BOMAW 1-3 (2 page)

Taking all of that in, she decided right then and there that she didn't like him one bit. No man that looked that good was worth his weight in sand.

“Good morning,” he greeted politely.

Sylvie curled her lip and muttered, “Um, hm. Thank you.” Making a grand exit with her head held high, she expected to hear the door close behind her, but it didn’t. She knew he was still standing there looking at her, grinning no doubt. He had that look about him. Everything would be funny. Amusing. Well she wasn’t going to look to see if he were looking. She didn’t care if he was; made her no difference. She bit the inside of her lip, forcing herself not to look back to see if he were looking. She picked up her step, walking faster. Wishing she could stop herself from switching with just a little bit more shake than usual. She had to pick up some eggs, cream cheese, celery and onions. Maybe check to see if Maggie’s Market had any decent steaks.

Stepping into the ancient store with its old grayed wood floors, and ring-a-ling bell hanging over the door, she was once again greeted. The town was 98% white and all that she’d encountered was kindness and cordial greetings. The people actually waved at you when you passed. Be it, you were in a vehicle or walking, they waved when they passed. They didn’t know her from Eve but they waved. The first time it happened, she thought the person had mistaken her for an acquaintance, but it happened again and again until she realized they were actually greeting her neighborly. After living there for a year and a half, she could now fully relate with Mayberry. If you waved at people like that in Chicago, they'd think you were out to take them for something. Or that you had escaped from Cook County hospital's top floor. It took her weeks to get use to waving at total strangers, but she wanted to be a part of this town. So wave she did, smiling as if she’d known the individual her whole life.

Browsing the aisles, she picked up what she came for, and more items than she’d intended. After having written nonstop for so long, the house needed a thorough cleaning. She picked up some Mr. Clean, other cleansers and some carpet freshener. As she walked slowly with loaded arms, she heard the store bell jingle. Another customer. Or a few more by the sounds of it. Girls in the group, because their infectious giggling and chatter carried easily to the isle she was in. Then she heard a deep voice among them. Deep with a soft confidence. Then giggling again. She stopped and made a face. She knew the sound of flirting from a mile away. Something instinctive told her to brace herself. As her presence joined the others in the store, the three young girls harnessed their nervous energy from vying for the attention of the hunk now looking her way. She pretended not to notice him, which wasn’t hard to do, since she was about to drop one or two of her items.

“Are you gonna make it?” Jill, the cashier, asked as Sylvie rushed to the small counter. She didn’t make it. Two items hit the floor, and of course, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dashing had to be the perfect gentlemen. “Here, let me help you,” he offered. Bending down before her, she swore she saw a grin.
I was right! He’s a grinning, arrogant ham!
she fumed in thought, but smiled and said, “Thank you, I always do that. Come for a few things and overload myself,” she finished as he stood placing the items on the counter in front of her. “No problem.” He looked her straight in the eyes and grinned, as if he knew what she was thinking. Now she really didn’t like him. The second smile she cut him was sarcastic and quick, turning away from him as Jill rang up her goods.

“How’s that book coming? Done yet?” Jill asked, politely making conversation as she always did, but this time it irritated Sylvia. She wanted to pay and go. She had that nagging feeling on the back of her neck that he was peering at her. Sizing her up. Checking her out. Categorizing her to determine her type.
Jerk,
she thought as her bill was totaled. “I just have to do a final sweep of the material to clean it up of the typos. Stuff like that,” she answered, flailing her hand to dismiss the topic. Jill bagged her groceries.

“You’re a writer?”

See! That’s why she wanted to get out of there. She knew that was going to happen. She just knew it. She didn’t want to give this man anything on her, or about her, but politeness was the core of her being. Faked or not. “Just trying to be. Haven’t succeeded in anything yet,” she answered and grabbed her bag, heading for the door, not waiting for more conversation. “See ya, Jill.” She was out. From her peripheral, she could see the three young girls watching her and him curiously.
Not to worry, girls…have at him
was her exiting thought.

