The New Neighbor

“That’s the thing about this city – we take all kinds.” The older man said it with an earnest smile and a tip of his wide-brimmed hat, and I believed him.

           “I’ve heard that about this place,” I said as I pulled another box out of the rented moving van. “The real estate agent made it sound like a reason to avoid this city, but in my experience, acceptance is usually a good thing.”

           “I agree, son,” the older man said, pulling the heavy box out of my hands and walking towards the door of my new apartment building. He must have been out for an afternoon stroll when he noticed me lugging boxes back and forth from the van to the apartment building. He introduced himself as ‘Mac’ and told me that he lived in the same apartment building just a few doors down from the apartment that I was moving into. He quickly offered to help me with my seemingly endless pile of boxes. I was a little thrown by the stranger’s eagerness to help a new neighbor, but he seemed harmless enough, and I was certainly grateful for the help.

           I grabbed another box out of the van and followed Mac into my new apartment. Once more, I took a second to appreciate the convenience of a ground-floor apartment – no stairs to climb, no elevator to squeeze into. The apartment came furnished, so it already looked lived in. All that was left to do was to truck in my clothes and dishes and find homes for all of my knick-knacks.

           I dropped the box in my arms box onto the couch to be dealt with later and grabbed the soda that I had picked up at my last rest stop. It was a warm day, and I found myself gulping down the last few mouthfuls greedily.

           “So, when you were house-hunting, were you in the market for a more open-minded city, or did you just wind up here?” Mac asked as he placed the box on the kitchen counter. I realized that I hadn’t offered the man anything. I thought about giving him a glass of tap water at the very least, but I had no idea which box my glasses were in.

           “Not particularly,” I said as I rummaged through the box Mac had just brought in. “The location was convenient and I liked the price, but hearing how accepting this place is sealed the deal for me.”

           “Oh?” Mac seemed to take a sudden interest in my last remark, but when I looked over at him, he was suddenly fascinated with his jacket zipper. I found it odd that he would wear a jacket on such a warm day, but then, I supposed when he left his apartment, he hadn’t been expecting to do any heavy lifting. I shrugged it off and continued searching for a glass. “Have you run into any problems with . . . prejudiced people?” he asked me.

           I looked up from my search, my brow furrowed. The question was an oddly personal one, and Mac seemed to be fishing for something. He noticed my concern and quickly explained himself. “I only ask because it’s the reason so many of us moved here. A lot of the people who live here have been the victims of bigotry and hatred. It’s why we live the way we do – taking in anyone who wants to be a part of our community.”

           “I guess that makes sense,” I said slowly, accepting his explanation. I finally found the glasses I’d been searching for. I pulled one out of the box and unwrapped it from the newspaper. As I leaned over the kitchen sink to fill it, I answered Mac’s question. “Uh, well, I haven’t personally had many problems with that sort of thing, but I grew up in a place that didn’t like people who were different. I saw a lot of people who were looked down on or even hated, and that never sat right with me. I mean, a person is a person, right?” Mac nodded, and I continued. “Why should someone’s skin color or weight or gender or . . . anything . . . why should it matter? People should be treated like people – with basic kindness and respect.”

           Mac smiled softly as I handed him the glass of water. When he reached out to take it, I noticed he was wearing gloves. Apparently, he was one of those people who was always cold. “I think you’ll fit in well here, son,” he said kindly.

           I turned away from him, pulling out a few more things from the box in the kitchen and placing them in cabinets. “I hope so,” I said as I bent down to place a couple of pans in the cabinet under the oven. “It seems like a nice neighborhood. I’m looking forward to getting to know-” When I stood up, I found myself face to face with Mac, but he wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore, or his hat. I could now see that his arms and neck were covered in strange green-tinted scale-like . . . things. There wasn’t a single hair on his head, and instead of ears, there was only one small hole on either side of his head. Startled, I stepped back only to find my back against the cabinets. “What . . . what are you?” I stuttered.

           He held his hands out in a gesture of openness, but all I saw were his now ungloved fingers that ended in what could only be described as claws. Sharp ones. “I told you,” he said, the soft smile never leaving his face. “We accept all kinds here – all colors, all sizes, all religions, all genders, all sexualities, and all races – even those not of this planet.”

           My eyes grew wide at the implication. “My god! You . . . you’re not human!”

           “I am not,” he admitted. “But I am a person. You said it yourself earlier, didn’t you? A person is a person. The question is, do you truly believe that?”