The Neighbor

Tyrone Hayes was a man that most of the people in our neighborhood didn’t see. It wasn’t because he refused to leave the house, the man practically lived outside, he just never got noticed. In the same way that you pass the tree on the corner while you’re walking your dog, you would pass Mister Hayes. He was quiet about your passing, maybe rustling a newspaper or snipping at a bush with a pair of shears, and that was what made him so invisible. The man in the powder blue house simply… was.

Once in a while you would find a car in his driveway. It was a different make and model depending on the day of the week. Mondays a cream colored Toyota Tacoma rested there, under the shade from the trees cast by the midday sun. Wednesdays a Silverado utility truck was in and out before lunchtime. Then there were Fridays, which saw a more modern Buick Lacrosse laze away the afternoon then sneak off into the shadows of the evening. None of them were his, of course. Mister Hayes didn’t own a car. As far as anyone knew, he’d never been in a motorized vehicle of any kind. He never waited for the bus at the stop down the road, never got in a taxi. Home was where Tyrone Hayes existed. It was as if he simply sprouted there, with no needs or worries, living life just like that tree.

Not a single person in the neighborhood ever remembered him leaving the yard that surrounded his compact home. They could recall seeing him in the front yard, the back yard, the side yard, and on the porch, but never anywhere else, not even at the mailbox. To get there he’d have to cross the sidewalk, and that was the barrier that seemed to hold the man in.

He was older than anyone else on the block, older than anyone in the neighborhood, but none of us knew his real age. We had some ideas, of course. The many wrinkles that folded his dark skin and his close cropped ring of silver hair were the first giveaways. He also had a slight hunch to his shoulders that angled his head just so that it accentuated the shine of the sun on his bald head. No one ever saw him getting up from his porch rocker, none of us ever heard him utter a peep when he moved about in the yard, so we figured he was healthy for his age. If his joints ever bothered him there was no way to know. All we ever knew was that Mister Hayes was always right there, a living part of the neighborhood.

It was a Monday when that changed. The owner of the Toyota showed up at our place and knocked on the door. “Hey there,” he said when I opened it. “Glad to finally find someone at home.”

I smiled. “I run my own business from home. Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. My name’s Lamont Johnson. I deliver groceries to Mister Hayes every Monday.” He thumbed over his shoulder as if his cream colored truck was hovering there as proof. It wasn’t, it was still down the street, right in the shade, where it always was. “He’s usually on the porch to meet me, but I couldn’t find him today. Checked the yard, even tried the door. I wondered if anyone had seen him.”

“Sure. I saw him…” My mind drifted back, endlessly searching for a specific point in history when I recalled noticing an actual person. “You know, I don’t really know when I saw him last. Had to have been just a few days ago, even yesterday, maybe.”

That earned me a slight frown, but Mister Johnson collected himself quickly and reapplied the cordial smile he’d had before. “Know anyone who might have a key?”

“Honestly, I would have thought you or one of the others might.”

Another hint of disapproval crossed the man’s face, making me feel the lighter color of my skin. “’Others?’”

I tried to cover my accidental misstep. “Sorry. He has other visitors. We’ve never spoken, so I couldn’t call anyone by name or tell you why they visit. At his age I assumed they were friends or family who helped him with the yard, maybe came to do things around the house for him.”

This made Mister Johnson laugh. “Tyrone is the kind of man who does for himself. Old military from way back. I’ve tried offering to fix a few things. Leaky faucet, wobbly table leg, that sort of thing, but he’s always insisted on doing it all himself. Man’s in his nineties and doesn’t slow down.”

“Nineties?” I felt my eyes go wide with shock. People in the neighborhood knew he was old, but none of us suspected him to be that advanced in years. My own great aunt was in the service and I now knew she had to have been about the same age as my neighbor. Knowing her might and determination, I understood the independence which must have consumed Mister Hayes. My aunt had sadly passed only a few years ago and now, as I thought of that, a horrible fear began to well up in my chest.

Without a thought to what I might be doing, I stepped out of my home and crowded Mister Johnson on my small front porch. “Come on, let’s get inside that house.” Without looking back I hurried across the street to the little white door that I had never seen open in all the years I’d lived here. I heard footsteps behind me and knew I was being followed. 

Just down the street a woman’s voice called out, “Everything all right?”

“Gotta check on Mister Hayes,” I shouted over my shoulder. “Stand right there. If we need an ambulance, you can duck in and call.” 

My feet hit the wooden steps to his porch with a hard thwack that almost sent me tumbling in my rush. Most of the houses around here were old things. Not run down, but not this solid either. I’d expected some kind of give, but these stairs were almost as solid as stone and made me worry about breaking down a locked door. That kind of thing seemed easy enough on television, but this was the real world. Who did I think I was kidding?

“I’ll confess, I didn’t really have a plan,” I sighed as I tested my weight against the heavy slab of wood that was keeping me out. “Maybe break a window?”

Mister Johnson started poking around at the windows. At first I thought he might be trying to peep in, see if he could see inside, but then I saw him try to pry one open. “He’s a man who needs air,” he said with a grunt. “I’d bet one of these is cracked open already.”

Noticing the gathering of spectators, I felt my very pale presence again. No one was staring at me, the lunatic who had dashed across the road and tried to shoulder a door open, they all had eyes on the man at my side who was barely doing more than peeing in. I threw my hand on his back as I dashed around him, partly for balance, partly to let him know I was on the move. “Let’s go around back.” My voice was louder than it needed to be, even in my own ears. “Maybe one of them will be open. If we can’t get through, I’m gonna break one.”

