We waved goodbye to each other and I entered my lovely home. The keys on the table and the briefcase sprawled on the floor signalled that my mother had returned early from work.
"Mum!" I rejoiced, leaping into her arms.
"Lea dear! How was last night?" she asked affectionately.
I froze like an ice-statue. When they finally invent a memory de-neutraliser yesterday is the first thing I'm going to get rid of.
"Last night? What last night? Do last nights even exist? I've never heard of this strange thing," I feigned ignorance.
"That good was it? Still, you should remember that you're underage until next July," she replied with motherly concern. July was when I'd officially turn eighteen (as opposed to unofficially?).
"No, wait…I wasn't drinking! Me and the gang just played Monopoly," I clarified.
"The Gang and I. And Monopoly?" Mum asked dubiously, "Well, the definition of fun has certainly changed since I was a teen…"
I decided this was an opportune time to clue her in on Lyle's true personality, something I should have done a long time ago. Even as a child I never told my parents about Lyle's terrorizing manners. There was a certain element of embarrassment and uncertainty that made me secretive about the relationship between him and me. That, andhe threatened to break my favourite shovel if I did tell…
"Mum…Lyle isn't as great as you believe him to be, even if he is nobility. In fact, he's lying to the whole town about his true personality," I began. I waited to gauge my mother's reaction.
But instead of shock and seriousness, Mum looked amused. It would be no exaggeration to say that I was annoyed by this. She beckoned me to continue, taking a sip of tea as she listened calmly. "Does anyone have a 'true' character…?" she asked herself quietly.
"I've never told you this, so brace yourself. When we were kids, Lyle used to bully me. And pretty badly too; he'd threaten me, make me play 'games' where I'd end up bruised and generally made me think that even hell was better than living here. You would think that after five years the two of us would have matured and learnt something from our harrowing experiences. Only one of us did," I ended, slightly theatrically perhaps.
Mum was silent.
"Er…that was me by the way. I'm the mature one," I explained, unsure that my mother had understood.
Mum thoughtfully sipped at her tea.
"But are you really, Lea dear? It seems to me that your memory is extremely selective," she said.
"What? How so?"
"Well, you used to go over to Lyle's house to play practically every single day, of your own free will. I remember there were days when I had to make you stay and do your homework."
"That's impossible!" I retorted, "I did used to go there a lot, but that was only because of their amazingly fantabulous garden. In fact their estate is what made me want to take gardening up as a hobby."
"That may be so, but you and Lyle were inseparable nonetheless. He taught you so many things, can you simply forget all that?"
"Taught me what?!" I exclaimed. Either I had amnesia, or my mother did.
"Well, let's see… how to swim, for example," she said.
Some very fuzzy memories of water infiltrated my brain. I could feel the cold, the loss of breath and the elation when I slowly floated…with Lyle roughly pulling my body along the surface all the while.
"More like he taught me how to drown," I mumbled incoherently. "He even gave me bruises while playing his stupid games!" I continued, trying to defend my plea.
"And what child does not come back home with a fresh batch of light injuries? You know what Lea? You inflate everything, even your recollections are exaggerated. That was Lyle's way of being friends with you. And if you really hated it, why would you go back everyday?"
I struggled to come up with a witty answer. Blasted mothers and their mental traps!
"He made me eat a frog once!"
"Pffff. I once ate three worms as a dare," countered my hard-core mother.
"And today he actually handcuffed me…" I said quietly.
Mum pursed her lips. "…What to?" she asked.
"His own wrist," I answered. A sudden thought came to me, and I sharply inhaled. It was the same thing my mother said next.
"That's not too bad is it? He was going through exactly the same problems and discomfort you were then," she said, "You really ought to change your perspective a little. Lyle has not had an easy life either…" she said looking away.
"Oh, and how would you know that dear parent? He's just a spoiled brat," I said acrimoniously. Everyone seemed to pity Lyle just because his father ran out on them. They didn't even seem too bothered about Steven's hardships. And what about me? I would argue that dead father pwns missing father any day.
