The neighbor

It’s a beautiful morning. I look out the window and see that the sun is shining brilliantly and the birds are singing. I leave my room and head to the bathroom. Once I open the bathroom door I lower my head, and move to the sink to use it to brush my teeth and wash my face. I don’t raise my eyes when I’m done. Instead I just reach blindly for the towel. When I realize I can’t find it I simply leave the bathroom while drying my face with my shirt.

The sun is already higher in the sky, and this time I only hear silence when I pass by the window headed towards the stairs. I go downstairs and into my kitchen. First I get a bowl from the cupboard and then a spoon from the drawer, both of which I set on the counter.

 I’ve just put a pot on the stove, I’m halfway to the fridge when I remember there won’t be any milk in there. Instead I’ll just have to use water to cook my oatmeal. 

When I’m ready to eat I sit down at the little table underneath the window in my kitchen, right next to my backdoor. I look up and see that there are wispy clouds in the sky now, and there’s something else that makes me pause. The sun is already at its peak. I eat my oatmeal quickly. 

When I look outside next it’s because something catches my attention, some movement in the window of my neighbor’s house. I lean forward and open up my window and call out to my neighbor, but he doesn’t respond. It’s completely silent outside still. So I close the window and take my bowl to the sink. I’ll wash it later. 

It’s just as I’m setting my bowl in the sink that I have a wonderful idea. I think I’ll build a birdhouse today. Maybe if I do that, the birds will stop leaving. 

At first I imagined I’d go to the hardware store to get what I need. I’ve even got my shoes on and it’s when I close my hand around the handle to my front door that I remember they won’t have what I need there. So I let my hand fall off the door handle and I pause for a second, thinking. 

Then I turn around and quickly head out to my backyard instead. In the corner of my backyard closest to my neighbor’s house sits a little wooden shed. It’s dark inside, there’s just a faint light passing through the dirty window.

I search through the darkness carefully and gather up all the tools and materials I’ll need. Once I’ve found them I bring them back outside and set them down in my yard.

There’s no wall between my backyard and my neighbor’s. I think I see the curtains in his window swaying gently. Maybe it was just a breeze, but I think he’s watching me. I could use some company, but I can’t remember the last time I spoke to my neighbor. Maybe he’ll join me after he sees me working.

I start working on my birdhouse. I make all the measurements and mark the wood. Then I cut out all the pieces I’ll need. While I work I still feel the unseen eyes on me. I nail all the pieces together and finish putting together my birdhouse.

When it’s done I decide to paint it yellow. A happy yellow. It’s at now that I hear him speak up from somewhere behind me. “A pretty house my friend, but there aren’t any birds here anymore.”

I don’t turn his way when I reply. “I heard them singing this morning from my window. I hope that maybe they’ll stay tomorrow if they have a house. It’d be nice to be able to hear them sing again.”

“That’s a pretty wish.” He says. 

Now I turn to face him, but he’s not there. I look to his house and notice that his backdoor is cracked open. He must be standing just inside, but it’s so dark. I can’t see him, or maybe I can see the shape of him. I’m not sure. “You should make one too. Maybe more birds will stay tomorrow if you build a birdhouse too.” I turn back to look at my happy yellow birdhouse. 

“Maybe.” I hear his door close. I know he’s gone now. 

I take a second to hang my new birdhouse from a tree branch. It looks so pretty with the delicate shadows from the tree’s leaves cascading down on it. Suddenly I realize it’s dark outside. When did that happen?

That night I have a beautiful dream about singing birds.

When I wake up I brush my teeth, wash my face, and cook my oatmeal just like always. I get up and put my bowl in the sink and pause. There’s three bowls in there now. There’s a moment of confusion and then something inside me folds over.

Well of course there’s three bowls in there now, of course. I don’t have time to worry about dirty dishes anyways, I have birds to listen to.

I almost cry when I hear the silence outside. My birdhouse is gone now. At first I’m confused, but then I’m just angry. I go to my neighbor’s house. I climb the steps to his porch and knock on his door. Then I knock on it again. Again. 

The paint on his door is peeling, I never noticed before. He doesn’t answer the door, but I think I hear someone shuffling around inside. Maybe see his frayed curtains sway. His windows are dirty too. 

I give up knocking, but I decide I’m going to build another birdhouse. It’s darker now inside my shed, The roof is sagging, there’s more dust in the air. 

I finish building my birdhouse much faster than before, but when I try to paint it that happy yellow color, I see the paint leaves black streaks on my beautiful birdhouse. 

This time I won’t take chances. I nail my birdhouse to the side of my house, right next to my window. It’s dark outside again, but I admire my new birdhouse and try to ignore the streaks of black.

“Did the birds come back today? I didn’t hear them singing.” I don’t see my neighbor but I can hear him somewhere out in the darkness. “I want to listen to the birds too, It’s been too long.” His voice is sad.

“Maybe the birds would stay if my birdhouses didn’t always go missing!” My voice is angry. 

“Maybe.” He doesn’t say anything else and I go back inside.

I wake up in my bed. I try to brush my teeth, but there’s no more water in the faucet. I couldn’t have made my oatmeal today anyways, the oatmeal’s been gone for some time. I forgot when it went away. There’s nothing to eat here.

I know my birdhouse is gone before I leave my house. It’s the silence that lets me know. I can still see the hole where I nailed my birdhouse to the side of my house. In fact I see more of those holes, more than I can count. 

This time when I climb the stairs to my neighbor’s back door the steps all creak and then one cracks underneath me. I don’t stop. When I knock on his door it opens. I don’t go inside though. It’s too dark to see that far inside, but I see my neighbor’s shadow on the floor, coming out of another doorway inside. “Why do my birdhouses keep disappearing? I want to see the birds.”

“The birds are gone” His voice is barely a whisper now.

“I know that. It’s not fair” 

“It’s not fair.” His shadow leaves, and I leave too. 

I wake up on the floor of my bedroom. I can’t go to the bathroom, the door won’t open now. There are too many bowls in my sink. Too few leaves on my tree. My shed fell down. My neighbor doesn’t talk to me anymore, he’s gone and his house is an empty shell. It’s always cloudy now. 

It’s dark outside. It’s dark inside too. There’s dust in the air. 

I pass by my bathroom, the door is crumbling to pieces, just like everything else. There are birdhouses inside. Yellow birdhouses. 

I sit underneath the window in my bedroom and I wait. The birds are coming back, they’ll be here soon. I can wait.