The Man Across the Way

Can I tell you a secret? Before the series Twilight gained any traction, and before any other curious library dweller could snag it, I checked out the very first novel by Stephenie Meyer. I didn't even fault her for her name being spelled wrong. That wasn't her choice, not really. It was more so her mother's. Let it be known that I loved her book. Truly. And I say this with great shame. I'd been perhaps, what, thirteen? That doesn't quite excuse me of the crime, but it explains it. Now being well into my ever exciting adulthood life, I can't bear to admit that little tidbit about myself to a soul. Well. I suppose I'd admitted it to the man that lived in apartment 305B, but he… He's a special case. I've deleted the word basket for the sake of our friendship, but it's there like the silent letter in a disturbingly difficult word to spell.

Twilight. I've brought it up for a reason other than to feel utter mortification. It's a precious secret of mine, and like anyone else, I've guarded that secret with my life. Perhaps a bit dramatic, but what's a man to do? I'd rather die than let the world know. I've only mentioned it to you because this is a memoir, and I'm likely on my way to an untimely death by now anyway. Undoubtedly, I'm probably sprawled out on a bed of moss, bleeding out as you read this, listening to swing. My best mate has the strangest taste in music. He says he's got class. I say he's just got character. Which is a polite way of saying he's terribly eccentric, so eccentric in fact, his pet oyster's name is Eloise. It's curious really, why I'd even bothered to get to know him. It's even more curious how he managed to get me infatuated with his storybook fantasies and outrageous theories. But he did. And that's the point I'm trying to make, I think. He had a secret too. A secret that was far more peculiar, and far more interesting, than an embarrassing affinity for a book series revolving around pedophilia, personality-lacking husks, and abusive relationships. A secret that made me want to do the impossible with him.

I've neglected to say this, as I thought it was obvious from the beginning, but this is my life's story. At least, from the moment I met the man from apartment 305B. He started the plot, I believe, the moment he knocked on my door and inquired if I had a teaspoon of olive oil to spare at precisely 2:11AM, April 11th. So I'll begin there.

Q.

[Disregard that Q.]

April 11th

My eldest brother had arrived at my doorstep, smelling charmingly of skunks like the awful omen he was. I don't believe it had been an intentional sort of visit. No, I don't think he's planned a thing in his life. He'd merely shown up, absently belched, and after ruffling my hair to a satisfactory extent, shuffled into my apartment and towards the couch residing in my living room. We hadn't spoken. We were never very close, understand, and so normal communication always boiled down to awkward gestures and facial expressions. It was like we spoke two different languages, really. This tended to make interactions particularly uncomfortable, for me mainly. I hadn't the heart (or bravery) to ever relay my intellectual observation of our relationship to him, though. I believe it had taken me moments to recover from the shock of his unannounced visit. Still very disturbed, I trudged into my living room. We looked at one another. Him, bored, I, bothered. "Have you come to make sure I haven't keeled over in the absence of your fine presence? I haven't. So really, you needn't stay for long." He scratched at the scuff of hair on his chin in response. I already warned you, our conversations tended to consist of gestures and expressions. He was doing quite a very good job at it, too. He was clearly the veteran, seeing as I'd broken our customary silence first.

He made a motion moments later for me to move a few inches to the left, so that he could focus upon my television. A television, which, mind you, had a turquoise heel lodged into the middle of its screen. I have the most interesting exes. "How about'cha fetch me a beer, sheep?" He mumbled, thick fingers mashing at buttons on my universal remote. Unsurprisingly, the television only sputtered, but did little more than that in terms of changing to different channels or even turning on for that matter. "My name is Arthur. I'm practically twenty-four, for God's sake." I replied, hot and uncomfortable. I was about as pale as a dead man, and so blatantly blushing was just plain unavoidable for me. A tan would be nice, but while some people soaked up sun like sponges, I roasted in it like a pig in the bowels of hell. "Arthur, twit, sheep. Beer." Needless to say, I fetched him the next closest thing I had in my humble abode. An energy drink. We looked at one another as I handed it off to him. He glowered. The door was knocked upon. There were three distinct raps. Then a fourth. Then a beat was hammered out against it. I recall it being vaguely similar to that of the Fresh Prince opening. I skittered off to answer before the lunatic at the door decided to break out into song along with it. Also, more importantly, I wanted to get out of my brother's glower. It had already singed a few hairs off of my brow from how fiery and hateful it had been. It was his fault for asking for a beer of all things, anyhow. He knew I didn't touch the stuff.

