The Neighbors Stone

by Devlin Saints

Kevin sits at a local bar. Haunting memories force drink after drink down his throat as he tries desperatly to forget the past 5 years. He's been planning the Suicide for a long time, and tonights the night. R&R me please. It's my first finished Story.

THE NEIGHBOR'S STONE

by Danny Santos

June -July 2011

A giant red beast stares me down, it's searching eye's like two black marbles, atop the phone lines that hover above the service. The priest reads aloud from the King James bible and I question God as my tiny angel gets lowered into the earth for what seems to me, the 100th time. I only wake up whenever the giant red bird screams its way at me. This time I wake up in a bar. I ask myself whether there's a God.

I set my phone to silent, ignoring THE wife's seventh call of the night. She doesn't know where I am, and I can't do this job with her interruptions. Calling Rachel 'the wife' has always bothered me, but I do it anyway. 'The wife' sounds like 'the car,' it's like there's only one of them in town and it's my turn to take her out for a spin.

'Okay Kevin', time for drunk check...

Yup... I'm feeling pretty smashed right now.

You know, I've lived in this town for over 20 years. Never once have I been to this place, this bar. Haven't I suffered enough to earn the right to be here? Am I not allowed the indulgences of an average man? Don't I deserve to drown my problems like everyone else?

I hated my boss... still do I guess. Just thinking of that fat, piss-smelling bastard gets my blood boiling. I finally, after eight years, got to tell him exactly how I feel about him, though. I told them all where they could stick their accusations whenever things go wrong, and their undeserved praise whenever someone's taken credit for my hard work. That part was fun, easy, and surprisingly liberating.

Damn, this place is deafening! I wouldn't be able to keep a conversation in here, even if I wanted to, but I don't, so it'll do. There is a lot of smoke in the air. Seems everything in here seems to be made of... noises. Noise and wood. Wood, wood, wood... noise, noise, noise...wood and noise everywhere I look and hear. I hate cigarette smoke, too.

You know, Nicky would've been five years old by now...

Five is still so young, so unfair. But I can't keep thinking about that, not tonight. I've been doing a ton of serious thinking this past year. I've avoided all the usual trappings of time. All the fads and fashions that I'd normally take part in, and just sitting at home... thinking.

Is there a God? I mean, really? And if there is, why did he take Nick? It's not fair, but I know I can't blame God for my troubles. It's all my fault, and my fault alone, that Nicholas is dead. I can't continue living life this way. I feel broken, from the bottom of my soul.

I feel torn. I don't want to live like this anymore. So after all my contemplating I've come to a difficult decision - I'm going to kill myself tonight.

No theatrics, no dramatics, believe you me, I'm no coward, either. I'm simply exhausted, so I'm creating a solution. Rest. I have a job to do, and I can't let anything get in my way. But I feel stuck to this bar stool right now, so here I sit. Amoretto sours have always been my favorite, whenever I do let myself indulge in drink. I've never had this many, though, but if I can just keep'em coming, I know I can forget.

I've opened up a tab here, knowing it'll never get paid. The plan is to run up my tab until I've had my fill of the place. I'm drinking heavily in a wretched attempt to rid myself of all my problems, or at least making it seem as if I'm ridding myself of them, if only momentarily.

I convince myself that I feel good, after all, I'm wearing my purple-with-white-sleeves jacket, my lucky jacket. It helps. I went to the same college my older brother, Will, did he was the football player in our family. This was his jacket.

I got the jacket when he died, the year after he started attending Brown College. Of course, at the age of eleven, I was too small for it, but I eventually grew in to it. I can't remember a moment through college when I wasn't wearing the thing. I have my lucky jacket, and I feel great.

A pretty girl with dirty blonde hair sits next to me. I can see her lips moving but she's not saying anything. Sitting here, pretending.

The conversation's random, strangers passing through everything. Even me, like images through a glass of water, distorted and yet somehow recognizable.

Damn, I still need to write my suicide note. 'Suicide note'... I hate to call it that, it's so disgustingly typical, isn't it? Like I'm killing myself because Daddy didn't buy me that Mustang I've always wanted since a week ago.

That wasn't good enough for me. At that moment I declared, to myself, that I wasn't going to write a suicide note. No, I was going to write my death letter. That would set me apart, make me different from all the others.

"Nicholas!" I cry out into my cup.

