Todd and His Suit

CW: mentions of abuse/domestic violence

It was a gusty day in Cincinnati, and one too high of a temperature for Todd's pleasure. He was a delicate man, a cautious man, one with a particular way of phrasing and persuasion, one who chose his words thoughtfully and his sentences even more so. He took himself quite seriously, for when in the heat of a conversation, all eyes are upon his, waiting for the next command -- and he delivered with the utmost quality every time. No, Todd was not just a natural conversationalist; he had risen above the likes of the greatest interviewers, the best spokespeople, and the most hypnotic authors. His words flowed out of his mouth like a gentle blue stream down a hill, feeding the wildlife with its sweet sustenance, giving life to all that surrounds him. But his skill would be tested on one fateful day.

He walked out of the house donned in his regular garb (an expensive corduroy suit and a placid navy tie with shining Allen Edmonds, diamond cuff links, and a smirk of pure confidence) and walked over to his neighbor Allen, who was hosing down his hedges. He began talking at him with his hands rested upon the wooden fence.

"Say, Allen, have you heard of any upcoming festivities or events around the town? I assume you have since you look so very well dressed for the occasion." He eyed the polka-dot pajama pants and stained wifebeater.

"Actually, Todd, you should probably stay inside." Allen stayed his focus on the hose. "I heard the new neighbor is a shifty character. Should probably wait until he comes and meets you."

Yet Todd did not want to wait. No, he wanted to go out and meet this new individual, for he shall show them his new corduroy fedora, which melted to the top of his hair. "Where does he live?" Todd asked.

"Right across the street from you."

And as Todd's eyes drifted toward the house, he shivered and held his hat in fright. The house was decrepit, its black boards falling apart from water damage, and the gutters laid lopsided and reached for the ground. The fence was an ugly metal chain, haphazardly fixed by small wooden poles. Various signs were on the yard, including dog warnings, gun owner warnings, and Todd's least favorite -- trespassing warnings. This will not do! Todd was determined to meet this man, for even the least approachable people were conquered by his charisma, as he remembered his last confrontation with the local Walmart greeter. He gathered his confidence and marched straight across the street.

The cement path leading to the doorstep was cracked, and little green stalks breached out, breathing, swaying in the wind. Todd held onto his hat as a large gust came swirling by him, nearly knocking him into a mud puddle. He was determined to leave this place without needing to take his second bath of the day. The wooden stairs screamed with each step, crying to be thrown away and replaced. The deck was empty, except for an ashtray on the floor that had about twenty too many cigarettes.

Todd took a deep breath, and with his signature tap-ta-tap-tap, stood upright and ready to introduce himself.

He waited.

Tap-ta-tap-tap.

He waited longer.

Tap-ta-tap-tap, tap-tap.

He waited longer than he had ever waited for someone to answer a door until it was flung open, and Todd gasped.

The man had a ripped t-shirt of some band Todd did not recognize, but was confident enough to assume it was not a good band. His sweatpants could be smelled, its culminated sweat gathered from an extended sitting period. His eyes were lifeless, and his nose was large, as it was the most prominent feature of his visage. The stringy hair did not compliment his rather large face, and as he smiled, Todd could only count six teeth. As the man held out his hand, Todd used his handkerchief and managed a smile as they shook.

"My name is Barry, Barry McKinley. I just moved in." His lisp was less than pleasant. "Say, would you like to play this game with me? I have an extra controller if you don't." As Todd's smile grew into one of pity, the corners of his mouth resting and teeth becoming more visible, Barry sighed. "It is okay if you do not want to, Mister. I assume you live across the street by your clothes. That's fine. You live happier than me. It's okay."

Todd's smile was gone. He stared at the young man, who reminded him of some long-lost brethren who had lost his way and needed to be saved. He was dumbfounded, and for the first time in his life, he could not speak. He tried to say at least a word, but it came out as nothing but sputters. And as Barry shifted uncomfortably at the doorstep, Todd finally communicated, for the words he was comfortable with were useless in the presence of Barry. All he could manage was a solemn nod.

And as Barry and Todd played on the little old console, racing each other in the virtual cars, or beating each other up in a fighting game (a game that Todd was not too fond of, but it pleased Barry, so he played), or trying to defeat some evil monster together, Todd felt he did not have to impress Barry. The young man was enjoying life to the best of his own abilities -- he obviously did not have a job, and Todd wondered how he could've got his parents to buy this house, for it was quite large. After another defeat of a monster, Barry laughed, and Todd turned his head. Barry was smiling as best as he could, and his eyes gleamed brown with hope. Hope for a change that he waited so long for, hope for someone to pick him up and sweep him away from this world, one that would allow him to play video games for the rest of his life. Todd recognized he was trapped in a rut of nothingness -- a rut he must fill.

"Say, Barry, how long have you been like this?"

"Do you mean gaming?" He munched on a bowl of tortilla chips as the game began to reset.

"Yes, how long have you been in this state?"

"I don't know... ever since my grandpa kicked me out, I used the rest of my inheritance money to buy this house. I can probably live for a couple more months until I'm out on the street." Barry did not sound concerned by this. He focused on the screen, its blinding lights even brighter in the dark room.

"Why have you not tried to get a job, Barry?"

Barry paused. "I'm not sure. My dad never liked it when I helped. He was always, 'I'll do this,' or, 'get the hell off that,' or, 'you worry too much.' He was a cool guy. Some CEO of someplace, I think." The game was unpaused.

Todd sat on the floor in contemplation. He remembered his own father, how he used to hit him, criticize him, amount his worth to waste in a toilet, and made sure he knew of that. He remembered his mother, afraid, scared of what to happen, yet powerless if anything were to happen. There was nothing either of them could do. And when his dad died, his mother became a useless husk, weeping for hours, begging to be forgiven and for her husband to come home. And once Todd was able to move out, he went to college, and started his own company, and began to manufacture the best suits in the entire Midwest. Barry recognized Todd's discomfort. "Are you okay, dude? Do you need a pop?"

"I'm alright, Barry," Todd said. "Say, I have a proposition for you."

After a long talk, Todd smirked at Barry and gave him his phone number. He went over to his house every week, in exchange for a favor. Barry would need to help around the neighborhood every day, and only then would Todd be able to play games with him. Barry reluctantly agreed, for the last time he did yard work seemed like a lifetime ago, but as he picked up Allen's hose, he began to feel accomplished. His large figure began to be trimmed down, his hair did not sparkle with grease under the sun anymore, and he had bought new clothes with the money he had earned. The neighbors grew to care for Barry, and Barry cared for them, and as he went to every house to mow their lawn, or clean out the gutters, or water the flowers, Todd watched in his corduroy suit.