"It's late. Are you on fire? Is your cat on fire?" I said very reasonably.

"I actually have an oyster. But no, neither of us have had the honor of spontaneously combusting." The stranger had responded, just as reasonably. Or, as reasonable as one can sound after having admitted they own a live oyster. "Favor, neighbor. Got olive oil? A teaspoon. No more, no less."

Note: The Orlorkian Oyster

It is not known why it is that the oyster lives in every galaxy, and even in some realms outside of the observable universe. It is known however, that they are particularly helpful as an advisor in directions and in your love life. They were made popular in the Gorgon Planetary System, where a dwarf planet in particular held a species of party lovers. Said species discovered the oyster to be an intellectual naturally inclined to spout love fortunes and routes to desired destinations. However, it only seems to work if the owner of the oyster happens to be drunk to a hospitalization point. The Orlorkian Oyster is strangely responsible for the most lost wanderers in history, but hey, maybe they just weren't drunk enough to understand it. Still gives a damn good love fortune.

I squinted at him. "…No, but I've 'got' milk." He laughed like it was the funniest come back he'd heard since, 'your mom'. I imagined at the time he likely didn't have the wittiest friends. Or more accurately, likely didn't have friends at all. I was still hung up on the oyster note.

"Funny. I like you, neighbor. So. Seriously. Olive oil?" It was as though I had been speaking to a very young one track minded child, with hearing problems to boot. "I've already told you no. I hadn't said it just to be clever. Try someone else." He'd scowled, eyes, which were a rather striking but unremarkable blue, narrowing. "Check. Everyone has olive oil." I sighed. Massaged my temple. From the living room, I'd heard a, "This energy drink tastes like nuclear piss!" I'd sighed more. It was too late at night. What had I been doing originally? I think I'd been sleeping. Like a normal citizen.

"Just… Just wait here." And with that being said, I shuffled off. Or rather, skittered. I was a bit like a cat in the respect of movement, even when tired. I have this terrible paranoia that something, at any moment, will jump out from behind a corner and give me a massive concussion via noogie. Oh. A traumatizing childhood is the best sort of childhood. In my pantry, I discovered, amazingly… Olive oil. Huh. Suppose an ex of mine must've left it. Lord knows I never cooked anything but instant ramen on the stove. "Here's the bottle. Take it all." I said upon my return to the door, handing it to him in a dramatized weary manner.

He smiled at me, my neighbor, with the sort of smile more suitable for a thoroughly satisfied shark. I had the most sensible need to shudder then, but there was a more muddled call from my living room, and my shudder was needed for that instance instead. "Good night to you." He said in an 'I suppose I won't shred you into fleshy bits, mortal' sort of way. Then he made his merry way to apartment 305B, right across from mine, which was 306B. Supposedly the man living there before me had died of asphyxiation. The whole mess was corndog related. But I don't believe it had anything to do with foul play—I'm a vegetarian anyhow. No one's going to catch me deep throating a deep fried slab of massacred innocent creatures, so I doubt I'll ever go that way… Hm. What was I saying? Ah yes. 306B. I tried not to consider the possibility of my neighbor being a maddened individual bent on murdering via corndog as I shut my door.

The remainder of that night consisted of me bearing with my brother's babbling. It had been something irrelevant to me. His wife had changed the locks, or something like that. Accused him of leeching off of her bank accounts for gambling money, supposedly, though that did sound like something he'd have the gall to do. I honestly didn't care enough to even entertain the idea of being an understanding sibling. I just sort of bobbed my head along to the rhythm of his voice, pausing whenever he stopped to sip at the Monster I'd given him. "Alistair, if I may, perhaps you should just prove you haven't cheated her?" I'd said at some point, positioned precariously on the edge of my coffee table. He'd stared.

"It doesn't matter if I did or if I didn't, it matters that she locked thuh bleedin' doors you brainless prat!" He raged the moment after I blinked, losing in the staring competition. "Haven'tcha been listenin'? Eh? I can't get in!"