It was only me. I alone hear the voice when it shouts out from memories past, like always. It shouts at me from my deepest subconscious. Trying to keep focused, I stare at some toothpicks I've piled up in front of me here on the bar table. I feel the side effect of all the alcohol. It's starting to take over.

I'm going to let it. I just need to forget... forget the past five years... forget his face... just have to make it for tonight.

The room grows dark and I pass out...

I lock eyes with some guy's grimy-looking face. This stranger's woken me up from the drunken haze I was in. He persistently knocks on my pickup's window. How'd I get to my truck? Whatever, it doesn't even matter.

He stands unsteady before me, holding his bloodshot gaze about a foot away from my own face. He's a scary looking bastard, and reminds me of a zombie character in some scary movie I once saw. After a quick adjustment in my seat I give him a quick smile of recognition. I feel the onset of a headache.

"Hey!... Change, man? Spare some change?"

He speaks out, leaving speckles of saliva on my window and forehead.

Obviously, he's a vagrant. It doesn't bother me, I always spare it, whenever I can.

I reach in my pockets in an exaggerated manner, letting him know I was really trying,. As I do, I notice a beer bottle inside my belt, and my 'death letter' inside my jacket pocket. Huh, I wrote it while I was passed out? While I rummage through my pockets I can smell the faint scent of rain in the air. It must've rained tonight while I was out.

Honestly, I have no money to give this poor man. I grin in knowing that somewhere in there's a bar tab with my name on it, and it won't get paid. All my troubles are about to be over.

When I lower my window I find my suspicions were correct, and his breath hit me like a bomb.

I tack on a shrug to compliment my remark, in hopes the man will retreat in dismay.

"Sorry, I got nothing, Buddy."

He does not. Instead, he just stands there in his dirty long coat. Looking at me, as if I was lying to him. What an asshole!

You don't care, Kevin. This'll all be over soon. I ignore the stranger. I do pretty well, too. I've had months of practice ignoring my wife, so I was already good at the ignoring game. This was a cake walk.

"Thank God!"

My keys are still here, with me, inside my dirty pickup truck. I'm regretfully very conscious of my surroundings. I'm pretty cold - the windows are still open.

I start the truck, close the windows - which gets me a dirty look from my new friend - and I run the heat full blast. Let's see if I can't gather my thoughts.

I'm somewhere between a welcomed buzz and an undesired headache. It feels like my heart wants burst out of my head, it hurts so much. I know, I just know from the depths of my soul, that all this would go away if I could just forget! I need to get to the bridge, fast.

Exactly how long I've been out is a mystery but a pretty good question. How long have I been out? How long have I been sitting here, stewing in my own filth? Maybe I should ask Mr. Sidewalks over here. Nah, he looks pretty pissed off at me, scary.

"Hello!"

I give him a big' ole fake exaggerated wave. He just stands there looking at me.

I feel wet, so maybe, just maybe, I might've pissed myself. But the down there could be explained by the beer bottle in my pants. You know what, I don't even care anymore.

Beer bottle tucked away in my pants, keys in the ignition and drool coming down my chin and shirt. I've seen better days.

None of these clues are helpful to me right now, but I need answers, What time is it? Looking down at my watch I answer one of my questions – it's 3 AM.

Well, that was easy to figure out. I grab out the beer bottle and toss it out the window, after swigging it empty of course. It shatters, along with the silence, for a brief second, landing inches away from Mr. Sidewalk's feet. Neither of us seem to care, though, so I press on.

A half moon decorates an immense soot colored sky as I start the pickup. I guess it must've rained while I was passed out. The night's cold atmosphere's been sharpened somehow and I can smell earth in the air.

The scatter of puddles throughout the empty, fogged-up streets confirm my early suspicions. I better get going, before the morning comes. I put my truck in gear and speed off. I hear the vagrant shout out a popular curse word at me as I drive away, and I couldn't care less.

I start for the highest bridge in town - the river bridge.

My head attacks me in pounding waves, and my hands are shaking, either from fear or cold. I could still be drunk, so I don't know if I really see what I think I'm seeing.

While driving I spot an animal above, something I've only seen one other time in my life. At the funeral.

A giant bird. A giant red crow-looking bird flies over my truck, making every turn along with me. I've seen this giant before, at Nicholas's funeral. It was perched on a telephone pole across the street. And it was looking right at me then, as it was now.