House cleaned, she was showered and freshened up after a vigorous workout. Now she was ready to get back into her writing. She had a webpage to modify. Things to add, newly written poetry and some new graphics she’d found. She was trying to concentrate, but it was hard. Her eyes kept straying out the window and across the street to the neighbor. She hadn’t seen him yet, but she’d heard all the commotion from the vehicles leaving across the road. Men talking loud and jesting, yelling “all rights” and “we’ll call when we get back” and a few repeating to the host of the newly acquired home “You deserved it!” and “Congratulations!”.

“He deserved what?” she muttered, finally getting up to look through the vertical blinds at the window to the house. As she stared, she noticed the yard was now cleaned of all its debris. There was only one truck remaining in the driveway. One SUV now parked in the garage, and two motorcycles parked alongside the garage. “Man and his toys,” she spoke as she usually did—to herself. When you were alone, you were all you had to talk to. “All right, show yourself. Let me see now who I’mo have to deal with down the road.” She stood there looking and waiting, but still no show. His door was wide open again, with no appearance pending. “Pssh…like I got time to be standing here waiting to see some schmuck. I got things to do. Let me get back to this webpage. See, that’s why I moved here…didn’t want no distractions…now here I am…distracted. He better keep it down over there, too. I ain’t puttin’ up wit’ no partyin’ and all that. It happen again, he gone hear from me—not the police,” she muttered, huffing and fussing, heading back to her chair before her computer.

As soon as she sat down and pulled herself into position before her desk, she heard one of the motorcycles revving up to leave. She looked back at the window, hesitating, then pushed back quickly and charged to the window, catching only the smoke from his tail pipe as he took off. “Fool! Takin’ off on a motorcycle like that. Em-hm, he gone crack that head open. Probably ain’t got no helmet on, either. I’on care. Shoot…there he go distracting me again. I can see now this ain’t gone work,” she grumbled, sitting back before the computer and getting herself into position once again.

She didn’t know how long she sat staring at the screen with nothing happening. She’d slipped off into a daydream. Her mind bringing into view a grinning mouth, with a mustache covered lip and deep dimples carved into the cheeks. “Shoot, if it ain’t one, it’s the other! Okay, girlfriend, cut this mess out. You got stuff to do. Time to get busy,” she coached herself. Then finally with great force, she put her mind back on track and worked long and hard, periodically turning her head to loosen it up from the building tension of sitting for so long. She had a timer set on her computer that rang when she needed to get up and stretch, get some coffee or water, use the bathroom, and then upon returning, she'd check at the window to see if the neighbor had returned. She allowed herself that without recrimination. After all, she was human.

After finishing the last modifications to her website, which had taken hours to perfect to her inspection, she popped in her disk and began reading her novel for the last clean sweep. Time always flew when she became engrossed in her writing. Before she knew it, night had fallen. She glanced down into the corner of her monitor screen to see that it was 11:30. She’d done enough for the day. She realized that once again, she’d gone all evening without dinner. Now her stomach was growling. It was too late to eat, so she went and grabbed the celery she bought out of the refrigerator and broke off three stalks. Placing the rest back, she rinsed the three in hand and began crunching on them on the way to her room.

Bedtime…

Morning…

Out jogging, she noticed that her neighbor had still not returned. He’d been gone all night. Well, that was none of her business. She took off down the road on her usual route. This was a much more preferred time of the year for it. The mornings were just cool enough to warm up in a good run. No bugs. Just crisp, sweet fall air blowing on her skin as her body heated up to a sweat. She was up to four miles every other morning. She could probably do more, but wasn’t ready to extend herself yet. Reaching the end of her jog out, which was two miles, she turned, crossing over the road to return home. Even the smell of cow manure didn’t offend her when the weather was like this. The leaves on the trees were changing in such glorious colors, and she was always dazzled by the array and variations on the trees. Coming around the last curve that brought her home into sight, she heard a distinct rumbling.