I didn't particularly enjoy what my mother had said, partly because some of it was in fact true.
"Just…give the boy a break. I know he has issues, especially after the incident five years ago, but as his friend you should be there to help him."
After that no matter how much I persisted in the matter my mother evaded the topic while finishing her cup of tea. What exactly had happened five years ago? I had this nagging feeling that she had forgotten to tell me something. Or maybe she was purposely hiding a secret from me…Well, there was no point worrying about it now. I had pumpkins to attend to.
I went into the garden and took Lyle's shovel (which I still had for some reason) out of the shed. It was freezing outside, especially without my jacket. I regretted leaving it with Lyle. Why had he wanted it anyway? I couldn't fathom that brain of his. And even after Mum's and my lengthy conversation I still could not bring myself to like Lyle, or even accept him as a person. He pushed an innocent, cute girl down the stairs for God's sake! That boy had some definite 'issues' as Mum put it. I could think up a million images to convey my feelings for him, but nothing said it more than these three words.
I hated him.
I put every ounce of frustration and irritation into each shovelful of weeds I was digging out. It was nearing evening twilight now; the dusky sky looked stunning in the crisp winter atmosphere. There truly was nothing that could heal better than a bout of gardening. I couldn't wait for the spring when I'd start with the really cool stuff like planting flowers and vegetables.
Ah, life was so jolly, jolly, happy, happy with my little vegetable patch…the pumpkins would be at their prime within the next few days – just in time for the Halloween Fete…
"Lea, you forgot your jacket at my place."
Oh my cute plants, and in Summer I'd have berries and runner beans…
"Lea, if you don't want it I'll put it through the laser cutter."
And the sky was so beautiful in the evenings, the empty trees made it even prettier…
"Lea, I'm serious."
There was a blot in my vision. Who let this vermin in?
"I'd love to see your face as this jacket gets ripped to pieces…" Lyle added.
I quickly snatched it and immediately wore it. Mum wanted me to sympathize with this? "Why did you need it this morning anyway?" I ventured to ask.
"It kept me warm," he said shortly. Clearly there was something flawed in his argument, as he had also had plenty of blankets to cover himself with.
"Or was your real goal to keep me shivering cold?" I asked shrewdly. I thought that the conversation with my mother had been spiked with something; where was this courage coming from?
"A distinct possibility," he smirked.
I rubbed my muddy hands on the bark of a nearby tree and started packing my gardening stuff away. There was no point in replying to that comment, as I was getting quite used to the sadism. This was Lyle after all…I think Mum definitely had the flawed viewpoint here.
"How's Lillian?" I asked to break the monotony.
"Her arm is still broken if that's what you mean." Lyle leaned against the shed as I placed my tools inside.
"Actually, why does she call you twat?" I asked. Yep, my mother had definitely spiked
my tea…
Lyle's lips tightened and his eyelids lowered. There was something about how he held his body that that told me he was not in the best of moods. The chilling October wind reddened his cheeks and tousled his hair. He had turned on his 'Danger' expression. I knew he did not take kindly to criticism, so Lillian's reason for name-calling must be very profound. Anyway, I'd ask her on Halloween Fete.
"Um…never mind!" I quickly corrected myself.
"Good. Well, I'll see you soon, I'm sure," he bade goodbye in that hypnotic voice. I watched his back as he left through the gate. His back was unquestionably his best feature; it clearly signified his depart.
I never got to ask him what he meant by the words he said while sleep-talking this morning. Or more correctly, I had been too scared to ask. Yes, it was most definitely the latter. No matter how much I racked my brains at school I could not understand how I had betrayed him. So I concluded that the sleepy speech had been the after-effect of a nightmare. How ironic. My worst nightmare had a nightmare.