Until now, I'd almost completely forgotten seeing it before. How could anyone forget an enormous red crow? Goddamn, that's a big freaking bird! It's huge. I can't believe I'd almost forgotten about it. I mean, it has to be the same one I saw before. How many Hugantic birds are flying around this dumb town?

It dodges between trees and power lines as it flies to keep up with my truck. It looks like some type exotic bird.

"Alred" I whisper to myself.

I get to the bridge, the spot where I'm going to do it. I turn the music off but leave the truck running. I park the pickup in the middle of the bridge, shoot, in the middle of the road. Why should I care anymore?

The giant red bird has now settled atop a neighboring street light. It'll be a silent witness to my self destruction.

I stick my 'death letter' to the steering wheel with duct tape. It explains, or it is meant to explain, why my sorry ass ended up in the river. At least, I hope it will.

Chances are good no one will understand the damn thing. I wrote it while I was drunk. I would rewrite it, but I imagine my words are better uncensored. I would try and read it now, but I'm a coward. I can see from here, without even trying, that it's covered with Nick's name.

It even starts with 'Nicholas' in really big letters at the top, and I just can't bring myself to read it.

It may sounds crazy, but I take some odd comfort in knowing that the letter exists, and that it's firmly attached to the car's steering wheel.

I chose this place because there's a street lamp hanging overhead. It feels right here. The lighting in this section of the bridge is perfect, like a stage spot light. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the icy surroundings of the atmosphere as I step up on my ledge.

Balancing up this high, the cold November air ignores my jacket and chills me straight to the bone. If things weren't broken, if things were normal, I imagine this is where I would rethink my efforts and turn around. I'd go home to a wife who should hate me, but doesn't. But things aren't normal, and my life IS broken.

I can't explain it any better but to say that time's moving in bizarre intervals.

I can see my breath, my frosted, alcohol-saturated breath by the half moon's light. I could also see the rushing water below me. It must be over 80 feet high. Those same blue waters I knew as a child were now looking up at me. Threatening. It feels as if its hiss is meant exclusively for me. Its threat calls my way, my name. Deceivingly black, almost tar-like, it moves along steadily, accompanied by a heavy bass. The drone-like rush calls out to me, begging for me to join it.

Besides the pickup behind me, chugging its gasoline away, I can hear the night, and all its creatures, the ones who now call out to it. I hear rustling leaves trying to shush everything around them. I observe the feel of invisible breeze on my face as it blows the unseen trees from all around. I can barely see them, but I know they're there. How ironic that I should feel so alive at this moment, in the end.

I look down again and see my life in the river; it looks about 100 feet down now.

I close my eyes and ready myself for the plunge, then I hear foot steps behind me. Without thought I turn around to see... a girl?

A young girl wearing a yellow summer dress had walked up to my truck and was now reading my death note. What the hell is she doing? That's not meant for her.

"Hey, what are you doing, get away from there!"

I yell at her while running back towards my pickup truck.

I grab this tiny stranger by the shoulders and push her away from the truck.

The giant red crow jumps off its perch, then opens its wings, which must span over six feet. As it passes overhead, it lets out an unexpected nerve wracking shriek which scared a part of my soul I never knew existed.

"CRAAAAWWWW!"

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

Now, normally I don't go around shoving strangers away from me, but there was nothing normal about tonight.

"My name's Laurie, mister. Laurie Lee. What's your name, mister?"

She asks in the most innocent sounding voice I've ever heard. As if we had met in a park or carnival. Somewhere less ominous. Somewhere other than in the middle of a lowly bridge, in the middle of the night.

"Kevin, okay!"

I continue to yell, in a stern voice, but I get no reaction from her which, in turn, scares me a bit. Little girls scare the crap out of me for some strange reason. I don't understand them, and at 5 or 6 she's so out of place here.

So calmly, I continue. "There now." I say softly but sternly. "You see what's happening here, now move along, Laurie. Go home. Your parents are probably worried, looking for you. I can't deal with you right now."

"Oh no, Mister. My parents!... No, no mister.

I play here all the time. I come here by myself all the time. I play on the bridge, see." She points to the ledge I was standing on.

"They don't mind, really."

That sounded like an out-right lie to me, and I gave her the look of it. But deep down I guess it was just as plausible as having a father who'd leave his 4 year old next to an unattended swimming pool.

"Nicholas." I whisper.

"Hey, Nicholas!" She repeats, in an unnecessarily loud voice.

