The Sound of Silence: A Dream Daddy story

Chapter Four

The delivery team had only just arrived when you pulled into the driveway. They got you to sign for the furniture and quickly got to work hauling the boxes into your house. You'd already paid the assembly fee, and so for at least an hour you hovered anxiously around while the two men assembled and placed the furniture for you.

The couch stayed in the main living room, positioned to stare directly at a blank wall, while the bed was assembled and pushed into a corner in the bedroom. The bookshelf went right in the main room, too, where you had to fight the urge to start unpacking your books right away. You tried to make small talk with the workers, but they were only interested in getting the job done and leaving.

When they'd left, you locked the door behind them and then sank down onto your new couch, staring around. You'd managed to bring your other shopping in as well, and you'd piled the bags on and around the couch. The new furniture and the shopping bags really did make the place feel a little more like a home. Like someone actually lived here.

Now you just needed groceries and dishes, and you could consider yourself halfway independent and "making it."

You'd just gotten up and started pulling items out of bags when the doorbell rang.

Your heart jumped into your throat. Had one of the delivery men forgotten something? Tense, you stepped across to the door, trying to stay away from the front window. You peered through the peephole, holding your breath.

It wasn't a good view, but the man standing on the doorstep didn't look at all familiar.

Oh what the hell. You did want to know all the damn neighbors.

You opened the door, but only a little bit, pushing your shoulder against the frame to block as much of this person's view of your home as possible.

"Hey, neighbor!" The man looked so unthreatening you sagged with relief. He was clean-cut, and he had a smile that'd charm birds. "Some of the neighbors said this house had finally sold, and I just saw the truck, so I wanted to stop by and, y'know, welcome you to the neighborhood."

You managed a smile. "Ah, thanks. Didn't realize word would get around so quickly."

"You'd be surprised. We tend to be pretty close around here, so someone is bound to notice a new face."

There was a beat of silence, and you shifted your weight. You looked away from the man's face, and suddenly he started, as if just remembering something. "Oh! Here, my daughter and I were baking, so we thought we'd share the wealth." He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. "She did the sprinkles."

You caught your breath, staring down at the plate of brownies as you accepted it. This required you to move some, giving the man a chance to glance behind you and into the house. "Thanks," you looked up at him again in time to see his eyes flick back to your face. "Thank your daughter, too. I--" quickly, you cleared your throat. "Thank you."

He tactfully ignored you as you cleared your throat again. "I've interrupted, haven't I? You were unpacking."

"Oh, no, not really." The lie came out smoothly. "Not a whole lot to unpack anyway . . ." You knew he'd seen into the house--seen the sparse furniture and the handful of boxes. It didn't look like a typical move, of that you were sure.

The man laughed, a lighthearted sound that finally got a real smile out of you. "Keeping it simple, hm? What brought you to the neighborhood?"

You stiffened, leaning back against the doorframe. Easy, tiger. . . This would be delicate. "I, uh. . . Needed a new start. New town, new life. You know how it goes." It wasn't a complete lie, so you didn't feel too guilty. There was no need to mention that you only had five boxes (all of them books) because you'd only had a tiny amount of time to pack and get out.

The man just nodded.

Shit, shit! He knows you're lying.

The look in the man's eye said it all. "Well," he stuck a hand out for you to shake, and you did so, cringing at the contact. "If you need anything, I'm right next door. I'm a youth pastor at the local church, too; I'll do what I can, okay?"

There it was: the sympathy. The look in his eye that said he knew something was off, and he felt sorry for you. Like he'd seen your kind a million times and knew exactly what you needed.

"Thanks." The word caught in your throat.

"If you go to the church, just ask for Joseph. They'll send you in the right direction." He left with a little wave, his little outreach program completed.

You knew his offer had been kindly meant, but it left you feeling a little condescended to. You closed and locked the door again, staring down at the plate of brownies in your hands. This was the neighborhood you'd moved into. A neighborhood where the barista made poetry and music jokes, where a woman in the bar hit on every new face she saw, and where a local youth pastor brought you brownies he'd baked with his daughter.

And where a man with the same name and face that haunted your dreams apparently frequented literally every location you might be tempted to visit occasionally.

You spent the rest of your day putting up the curtains you'd bought. Every now and then you glimpsed someone pass on the sidewalk--there seemed to be an inordinate amount of children running around the neighborhood, and you caught the familiar sight of the barista arriving home from work--you assumed. He caught you watching while you took a break to rest your arms and gave you a little wave of recognition. You waved back, bemused.

You got to watch what looked like the usual neighborhood activity. Once the curtains had been hung, you flung yourself to the couch and just . . . watched for a while, trying not to feel like a creep. Things were so quiet. You could see a man working on his yard across the way, and a gaggle of blonde children riding their bikes, who you assumed probably belonged to Joseph.

Everything seemed so . . . normal. So mundane. So, pedestrian.

The kind of neighborhood where nothing exciting ever happened, but if it did, everyone knew about it within the hour. You had to wonder what you were doing in such an idyllic neighborhood. You didn't belong there, surrounded by happy families and people who had lives.

Hunching down on the couch, you pulled the curtains closed, finally closing yourself off from the outside world. Now there would be no fear of anyone seeing you from outside.

You busied yourself unpacking the few boxes you had, stacking your old favorite books on the shelf where they belonged. Having them out, their worn pages and familiar names staring up at you again, finally made the house feel a little bit like it could be your new home. You pulled one of your old favorites down--The Lord of the Rings. Something familiar and comforting to read while the day passed outside your curtains.

You settled in on the new couch and began to read.