their third Christmas dinner together. One was a meal of Chinese food, then a catered meal from the local market and now Walter’s making.

              Thirty minutes passed and the three had embarked on a conversation about the plethora of gifts they had received over the years that missed the mark. One year Margaret had received a tin of sardines. She still looked queasy when remembering it. A thunderous knock came on Walter’s door. Gumps squealed and bounced from his perch on the sofa. Walter went to the door and there stood before him, Everett Hopkins. He had traded in his bathrobe for a brown sweater and faded blue jeans. His hair now tucked under a faded brown bucket hat. “I was wondering if your dinner offer is still on the table,” he simply stated. “Yes. Yes. Of course,” Walter gestured for Everett to enter his home. They entered the dining room where the group had been having their conversation over a bottle of sparkling grape juice. If BB and Margaret were shocked at Everett’s arrival, they made no visible indication. “Everett, good to see you.” BB outstretched his hand and Everett took it. “I like the hat.” Margaret started and offered Everett a glass of juice and gestured for him to sit. “I made chicken. Is that okay?” Everett took a sip of the juice. “Chicken is fine.” Walter made a plate for Everett, even though he and the others had not eaten yet. “It would be weird if you just watched me eat,” Everett stated. The other three made their plates and then the group sat in silence as they ate. After a few moments, BB broke the quiet. “Everett…how are you holding up?” BB and Maragaret were aware of the state of Everett’s home. Maragaret had left baskets and dishes on Everett’s porch numerous times. She had never seen him take the items but each time she returned, they were gone. BB had accosted their other neighbor, Jinks, who had unsuccessfully tried to bring up the topic at a neighborhood meeting. “Stop mowing your grass at six in the morning and we can talk. Or pick up your dog’s poop so I don’t have to step in it on the sidewalk like I am dodging landmines.” Jinks had slouched in his seat then.

              Everett let out a small sigh. “I know I have probably been unbearable in numerous ways.” Walter shook his head. “Not at all.” Everett laughed then. “You don’t have to admit it. I know it to be true.” “By the way,” Everett looked at Margaret, “Your lasagna was magnificent.” Margaret patted Everett on his hand. “I’m glad to hear it.” “Losing my wife was…exceptionally hard. I never would have imagined grief in this way.” Silence followed. Everett removed his hat. A single tear fell from his eye. “I just…don’t know how to manage this pain.” Walter waited a moment and then spoke, hoping it was as empathetic as he hoped. “Grief is one human emotion that I don’t think has any particular way of handling it.” Walter shifted in his seat. “My eldest brother…ended his own life. He drove his car off a bridge…” Walter’s voice trailed off. The room fell into another silence. Margaret and BB exchanged a look. Walter had never spoken of this before. Everett looked into Walter’s eyes. “I wasn’t expecting that.” Walter took a deep breath. “Ten years ago. He had fallen into an addiction to alcohol. His wife had left him. He had lost his job. I had offered to help him…he would hear nothing of it. Pride, I guess.” “Then…my mother called.”  “I know it can be excruciatingly difficult. I also know that we can all want space…in those moments.” “Listen…” Everett began. “I know I was not very pleasant. I can admit my wife would not have been pleased with my behavior. I came tonight because I took one look at that mac and cheese and asked myself how much longer I was going to live in that darkness. It’s Christmas and I am eating cardboard and sitting in a bathrobe.” “I am terribly sorry for your loss.” Everett looked at Walter then, with a look of compassion. “I am terribly sorry for your loss as well.” Walter looked to Margaret and BB. “I never knew when a time was to talk about it. I apologize for that.” “Whenever you were ready was a good time.” Margaret reached over and placed her hand on Walter’s. “No need to apologize, friend,” BB responded. The group began to eat their meals once again.

              A few weeks later, Walter found a note on his front door.

              Thank you for your generosity and your sympathy. I wish for myself, and you, peace through our grief. As difficult as it is, I know I have something that will help me through.

              Friendship.