unspoken

dear rory,

I was in the middle of writing an entirely different letter to you, when I made the mistake of looking out my window… so now you get this long, rather pointless story instead. aren't you glad I have a short attention span?

***

so there’s this neighbor of ours.

she hasn’t aged in twelve years.

she has silvery hair that falls an inch beneath her chin, her shoulders are slightly hunched, she walks in quick, short steps (yet somehow manages to move slowly), and her eyes... well… they’re distant.

I’ve only seen her a handful of times during our long encampment here in this neighborhood, but at the moment she is standing on my driveway.

I don’t even know her name.

the first time I saw her, she was watching as her son joined me on my mad-dash-bicycle race up and down and around and around the cul-de-sac. I was the fastest of the fast (not to mention the humblest of the humble)- especially when my arch-rival neighbor/best friend, Danny, wasn’t there.

but one day, with his mother watching from the corner, this new kid joined me. Chris. that was his name. and he was faster than any biker I'd ever seen.

Danny and I were typical kids. we both worshipped AND hated anyone faster or bigger or stronger than us. we thought they were cool, but they were also a threat if you know what I mean. we used to just sit out in Danny’s front yard with our bare feet stretched into the grass, licking our dripping popsicles, staring Chris down as he rode his bike in huge circles. if he looked our way, my conflicting jealousy and admiration would melt into a smile- there was something I didn’t understand about him and it made me curious. but Danny would make a face and confidently boast his own speed to me. after all, this was OUR cul-de-sac. not to mention that looking back, I’m pretty sure he considered me HIS girlfriend (even though I considered him just a dorky neighbor boy)… and he was just as jealous as any seven-year-old boy could be for his eight-year-old girlfriend.

In consequence, I don’t remember Danny ever riding bikes with Chris. but sometimes, I would overcome my shyness and join him.

I honestly don’t know how I learned his name. I can’t remember him speaking one word to me. ever. usually, I would spot him through my front window, rush out to the garage, and then casually sit on my bike at the end of the driveway studying my nails till he slowed up before me.

acting like I hadn’t even noticed him before, I would suddenly glance up and give him my cheesiest gap-toothed smile. he would smile back in his quiet way. he was tall and skinny. his eyes were almost as pale as his skin. his hair was the definition of sandy blonde… sometimes it looked so sandy, I wondered if he were a merman with real ocean sand mixed in with his hair. he was quite a few inches taller and several years older than me, but he needed a friend. a quiet friend.

I am not quiet. but around him, I somehow managed to be. in fact, I never spoke a word to him either. there was no need to. we were both kids riding bikes in circles… what could we possibly have to say about that? and besides, we were friends, and we both knew it, so we were both happy.

when we got too tired to continue, I never invited him over for ice-cream, and he never asked. his house was not actually in the cul-de-sac, but around the corner. I can still see him looking over his shoulder and giving a final faint smile, and on rare occasions a wave, as I stared my goodbye.

this mutually quiet friendship continued a few summers. sometimes the gaps between his cul-de-sac rounds were so long that Danny and I would forget he existed. and as for his mom- well, I'm pretty sure I only saw her that first day he joined me. but whenever Chris finally did show up, Danny and I would exchange glances, continue our game of basketball or superheroes, and steal looks his way whenever we could. he would smile, but say nothing. his pale eyes would look at me curiously and I felt sorry for him, but never once did that sorry-ness I felt prompt me to go speak to him. it wasn't something that even crossed my relatively friendly mind, because it wasn't something that was supposed to be done. not to Chris. I couldn't and wouldn't force him to speak.

he was a forgettable person. and one summer, I realized I hadn’t seen him in years. I doubt Danny even remembered his existence, and I probably wouldn’t have either if I hadn’t seen his mom out walking.

it was strange to see her out in the fresh air. but what was weirder was that she was parading an empty baby stroller around.

being the polite thirteen-year-old that I was, I stopped on the sidewalk and open-mouth stared. she hadn’t seen me yet, so I jumped into our pine tree and watched. she strolled along in her old-looking clothes. if she had been closer, I would feel justified in saying that she smelled like moth-balls. but that was probably my imagination. she stopped at every driveway and bent down. apparently the front page of each of our newspapers was highly fascinating to her. she continued her loop and walked back around the corner.

a few days later she showed up with her empty baby stroller at my neighbor’s garage sale. she brought a few things over and wondered if she could sell them. my neighbor said that would be fine. I don’t remember her coming back for the money she made.

at that time I wondered about Chris. what had happened to him? I didn’t know. if I could’ve, I would’ve asked that odd woman I assumed (but with my strong imagination, I sometimes romantically made up past histories for Chris and doubted) to be his mother, but she disappeared from our lives again, and so they both disappeared from my mind.

then, about two years ago, I had the weirdest dream: I was at camp playing on a playground. I was with a bunch of my friends and they were talking in dream language (you know what I mean... that babbling background noise that doesn't make an ounce of sense). I was in the middle of laughing when I saw him. he looked much older, and at first I didn’t recognize him. but he had the same sandy hair and pale colorless eyes, and he gave me the same faint smile and slowly walked over to me. just as always, I didn’t say anything. he stopped in front of me and held out his hands sort of helplessly.

then he spoke.

“will you do me a favor?” it was the first thing he had ever said to me. his voice was pale and forgettable like the rest of him.

“yes,” my dream self answered.

“will you please pray for me? every night?”

“yes,” I answered again. and in my dream he looked relieved, almost happy even.

“promise me,” he said suddenly desperate again.

“I promise.”

then the dream faded and he looked over his shoulder. I stared goodbye. as always.

when I woke up, I was shaken. I took a walk around the block that day and went slow-motion past Chris’s house. the windows were dark. I stopped on the driveway and looked at the garage wondering if there was a small bike inside and what had happened to it’s owner.

I still slow down when I walk past that house. where is my silent friend now? I haven’t forgotten the promise I made him in my dream. and though I don't pray for him every night, I pray for him whenever I can.

maybe I’m crazy for praying for someone I spoke to for the first time in a dream, but I figure praying for him can’t hurt him. even if I am being silly.

***
mom is inside now.

“what did she want?” I ask. our neighbor had been standing on the drive-way holding a huge window-screen for quite some time. I wonder if it was necessary to carry the whole screen over? or was it like the empty baby stroller... just something to make her feel less lonely?

before mom answers, I alter my question entirely; “wait, does she have a name?”

“yes she has a name,” mom laughs. but I can tell she’s already struggling to remember it. “her name is… Judy…” there's a question in mom's voice as if she's not quite sure, but she continues; “she wanted to ask dad a question about her window…”

“did she say anything about Chris?”

“yes, she did.” I think mom is surprised I remember him. “she said he’s at some technical institute or something studying engineering… or… I’m not sure what. I get the feeling he’s a genius though.”

“I would believe it,” I mumble to myself. “mom? do you think… do you think she’s all right?”

“all right?”

“yeah, like, mentally?”

“yes,” mom says, “but no!” she adds quickly. “I think something is missing...”

***
someday, if I ever see Chris again, I want to walk right up to him and break our silent spell. I wonder what he would say if he knew I’ve been praying for him all this time? if he knew that I try to keep an eye out for his mom? would he stay silent and thank me with his eyes?

then again, maybe I won’t say anything at all... maybe he just needed a quiet praying friend.

maybe some things are better left unspoken.

your friend,
muffin