Laura Miller - For All You Have Left

“No,” he suddenly says.

I stop instantly and slowly turn back toward him. His eyes are wide now, and his face is flushed.

“That’s not what I was thinking.” His voice is softer this time.

“No, I know. I’m sorry. I was just kidding,” I rattle off.

He lowers his eyes and shakes his head. “I know,” he says, starting to grin.

Then, there’s another awkward pause, and I start to turn again but something stops me. It seems as though I’ve come to acquire some sort of an affinity for strange neighbors. Plus, maybe the joke wasn’t the best for having just met someone. I feel weird just leaving on that.

“Are you new to Columbia?” I ask because I don’t know what else to say.

He looks up at me.

“Uh…no, actually, I’m just moving from across town. You?”

“No,” I say, “not new. I’ve basically been here my whole life. My family moved here from Independence when I was young.”

He nods his head. “I grew up in a small town east of here — Berger.”

I immediately recognize the name. I did a story several months back about a guy in that area. The little town was next to some other small town, and they were both known for something. It takes me a second, but it finally comes to me.

“By Hermann,” I say. “You have the wineries.”

He nods. “That would be us.”

There’s a pause before I open my mouth again. “Well, welcome to this side of town. It’s quiet. Nice. No complaints.”

He’s smiling by the time I finish.

“I like what I see so far,” he says, looking around and eventually landing back on my pantless legs.

And that would be my cue to exit. I haven’t ruled out that he’s not a dangerous weirdo yet.

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” I quickly stammer.

I reach again for the doorknob.

“It was nice to meet you too, Ada.”

I meekly smile in his direction one last time and then turn the knob and push through my door. It closes behind me, and I twist the dead bolt and let go of a breath.

A moment goes by, and I’m still standing with my back against the door replaying the last few minutes of my life, thankful that they’re over, until I slowly slide to the middle of the door and fix my right eye over the peep hole. He’s still staring at my door. Startled, I quickly move my eye away from the little window. But after a second, I find myself gravitating toward the glass again. I watch as he picks up his newspaper and looks at my door one more time — and this time, I don’t flinch. He looks my way for a second, arches one eyebrow and then turns and slides back inside his apartment.

God, Hannah was right. His eyes really are so blue, and his muscles are definitely…well, noticeable.

I close my eyes and for a second, I think about him and his blue eyes and his big muscles and his perfectly tanned skin. And I forget about my luck with neighbors and my big, awkward mouth and his staring obsession, until another image skips to the forefront of my mind and plops right down. It’s of Suri at a table with her four cat-people sitting across from the Renaissance queen, a horse and a jousting stick. A sigh instantly follows.

“Damn it,” I whisper to myself. “I wonder where he hides all his cats.”

“He can’t be dangerous,” Hannah puffs. “They wouldn’t let him live here, right? They check for that stuff — on the application?”

I think about it for a second.

“I guess. But maybe he’s never been caught or he…”

“Lada,” my sister scolds.

I hate her scolding voice.

“Not every guy has something wrong with him. So, he was weird when you first met him. Maybe he was just taken aback by your rugged, morning beauty.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay, well, if he’s not a total weirdo, then I’m pretty sure I already scared him off anyway. Hannah, I might as well have been naked.”

She forces out a laugh.

“Really, Lada?” Her voice has turned sarcastic. “You really think you scared him off by showing up at his door naked?”

I sigh loudly and try to push back a smirk. “You really would set me up with a convicted criminal, wouldn’t you? You’re that desperate, aren’t you?”

“Hey, he hasn’t been convicted…yet,” she corrects.

Then, suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, and we both freeze.

My lips part, and I feel my eyes grow wide as I immediately find Hannah. Her eyes are wide too, but she’s smiling.

A second goes by like this — with neither of our expressions changing.

“See who it is,” Hannah finally whispers, gesturing her finger toward the door.

I slowly turn and face the door, then tiptoe over to it and hover over the peep hole, and instantly, I feel my heart drop.

“It’s him,” I mouth, looking back at Hannah and pointing at the door.

“Who?” she asks.

“Next door,” I whisper.

Just then, her face lights up, and she grabs her keys.

I shake my head.

“No,” I mouth in her direction. “Do. Not. Leave. Me.”

“I’ve gotta run,” she says, ignoring me.

“Hannah,” I say, trying my best to shout at her in a whisper.

She continues to ignore me, while I watch her run around my apartment and gather up her things. Leave it to Hannah to have a conversation with me about how my neighbor might be an axe murderer and then a minute later, she’s leaving me alone with him. I sigh and roll my eyes.

“Okay, fine,” I mumble under my breath.

I force my attention to the door and suck in some air. Then, on three, I push the air out of my lungs and swiftly pull open the door.

Jorgen takes a moment before he speaks.

“Your keys,” he says, eventually, holding up his big hand and dangling a fuzzy, pink keychain from his finger. “You left them in your door.”

My chest rises and then falls. Well, at least I’m making it easy for him to kill me.

“Hi, I’m Hannah, Lada’s sister,” Hannah says before I can even get the words thank you out.

She bumps up against me and extends her left hand toward him. Hannah’s right-handed, and I would question what she’s doing, but I already know.

“Lada?” he repeats, almost as if it’s a question.