And besides, that had been the most pointless and random visit I had ever received. Had he really come to return a jacket he had asked me to leave behind? Surely there had been some ulterior motive, I asked myself rhetorically.
There had been, as I found out when I entered my house through the kitchen.
The breakfast table had been set up with my mother's scrumptiously fresh-out-of-the-oven apple pie in the middle and three plates surrounding it.
"Your mother kindly invited me to tea, Lea," Lyle said flashing me a superior smile.
Great. Just when I thought Lyle would finally be playing an insignificant role in my epic life, he enters and steals my portion of my apple pie.
Chapter IX: Reversed
* * *
It's been five empty years since I tasted Mrs Dupont's famous apple pie.
It is saddening to realise that during this long period the leaves have been shed from the trees five times. That I have grown three and a half feet taller. That it has been so long since I last met up with Lea regularly. As I took my seat at the breakfast table the rich cinnamon smell tinged with sweet made its way to my senses. I hardly noticed Lea's pout as she came through the back door.
"Ah, Lea, your mother has invited me to tea," I mentioned. She remained silent, arms crossed. The only expressions Lea shows me are those of mild anger, irritation and fear. Sometimes I get so frustrated at her lack of emotions that I feel like physically shaking something out of her. I just find it deeply unfair that she smiles and laughs around so many people like her mother, her friends (That ginger head's name has escaped me) and even my brother.
I wouldn't say I'm jealous; I want to be in a different category to those pedestrian people. I want Lea to think of me as someone extraordinary, someone who can incite completely diverse feelings into her life. I want her to know that I am not a normal individual in her world. I need to make her understand that I'm special to her.
There is one emotion that I have not seen on Lea for many, many years. On the rare occasions I did catch a glimpse of that face I felt truly satisfied, and even joy. I felt lucky because in the twelve years I knew her well, she showed that precious sentiment to me only once.
Her teardrop stained face.
The most beautiful sight in the world was those pearls of water trickling down her cheek and nose. Her big, clear eyes blurred with salty tears made me give in to the temptation to smile. I cannot fully remember the reason she was crying that time – it was long ago – but the one thing that will never escape my memory is the way my heart raced when I saw those tear-filled eyes locking onto my own. I must experience that again.
Yes, my mission was to make her cry a second time…
I rested my feet on the chair opposite, needing a stretch.
"Mu-um! Lyle's feet are on the chair, where do I sit?" complained Lea. What a spineless tell-tale. I think she had momentarily forgotten that we were no longer children at the age when sand-boxes are fun. In fact, scratch 'momentarily' and replace with 'eternally', and that's truer.
I lifted my feet off the chair. Honestly, what can a man with legs my length do these days?
"I apologize Mrs Dupont," I said in what I hoped was my polite voice. Lea pinched her nose for some unknown reason.
"Not to worry, Lyle dear," Mrs Dupont said while loading the dishwasher, "Lea, why don't you serve the apple pie?"
Lea's eyes brightened no doubt at the prospect of being the first to penetrate the clean, crispy crust of the pie. The first piece she cut out was at least a quarter of the whole tray. I was not naïve enough to believe that the piece was for me. It was obviously for her, glutton that she is. She then took my plate and placed on it the most meagre slice I had ever seen. It was reminiscent of children living in the slums of Mumbai.
"…Thank you," I said. I would have said more, but felt it inappropriate in Mrs Dupont's presence. I'm certainly no monster; I adore the taste of the Dupont desserts, and I resented this sliver that was on my plate. In fact, even monsters probably enjoyed good apple pie from time to time during their evil endeavours. Halloween Fete would be proof of that. I briefly wondered whether Lea had learnt any recipes during these five years, before I started thinking of suitable punishments for her behaviour.
The first bite tasted like heaven on a spoon.
My portion disappeared a second after that.
"You should slow down, Lyle," suggested Lea with her mouth full. She was one to talk. She was already fishing out a second helping, which was some feat considering she had had a slice ten times the size of mine.