Together we abandoned the front and dashed around bushes to the side of the building. My eyes were focused on the glass set in the blue siding, looking for any sign that fate would be on our side. I spotted it right away. Almost hidden by a tall shrub, one of the window panes seemed to overlap another where it shouldn’t. “There,” I called out, pointing.

“Think you can get through that bush?”

“Probably,” I told Mister Johnson. “I just hope he doesn’t mind having it misshapen in the end.”

Pushing my way between the outer branches and the building, I felt stiff, leafless twigs snag on my clothes and scratch at my skin. The window I faced had a screen, which was thankfully easy enough to rip away and moments later I was hoisting myself up, arms trembling with the effort.

“Mister Hayes? Mister Hayes, are you in here? You all right, sir?” My voice felt dull and lifeless in the carpeted bedroom that I was trying to enter, so I gave it more power as I grunted my way into the empty space. “Mister Hayes? Lamont Johnson came with your groceries. He couldn’t get in. I’m coming to see if you need help, okay?”

The silence of the home terrified me, but I pressed on, scanning the room one more time as I tumbled in. With no one to find, I had only one other option, to keep pressing forward. The hallway was short and empty, as was the bath at the end of it, so I made my way in the opposite direction, where I froze in surprise. There, at the kitchen table, was Tyrone Hayes, staring down at his empty plate and half filled glass of water.

“Mister Hayes?” I called out, but he didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to blink. I adjusted my position to try and put myself in his field of view and tentatively moved a hand out from my side in a gesture of greeting that I hoped would draw the man from his thoughts. “Mister Hayes?”

The old man jumped and stared, open mouthed at me, blinking. “How’d you get in here?” he called out, a little too loudly.

“I’m sorry,” I started to say, but he shook his head.

“Can’t hear you, sir. I’m deaf without my hearing aid.”

Holding up a finger, I moved to the front door and opened it up to the waiting Mister Johnson. “He’s all right,” I announced loudly. “Didn’t hear you knocking.”

The delivery man shook his head and made his way to the truck, pulling out a brown paper bag before hurrying inside. “Battery must have died. I’ve got his new one here. He asked me to pick it up.”

Mister Johnson made his way to the kitchen and offered out the new device, giving a thumbs up. “Good to use right now,” he said even though he must have known the words wouldn’t register.

I watched as the two worked together to restore hearing to the home’s owner, saw his body sag with relief and his entire expression change. The man who had seemed so empty only seconds before was now full of life, smiling and chatting as if no one had burst into his home uninvited. When a hand gestured at me, I smiled.

“Your neighbor came in. His idea.”

Mister Hayes stepped forward with slow but steady confidence and put his hand out for me to take. “Thank you. Must have given you a scare.”

“Not so much,” I told him with a certainty I didn’t quite feel. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

He nodded at the living room behind me. “I’d like to explain, if you have time. Maybe talk a little bit. I’m not as young as I used to be. Lamont has been trying to get me to give someone a spare key to this place for a long time now. Should have listened to him.” 

We walked to the sofa and sat. The room was spotless, with antique furniture and a few framed pictures hung on the walls. It looked just like any other home I’d been in, except for the age of the furnishings and the person who owned them. There was no hint here that could have pointed me to the story I was about to be told.

“I was an engineer in the war, you see. We built roads for the army. Never meant to see battle. Back then everyone thought folks with my complexion were useless, but my regiment, we had someone who believed in us, trained us. Did a lot of good over there.”

A long story unfolded in front of me as he spoke, one of a man who was so determined to fight for his country that he slipped away from home and joined the war. In this story a man almost too young for battle learned engineering and construction skills that he would carry with him all of his life and use to later keep his own house in better shape than any other around. Young Tyrone, whose name was only a nickname given to him because of some movie star, helped with the war effort in any way he could. He lost his hearing and gained something called “battle shock,” which would stay with him for the rest of his days. Every once in a while, especially if he couldn’t hear, the vibrations he felt around him sent him traveling through time, where young Tyrone faced a future that I could never imagine.

When the story was finished, I gave Mister Hayes a smile. “Maybe fate brought me through your window, sir. I’m a psychologist. We call what you’re living with Post Traumatic Stress now, and I help people talk through it.”

“Oh, I don’t need a fancy mind doctor,” Mister Hayes laughed, waving a hand through the air as if swatting away a fly. “I’ve lived with this so many years already.”

“You don’t have to,” I told him. “At least, not alone. I run my practice from my place, just across the street. I’d be happy to have company on my lunch hour. We can talk as neighbors about that annoying cat that keeps climbing my fence and harassing my dogs or we can talk about the war. Anything you like.”

Mister Hayes laughed. “That cat does his stuff right in my garden!”

“See. We’ve got something in common already.” I chuckled, then checked my watch. “I’ve got to get back to the house in a few minutes, but you’ll think about it?

“What’s there to think about?” Mister Hayes stood and offered his hand. “Lunch sounds wonderful.”

“Great,” I said as I made my way to the door, nodding at Mister Johnson who had just finished putting away the delivery and checking cabinets for what might be needed in a week’s time. “Great meeting you both.”

Mister Hayes came out onto the porch with me to say his goodbyes, promising to expect me around the same time tomorrow, hearing aid and all. We shared a laugh and then I made my way across the road, lifting my hand in farewell. He returned the gesture, smile bright and body tall. 

As I walked away, I felt the change in my life strike my mind in a sharp and unusual way. So many times my dogs and I had taken the same path, but now it felt different, noticeable. I wasn’t walking away from just another building or passing a tree, I was leaving a person with the promise of seeing him again. By the time I reached own porch Mister Hayes had settled down in his rocker, every bit the man the neighborhood expected him to be, yet so much more than they could imagine.