"I have a baby brother named Nicholas!"

A creepy chill ripples up from inside me and I pause, mouth open. There's a question stuck in my throat now, but I don't dare ask it. I almost don't want to, because I'd be afraid. Afraid of the answer, but I ask it anyways.

" Laurie!" Again, I place my hands on her small shoulders, then look at those big brown eyes of hers. "How old is your little brother, Laurie?... 5? Is he 5 years old?"

I ask her with a kind of desperation, and hope in my voice, one I'm sure she can't understand.

"No, Silly Billy he's not 5. He's only... one. 1 years old. But he's so funny, though, Cause he never shuts up. Our Father just laughs at him."

What does that mean? Does it mean anything? I try and find meaning to it. It has to mean something, but it doesn't.

She continues to talk about her family, unaware I've shut down; she goes on mute to me. Again, I see lips moving, a grin on her face, as she talks at me, fluttering about. She has no clue how close she came to, literally, giving me a heart attack, though, I don't know what exactly I was thinking. I just have to get out of here, I was driving myself crazy.

She keeps those vast brown eyes on me, and I'm melting. Her cute face warms my heart to the core while simultaneously testing the limits of my patience. I can't go through with this crap if she's here. Watching me. I got to get rid of her somehow.

"Well, I mind. You hear me? I mind! And this is not a time or a place for little girls to be running around, prancing about like some kind-"

I stop my self midway in to my speech on 'The do's and don'ts of night time.' I come to notice some strange things I'd missed when I fist met this odd little girl. First off, on closer inspection, I see she's younger than I had previously thought. I think maybe she was 8 or 10 years old. And more importantly, this poor girl's shivering and dripping wet.

"Come here." I start to take my jacket off. "You must be frosted over!"

God help them, kids can do a great job of hiding discomfort when their distracted, but I know she must be so cold.

I place my jacket on her small shoulders. She should not be here. Actually, the more I inspect Laurie, the more out of place she seems to me. Either she just came up from swimming in the icy river, or she likes to walk in the rain.

"Hey, This is neat!... What is it?" Without warning, her tiny arms spring out at me, she grabs the phone from my waist and holds it up glowing on her face.

"It's my phone! It's the a new model. My wife's always upgrading me. She got me this new T-1000 touch phone. Girl, you act like you never seen a phone before." I put my fingers on the phone, grasping the top of it with the slightest force. She pays no mind to me.

"Your a Silly Billy," she corrects me,

"Ha! Course I've seen a phone before, Mister. Just never seen this one before, is all."

"Well, now you've seen it. Now, come on, That there's a man's phone,"

I joke.

As I take back my phone I give her a firm look but attach a smile.

What am I going to do now, though? Jump off the stupid bridge while she looks on? Well... She could wave me good bye. No, That wouldn't be right, would it? No! What the hell am I thinking?

Great, I can't think of death now. I can't think of anything now. I feel uncomfortably responsible for this stupid kid.

"Come on, get in! Where do you live? I'm taking you home."

With a smile on her pale face, and no questions asked, this miniature person waddles over to the other side of my vehicle before stepping in, my purple jacket over her delicate frame.

The jacket's collar traps her jet black hair, pinching it down. She looks adorable under its shelter, and somewhere out there a violin plays softly. Tiny feet keep shuffling about her bright yellow sun dress whilst it spills out from underneath the jacket and I can't help but smile, for the first time in a long time.

I drive through some questionable streets. They're shady, even during the daytime, and not so honest streets. Garbage is spread sporadically all over the place, and seedy characters are operating in dark corners under hooded sweaters and puffy coats. Coming here's another first for me. I rarely stop over this part of town, never, really.

Never had a reason 'til now, and truth be told I probably won't return.

I spend half the car ride hearing a high pitched voice talk about her little brothers and sisters, none of them older than 8. The other half of the car ride's spent attending to her and keeping those small, snooping hands away from my glove box. But I'm good at multitasking, at least I used to be.

"Are you going to call your wife, Kevin?" She stares at me without that smile I've come to know on her.

"Huh?..."

She goes on, and I look at her in a strangely new way. With somehow wider eyes, she says,

"Because if you did, you should tell her to look in the bedroom closet."

"Why should she look there? What's in the bedroom closet, Laurie?"

Her head springs to the side, and she smiles big again.

"I don't know, Silly Billy! Just tell her, and find out, Gggeeesh."