"Don't worry kids, help yourselves!" beamed Mrs Dupont. Not that she had to, we were quite capable of doing that ourselves.
I cut an even bigger piece and savoured every mouthful. I accidently caught Lea's eyes which were full of determination. She seemed to be silently saying This pie is mine! I couldn't help smiling at that humorous expression. It wasn't as enticing as her crying face, but it would do for now. My efforts with the blindfold and the handcuffs failed to bring tears to her eyes, even though I had had a lot of fun with them. I'd have to think of something else.
"Hey Lyle…why did you want my jacket this morning?" asked Lea between eating as her mother left the kitchen.
I froze with the spoon in my mouth, then realised how stupid I must look, so continued eating. Still, there was no way I could tell her the real reason. It's embarrassing to even think it.
Lea's jacket smelled just like her.
That earthen smell of fresh grass and wet leaves dotted with hints of flowery perfume was what personified Lea. In the haziness of my sleep that morning I blurted that out.
I lied of course. "I don't actually remember telling you anything of the sort," I shortly replied.
She fell quiet, accepting it. She seemed a little troubled, but I did not inquire into it.
"You know, I was talking to Mum before you came about the stuff that happened five years ago," she finally said out loud.
"You mean to say when your father–" I stopped.
"And when your father-" she stopped.
Even though this conversation was supposed to be serious and cheerless, I found myself feeling secretly pleased that Lea and I were sharing troubles and doubts.
"Isn't memory a stupid thing?" she changed the subject. I didn't answer because I did not agree.
"It's overrated!" she insisted. I still hadn't changed my mind.
"It's useless…" she carried on softly. I wondered briefly why she was talking so strangely, but this was how she normally conversed.
"Ok, I'll get straight to the point," she said seriously, "What do you remember about the events from five years ago?"
…That was an unexpected question. I wanted to give a calculated and clever answer because the truth is my memories of that night five years ago are very vague…
Very, very vague. People say it was the trauma of having my father leave the family, but Steven seems fine. Sometimes I get the feeling that some
thing else happened that night, something crucial. Something that directly affects Lea and me. The frustration of not knowing what has grown numb after these years. I no longer find it in me to care about and harp over the absurd events from long ago.
"…I remember your face as your tears inched down your cheeks, falling incessantly…" I nearly whispered. I think my lips turned up slightly.
Lea sat straight and then sighed a knowing sigh. Mostly likely she was thinking this is Lyle after all or something similar. I found it hilarious that she hated me and at the same time it's a grating annoyance.
"Oh well. I just thought that there was something more. It's not that I still feel regret for my dad…that would be disrespectful after all these years," she said.
Her voice was shaking. She spoke like she was containing something. I held my breath. Would I finally behold those valuable tears?
"Ah well, I'll just have more pie…hey where'd it all go?" exclaimed Lea, completely changing the tone of the atmosphere.
The tray was indeed empty. That took me by surprise – especially as I was about to go for a fourth helping.
"We should have left something for Mrs Dupont," I said with slight contrition.
"You mean you should have, you greedy pig," Lea mumbled.
A pig? Was she really calling me, the 19th Earl of Sparrowick and Hottest Teenager to boot, a pig? What was with girls insulting me these days? First Lillian, now this…
I saw Lea sink into her seat a little flustered. "A-a-a-actually I said 'You mean Ishould have, you beady bid'".
I didn't really understand what she said, but I did wonder who on Earth laughed at her jokes. And anyway I was too busy gloating about the dominant effect I had on her. She quickly got up to place the tray in the sink, hiding the redness of her face. She began to scrub the dish with soap.
"Come to the living room you two! I want to talk to Lyle, it's been ages," called Mrs Dupont from outside.
I got up and placed the used plates and spoons in the dishwasher.
"You don't have to help, I'll clean up," said Lea making some unidentifiable hand-waving actions, sprinkling water everywhere.
Nightmare with the Neighbour Page 5