He pauses for a second but then seems to brush it off. “I’m Jorgen.”

He meets her left hand with his left.

“Jorgen,” Hannah says. “That’s an interesting name.”

He smiles. “It’s a family name.”

Hannah flashes him an approving look before she turns back to me.

“Invite him over,” she mouths. “No ring.”

I roll my eyes again, but this time, I only do it in my mind. And before I know it, Hannah is gliding down the stairwell.

“It was nice meeting you, Jorgen,” she calls back up.

“It was nice meeting you too,” he says in her direction before she’s gone.

A moment passes and then Jorgen turns and looks at me with a soft side-smile.

“Lada?” he asks, almost timidly.

I lower my eyes and shake my head.

“It’s a long story,” I say.

“Okay,” he concedes, chuckling a little.

“Paramedic?” I ask, eyeing his blue pants, white, collared shirt and black work boots.

He glances down at his attire.

“Uh, yeah.” He nods his head. “How’d ya guess?”

A soft but unexpected laugh tumbles off my lips, sending my gaze straight to the floor.

“I work out of Truman Hospital.”

His words sober me up fast, and I cringe on the inside.

“What do you do?” he asks.

I slowly meet his eyes again — those blue, blue eyes. “I write for the magazine downtown.”

“Outside?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“We get it at the hospital. Ada Cross?”

I feel the heat rushing to my face. It’s not every day that someone puts my name to my writing.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to smile as wide as I feel like smiling.

“I knew it was you.” He pauses for a second, as if he’s finally putting my face to my name. My photo has really only been in the magazine a couple times. Most of the time, it’s just my byline on top of the story. “I like your people stories,” he goes on. “There are some pretty interesting people out there.”

I force out a laugh.

“You have no idea,” I mumble.

His tanned, chiseled face shows off a crooked grin. “Well, I was just headed to work and I saw your keys,” he says, pointing to my lock.

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “Thank you,” I add, squeezing the pink keychain inside the palm of my hand.

“No problem,” he says.

I watch him start to make his way down the stairs.

“Lots of creeps out there, but don’t worry, I’ve got your back,” he calls up to me.

My smile starts to fade, but he can’t see it; his back is already toward me.

I really hope that wasn’t a warning — him warning me about himself. Deep down, I really don’t want him to be a creep. Maybe I do just want a normal neighbor for once — a normal, cat-less, renaissance-less neighbor.

“Lada, where’s your lotion?” Hannah asks, busting into my apartment.

Hannah’s always been a fixture in every place I’ve ever had. She’s never been an actual roommate, just more of an honorary one, I guess. This new apartment is no exception. She has a key. She uses it liberally.

“My hands feel like dead lizards.” Her voice trails behind her as she makes a beeline for the back rooms.

I scrunch up my face. “Eww. Why do they have to be dead?”

She doesn’t answer me. Instead I hear her rummaging through my drawers in my bedroom. My bedroom! I jump up and run to my room. But right when I spot her, I freeze in the doorway. I know she has already seen it. She’s bent over, with her back to me. She’s staring at something — it — inside my nightstand drawer.

I just stand there and watch her — waiting, for what seems like an eternity.

Eventually, she pulls it out from the drawer and turns back toward me.

“Lada,” she says, holding up a marriage license.

I take in a deep breath and let out an audible sigh.

“I didn’t know you still had this,” she softly says.

I don’t say anything. There’s nothing I can say really.

“Lada, you’ve got to move on,” she pushes out, gently. “I know you love him, but he can’t keep coming in and out of your life like this. You can’t let him. You can’t do this forever, Lada. You have to live.”

She looks at me with two sad eyes — those same sad eyes that she always gives me when this same subject comes up.

“I am living, Hannah,” I force out. “I’m living. I eat. I sleep. I smile every day.”

Her sad eyes don’t waver.

“Lada,” she says and then follows it with a long sigh. “You know what I mean. You’ve gotta let him go. You’ve gotta let someone else in.”

I stare at her for a moment before I lower my face. “It’s not that easy, Hannah.”

A minute passes in the quiet, and then I hear her voice again.

“All I’m asking you to do is try. That’s all anyone is asking you to do.”

My eyes catch and get stuck in the red polish on my toenails.

“I do try,” I whisper.

It’s true. I try. I don’t try in the way she wants me to try, but I do try. I try to tell myself that it is possible to move on — that it is possible to actually live two happy lives in the span of one lifetime. I try to push the thoughts, the dreams, the nightmares from my old life to the back of my mind. But ultimately, I know what moving on means. It means never going back, and that terrifies me more than anything. I know Hannah wants me to forget, but I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget. If I forget, I lose it all twice. I want to remember. I have to remember.

* * *

Hannah’s gone. She eventually got her lotion for her dead-lizard hands — after she had played the big-sister card, of course, and dispensed her infamous words of wisdom. I’m used to that card though and her words of wisdom. She says her peace — and it’s usually always the same peace — and then she leaves it alone. I’m thankful for that — the leaving it alone part. She doesn’t understand me like she thinks she does, but I do love her. Deep down, I know she means well. I just don’t think I’m as strong as she thinks I am.

I rest my feet against the wooden railing on my little balcony and sit back in my Adirondack chair. The chair was a gift to me from my grandpa. He made it himself and gave it to me when I got my first place back in college.