And just like that she was back to her old self again, and smiling big, like every little girl should, you know? That moment is honestly freaking me out but I say nothing.

"There it is, stop!"

I park the pickup in front of a laundromat, and though it's not open at this time, "THE BIG CLEAN" shines on me brightly, above the roof in big red letters. I guess the large gloomy house across the street is hers, and I'm proven right when I see her walking away from me, towards it.

"Thanks, Mister!"

Besides the tapping of her small black shoes, that's the last I hear of Larine. And just like that, the most beautiful part of my night slips away, I dropped her off and now she's gone. This is a bad part of town. Actually, it's the bad part of town. I hadn't noticed it but she when she went in her house she took my jacket with her. Now it's just me sitting in here, alone.

So now what do I do? What now, I think to myself. Now I go home. As soon a s I make up my mind to head back home a hidden anxiety deflates from somewhere inside me and I feel at peace, for the first time in a long time.

I go to see Rachel. The drive home seems way too long, I guess I'm excited of the thought of seeing my wife.

Along the way I call my wife. I'm unexpectedly surprised and caught off guard when I realize she's happy to hear from me. I tear up.

(THE NEXT DAY)

The singing of my phone wakes me up today, calling out for me to answer, until I finally do. I wake in my king size bed with the sun on my face and a beautiful queen next to me. On the other end of the phone line's an angry bartender screaming in a thick country accent. Something about large unpaid bills. I didn't catch the exact amount but it was in the thousands. I guess I'll have to deal with that unpaid tab after all.

"Click."

But not today. I end the call in the middle of all his screaming, then turn my phone to silent. Nothing says I have to deal with that this early in the day.

I have more important things to think about today. It turns out I'm going to be a father all over again. Rachel's pregnant.

She found a pair of Nicholas's shoes in our closet, which lead her to take a pregnancy test which gave her the great news last night. So yeah... I've got things to do.

I think it's a sign when even Rachel asks me about my jacket, and she hates it. But she knows how important it is to me.

Today's checklist is simple. First, get my jacket from that lovable little brat, Laurie. She's a firecracker.

Then I'll make a much needed visit to Nick's tombstone. I miss him so much it hurts.

It was dark when I dropped Laurie off, And even now, in the day light, I don't think I could find the house, and I'm sober now.

So I use the Laundromat as my guide, and I think I find the place. I park in front of the "THE BIG CLEAN" Laundromat. This is the place, I know it is. But I don't think the house I'm looking at right now is the same one I saw last night. It's like it was last night; it's the only house across the street.

This can't be right, the house I'm looking at is wrecked beyond repair. It looks as if it went through a fire. No way this was done overnight, and no way anyone lives here. Maybe?

I really came to get my jacket but, secretly, I want to see that little ray of sunshine again. What can I say, she grew on me. She probably saved my life. The house across the Laundromat's not there, though. There's a house there but it's burnt to the ground, unlivable. And it looks old, too.

The crumbling cracking of leaves beneath my feet disturb what I imagine was silence before I arrived, who knows? The graves are tiny in this section of cemetery. I get to my son's grave, ready to kneel, and pour my heart out.

But before I do the colors, purple and white, stop me in my tracks. It shouldn't be here, but there it hangs. Hung up on the adjacent tombstone, next to my Nicholas.

It lays there as if it were always there, dripping wet. It doesn't belong here, so I take it down. It's so cold against my touch, drenched when I take it from the nearby gravestone, and that's when my day turned from unusual to strange.

The name on the headstone gave me chills, the name I knew couldn't logically be there, but it was; Laurie E. Lee.

I never saw Laurie after that night, and as I go about my business, trying to pretend that this is all somehow 'normal,' I start a monthly ritual. I clasp my hands after kneeling over Nicky's grave, and I talk to him. I talk to him about the memories we shared. Private and only ours. Moments like secrets, shared only by friends and only ours. I talk for hours, I know he's listening.

I'd be lying if I told you I didn't spend a lot of time trying to figure out exactly what happened that night. Truth is, I still think about it. But now, there's a measure of peace within me. I can think about my son, Nicholas and smile.

There's no probably about it. I was a fool to even think about jumping off that bridge, but that little girl saved me from my self. After my visit with Nicholas I get up and go home, where I was always meant to be. But I place the jacket back on Laurie's gravestone. I decide to leave it here, where it's meant to stay.

END