"Ah. My mistake."

"She's got no head."

"Clearly, headless."

"I fucking hate the woman. I shouldn't have married her."

"Oh, undoubtedly."

He ranted and raved a bit more. I must've fallen asleep, though, because I woke up a while later with a sewer reeking leather jacket tossed over my shivering form, which was sprawled out on the floor. Untangling my limbs, I sat up and envisioned a large mallet smacking into my brother's head, effectively murdering him and leaving his wife and kids with a hefty amount of his life insurance. I don't' know why it's the first thing that came to my sleep hazed mind. Perhaps that's just how I showed affection. "Have you gone home?" I called in that same affectionate manner. There was a gesture made from the kitchen. Still here then.

I sighed. Stood up. Stretched. Incidentally, that was around when there were three sharp distinct raps. A fourth. Then a beat following it in that same fashion from last night. This, I believe, was the opening to Law and Order, Criminal Intent. Oh hell, I'd thought in exasperation. The olive oil lad. Upon opening the door, foul funked jacket tossed over my shoulders and hair a wild muss of chewed upon hay, I stood brazen and shameless.

"Do you need a bit of sugar now? Might go nicely with whatever bomb you've constructed in your bathroom, I'm sure." He stared. Laughed.

"You don't make bombs with olive oil, neighbor. Or at least, I wouldn't. Might be a recipe for disaster!" It was my turn to stare. "I actually came to ask you if you've seen any children running in the hall." I waited. Frowned when he'd didn't expand upon that sentence.

"…Then ask." He frowned in return.

"I just did."

"No, sir, you said you came to ask. You haven't yet." We stared at one another a while longer.

"Golly, you'd make a great protagonist wouldn't you?" Golly? I laughed this time. I did so heartily. He cleared his throat.

"…Er. Yes, well, about why I've come over… Have you seen any kids running around?" I considered the question.

"…Do I look like I've been put in an awkward position to either call CPS, or turn a blind eye to child neglect?" I returned in jest. Unfortunately it didn't appear as though he quite caught that fact.

"I wouldn't neglect a child with a ten foot pole!"

We stared at one another.

"That didn't entirely make much sense…" I pointed out thoughtfully.

"Did you see the kids or not, neighbor?"

A sigh was expelled. Mine, I think.

"No."

"Well that's not possible—!" He began, but alas he was cut off by a well-timed groan from my ever adored brother, who came lumbering by the door to peer out at the strange neighbor with an affinity for oysters and olive oil. "We don't want any." He said, rubbing at his eyes. "He's not selling anything." I grumbled in response. My neighbor shifted. Considered something.

"I actually am selling relics from Poland, if that's your cup of tea. Me? I'm a coffee guy."

"That has the potential to be racist, sir…" I'd pointed out in the same thoughtful manner.

"Don't be ridiculous! I love you limey folk. You sir, with the hellfire hair! Have you any interest in the remnants of the Polish civilization?" I wrinkled my nose. Alistair had raised a curious brow.

"Remnants? Did something recently destroy Poland? I haven't heard of a recent catastrophe…"

"Oh. Then never mind." The strange man seemed to retract the offer altogether, suddenly very interested at peering at his wrist as though he was looking at the time. Alas there was no watch to help feign the act, and so I imagined he was planning to say 'it's a quarter passed a freckle'. Some rubbish like that. Instead he said very honestly,

"I don't have a watch on. Bye."

And with that he skittered off to the apartment across the hall from mine in a puff of irregular smoke.

Dear God. When did my floor get so abnormal?

"When did your floor get so abnormal?" My brother inquired. He then added very seriously, "And when was Poland knocked off the map? First I've heard of it."

A/N: So clearly, the whole story is going to be a bit of a space comedy. I'm getting really tired of reading all the gloom and doom of angst. So. This is just going to be a stress reliever, and probably won't make sense most of the time. The 'note' part will likely only show up if I feel like it might help to explain away some weird plot hole or something. XD Plus it has a very 'Hitchhiker's Guide to Galaxy' feel, neh? I loved that book, and am currently working my way through the series. Which I suppose is why I'm writing my story just like it... I tend to idolize. Eh. First story on Fanfiction, anyhow. Hope I finish it. ^_^ Thanks for reading.