Noah
"Oh dear, you are too sweet!" slapped Mrs Palvin against my shoulder, as I carried her last suitcase into the Uber that patiently stood with its engine shut down, watching me load Mrs. Palvin's four loaded suitcases for her two-day trip to her sisters' place, two towns later. "This is nothing, Mrs. Palvin, happy to help". A slap to by bicep again, I have lost the count by now, "Call me Sarah, will you?" she laughed into her handkerchief. I nodded. Sarah lived opposite to my new place, an overly extroverted lady who has been showing up to my door at unexpected hours of the day, coming up with baked cookies of newly made home-cooked pumpkin tarte. Don't get the wrong idea, she is good, but all I can focus on, while fully being aware that Sarah is trying to say something, is the woman who skids her car around the corner of her garage, halting it to a stop, coming out. Her red waves bounce against the back of her dress as her face, pink and flared with freckles, looks through her phone. She definitely is in a hurry, but time has slowed down. looking around the car, she begins fishing into her pant pockets, pulling out the keys to her door, which she pushes right into the keyhole, unlocking it. She scrunches up her nose as the key dislodges itself onto the ground from the hole. Pushing away her thick red locks behind her red ears, she bends to get the keys, gets up, gets inside and closes the door. With a thud; which brings be back to the conversation between Sarah and I.
She was on about something and as rude as it seems, I couldn't stop myself from asking, "What's up with her?"
Sarah looked behind, "Oh, Samantha, she's alright. Poor girl all by herself. Can't say much about her though. But would you come?" she asked. Come where? She must have read my face, "To our dinner next Sunday, my daughter is coming next week for some time, I would like you to meet her." she smiled. Now, I understand the unnecessary warmth upon my arrival. "I would love to but some other day." I returned the smile watching hers falter. Without a word she got into the Uber, thanked me more out of formality than genuinely and drove away, allowing me the quiet for two days. My eyes still were at the house, inches away from mine. All by herself? Interesting. She happens to be the only one whom I haven't met in the six days I came here. I almost know every face in the town, but Samantha, nothing. She didn't bother to show up or rather acknowledge me. She is almost always gone of the house and when she is not, the window to her room is sealed, as if she is ignoring me on purpose. The light to her room with glow against the dark till late at night yet she would be gone at the break of dawn. What possibly keeps her so busy?
Once I saw her at the park petting Fuko, Mr. Hansen's dog, on a walk. She was still in her scrubs of what it seemed like her job in the bakery nearby, and after a short petting where Fuku enjoyed himself more than she enjoyed petting Fuku, she rushed off waving them goodbye. I watched intently, her high ponytail bouncing against her back, as she disappeared beyond my sight.
She was early home, and I wondered if she was fine, was there an emergency. I walked across the road, mounted the small steps to my corridor, unlocked my door and went in. The comfort of the heat relieved my gloveless, now, numbed fingers. I walked past my stereo, switching it on, as I shuffled through my cell deciding on what music to play. The dishes were done this morning and the house shone perfectly, as I sipped on the glass of water, I fetched myself, watching the spotless hall, as I stood leaning against the kitchen counter. After shuffling quite a bit, I hit on Master of Puppets as the stereo roared into the beats. I unpacked a carton of books I had shipped this morning; I should better give them a glance before my classes begin next week. Six metals later, I was done unpacking, though I would have to rack them later. My stomach growled in hunger, I had skipped breakfast as I slept in, I better feed myself something. Walking over to the fridge, I wasn't surprised to see two containers filled of tarte and a few energy bars. Apart from that I had leftover takeaway from the nearby eatery which still had a half-eaten sandwich tucked in. Unwrapping the sandwich, I threw it into the microwave. once it was done, I bit into it, bland, like last night, but anything is better than nothing, so I gulped down the sandwich with a glass of water. Mentally making a note to never get a takeaway from that outlet, I walked across the hall into my room that smelt of cardboard boxes and men's deodorant ; the glass windows or the translucent curtains did nothing to seal my eyes from drifting on the shut windows, I am afraid that those are sealed, of the house next door, concealing the mysterious red head who was too red, all over her body, for her own good. I stood there looking at the window when it barged open, and she stood there, her forehead smeared with orange mixture of something she supposedly was cooking. her curls were sealed into a bun on top of her head, and in her hand was a spoon. "Will you stop your shitty music?" she screamed, her voice less a cream more a music. "The damn music needs to stop", I said as I rushed back to the hall to push the button off. Then was I back to find her still here, standing, waiting for me to reply.
My throat was going dry, and my fingers cold, as I barged open the windows, her green eyes dilating in surprise, her lips parting, her skin turning that knowing shade of pink, as we both stood looking at each other. The wind slow, ruffling my blonde hair, as I gather my composure against those green eyes and long lashes, throwing daggers at me.