A vehicle in the distance, coming up behind her. It was still far away, but the sound of it carried on the early morning quiet. Pacing herself for the finish of her run, she took deep breaths as she approached the last few yards before her driveway. All of a sudden, the oncoming vehicle became distinctive as it neared. It was the sound of a motorcycle. The same time she turned into her driveway, the silver, burgundy and black Harley Davidson sped past her, turning into the driveway across the road. The driver stopping in profile to look over his left shoulder at her. He was wearing shades. No helmet. She stopped as well, now in her driveway, openly returning her own survey. He reached up and removed his shades. It was him! The guy from the post office. The hunk from the store.
He
was her new neighbor. Dread washed over Sylvia, like at no other time in her life. She didn’t want this.

He wasn’t moving, neither was she. She was stunned, surprised and a little frightened. “Good Morning, Sylvie. Or should I address you as Ms. Sylvia Payne?” he called out to her, then kicked down the stand on his bike and gracefully dismounted to walk in his smooth, confident way across the road to where she stood. She swallowed deep, feeling her breath catch in her chest. Taking a much-needed deep breath, she stood straighter, thrust her chin forward and asked, “How do you know my name?” He cocked his left eyebrow as if to say,
surely you’re kidding,
then followed the look with the actual words. “Surely you’re kidding? Small town like this has nothing better to do than fill in the newcomer with needed information.”

“Where exactly do I come into that?” she asked a little haughtily.

“Why, because you’re my neighbor, of course. A widow. From Chicago. Two grown children that live in La Crosse. The oldest, your daughter, is married and has two sons. Your son is living there with her, getting ready to go to college. You’ve lived here a little over a year. You come out only for necessities, and so it's been said, you don’t seem to have an interest in men. Oh, and I almost forgot, you’re thirty-eight and a writer.”

Sylvia couldn’t help the astonished look that washed over her face. He grinned as she had expected, quite satisfied with his summation. She was speechless. A pugnacious look replaced the astonished one.

“Anything you want to know about me?” He grinned.

“No, there is not! Since you already know everything about me, there’s nothing for us to discuss, now is there? Excuse me,” she railed, turning away from him to march up her driveway. “My name's Everett Styles! I live across the road—”

“I didn’t ask!”

“I’m single, too! Just moved here from California—”

“Good for you!” she fired back, now at her porch steps.

“Hey, this is not the way it’s done. Aren’t you suppose to welcome me to the neighborhood? With cookies…pie…beef stew?” Her kitchen door slammed shut. He stood grinning some more. “Mean—as—hell!” He snickered, shaking his head, turning back to cross the road to his place.

Sylvia was fuming. “How dare they! Just tell all of my business!” she raged, removing her clothes as she headed for her room. “They don’t know him from the man in the moon. I don’t know him from the man in the moon. But he knows all of my business…god…small town people…get—a—life!” Slinging her running bra to her bed and walking into the bathroom, she shed her underwear as she went to the shower to turn it on. “Everett Styles! Like I care what your name is. Just keep your butt on your side of the road and I’ll stay on mine! Stupid grin. I knew he was a grinner. Thinkin’ he all that and a bag a chips. Men like that get on my nerves. He ain’t nothin’ but a playa’! Playa’, playa’, playa’ written all over him. I ain’t got time for it—and don’t need it!” she carried on as she scrubbed her scalp, washing her hair.

“God…why did you move him next to me?” she whined in prayer. The huff now gone as worry set in. “If I’m being tested…I’m really not in the mood right now. Okay, okay…I’m overreacting. He’s probably being nice. After all, he’s a white guy. He probably doesn’t even like black women.” She shook her head, now grinning. “How you do flatter yourself, girlfriend. Now you know that man got women waiting on him to call. Here you are, gettin’ all worked up for nothing. Wishful thinkin’, huh?” She made a face with that outspoken truth. “No…no, no, no. My status stays. I think I need a puppy. Something to take care of and keep me busy, besides my writing, that is. I’ll have to check the paper and see what’s out there.” With that in mind, she stepped from the shower, taking the towel from the side hook where it hung to wrap it around her hair. She grabbed another to dry her body as she walked from the bath to her bedroom.