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Merrick
Ifeel like I’m banging my head against the wall.
Repeatedly.
Painfully.
As promised, I reached out to Davis via text to arrange a time for our run. That text went unanswered, as did the subsequent two I sent over the following days. I was busy with work and putting my house in order, so I thought nothing of it initially. I assumed he was busy too, or having personal issues he wasn’t comfortable talking about, and figured we’d catch up eventually; even if we chatted about it briefly over Saturday yardwork.
I sent another few texts the following week, which again went unanswered. And by week three, I knew one of two things: he’d either given me an incorrect number, or he was deliberately avoiding me.
In a three week span of time I went from running into him at the mailbox daily, to not seeing him at all. I noticed that his truck wasn’t around much, and only once did I see him in passing; when I was running down the street and he barreled past me in his truck as if I didn’t exist.
I can take a hint. Obviously something happened in his life to cause him to cut ties with me. I’m good with that, if that’s what really happened.
Who the hell am I kidding? No I’m not.I’m a pretty easy-going guy, but I don’t take kindly to being blown off by friends. And I really believed that’s what we were becoming. How could I have been so wrong?
Hence…. the head banging.
Taking a sip of coffee, I wander with cup in hand into the formal living room, and peer all Peeping Tom-like through the wooden shutters to the house next door. Like every other Saturday morning, Davis’s truck is parked at the curb. I briefly consider that I could always write a note and leave it under his wiper blades.
“Are you a teenager, for crying out loud?” I murmur to myself.
I’m slightly disgusted at my fixation and behavior toward this man. Yes, he’s handsome. He’s alsoverymarried. And clearly he has no interest in getting to know me at all. So why the hell do I care if we spend time together?
The answer is easy, actually. I care because I see something in him that’s shattered; a painful truth he tries very hard to hide, one he wears naturally like a second skin. Something so agonizing, so life-altering, that I can almost reach out and grasp it in my hand. The healer in me wants to help in any way I can. I want to be the one he opens up to. I want to be the friend that he can count on; the friend he relies on when others have let him down. I want to see him smile, like he did that Sunday afternoon, when his walls fell down and he was just a guy hanging out watching a ballgame. I want to know what holds that smile hostage all the other hours of the day.
My phone rings loudly and I grumble a curse before sliding my thumb across the screen. “Good morning, Aiden.”
“Morning. Chloe and I were thinking about spending the day in Santa Cruz. Feel like coming along?”
I love Aiden like he’s my brother, but the last thing my mopey self needs is to hang out with two of the most positive people I know. It pisses me off that Davis has somehow robbed me of my own positivity.
“No thanks. I’ve got stuff to do around the house.”
“What’s going on, Mer? You haven’t been yourself lately.”
“Just got a lot on my mind.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“No thanks.”
I hear Chloe’s voice in the background as she hollers a hello to me, but before I can return the greeting, Aiden asks, “Does this have anything to do with Davis?”
“Why would you say that?”Nice. Very nice. Perfect way to deflect.
Aiden scoffs. “Because I know you. And I saw the way you looked at him.”
I’m in no mood to get into this with my best friend. Not today, anyway. Thankfully, I hear the mower start up next door, which gives me the perfect out. “I gotta run. Love to Chloe. You guys have fun today.”
I’m disconnecting the call and tossing the phone aside before he can protest. I’m already dressed for a run, so after leaving the coffee cup on the table inside the front door, I take a deep breath and walk outside.
I head to the mailbox, even though I’m well aware I retrieved all my mail late last night after I returned from a game of poker at Jack’s. Davis’s back is to me, but even from this distance I can see the invisible wall that he’s erected around himself once again. From my vantage point it appears that wall has grown exponentially since our first meeting. His broad shoulders are stiff, tense, and from my angle on the sidewalk I can see that he’s gripping the lawn mower handle so tightly his knuckles are white.
Wandering to the fence, I wait for him to reach the opposite end of the lawn, then turn to face me fully as he once more moves in my direction. Head down, he avoids looking up until the last minute. When he does—and he sees me standing there patiently waiting for him—his eyes grow wide and he blanches.
“Hey, neighbor,” I call loudly. His jaw tightens in annoyance, but he does reach down and turn the engine off, which I actually find surprising. I assumed he’d have no trouble ignoring me in person and using the machine as the perfect distraction to remain disengaged.
