He smiled. “You know it.” He looked into Janna's eyes. “I didn't mean to reject you. It had nothing to do with you. My heart's still broken.”
“I'm sorry, Baron. I do understand. I didn't want to, but now I do. My heart's been broken for years.”
“Our hearts will repair,” he said, more as a question than a comment. “We'll be okay eventually, you know?”
She could detect his doubt, his insecurities bleeding through. “Yeah, I guess we will.”
He wiped away tears of his own. He didn't think his heart would heal, or that time healed all wounds. His Uncle Henry was tortured in Vietnam and still felt pain from that war. The only thing time seemed to do was hide the pain.
“Janna, I'd like to be your friend. I don't know anybody around here yet, and I get the feeling you'd like the company, too.”
She smiled. It was one of the most-attractive and sincere smiles he'd ever seen. “Yes, I'd like that. Very much.”
“Maybe we can hang out sometime tomorrow. I'm sure I'll see you out. I'm going to go home and get some sleep. You look tired yourself.”
“I am.” She was, but would have traded a week's worth of sleepless nights to keep this conversation going. “Have a goodnight.”
They stood up. She walked him to the door. “You have a good night, too. Just remember, not all toads are princes, but they're not all toads, either.”
They hugged each other. She could smell his Giorgio Armani cologne. He could smell her Euphoria perfume. They could also feel each other's pain. Neither wanted to release the hug. It lasted for minutes.
“Well, see ya later, Janna.” He let go, turned, and walked out the door. She closed it, locked it, and went up to bed, where she fell fast asleep.
***
The next morning began with rain, then lightning, then noisy thunder. A loud BOOM woke Janna at 11:24. She thought the world was coming to an end until she realized just what it was. Thunderstorms usually made her depression worse. Thunderstorms... nature's equivalent of bad moods.
Her mood, however, had never been better. Last night, the worst and the best had happened. Ben had abused her, and Baron had saved her. She felt honored to have had such a handsome, down-to-earth man stick up for her in her time of need. The guy could have easily ignored it, could have let it go on without a second thought, but he didn't. He'd barged in like her knight in shining armor and defeated the dragon named Ben.
More. She wanted more, much more, than to be his friend. Being friends wasn't enough. And if she had to wait, well, she could try, but it wouldn't be easy by any means. Hanging out with him and being unable to touch him, kiss him or hold him would be comparable to a heroin addict chained to a wall just feet away from a motherload of the good Colombian stuff and unable to reach it. What if a romantic relationship never happened? What if he didn't feel the same way? What if he thought she was a dog so hideous it could never be adopted from a pound?
Only time would tell. Janna wished she could peer into his mind and see what he actually thought of her. Not even commercial “psychics” could do that.
***
Her afternoon passed uneventfully, boringly. More of the same ol' same ol'. Baron didn't appear to be home, although he could have been (but the lights were out and his sister's Honda was not there). Every time she heard the sound of a car door slam shut, she ran to the window. Every time she saw it wasn't him, she sat back down on the couch and watched TV. Price is Right didn't interest her much today. Nor did the news. Nor did anything on the Insignia. All she could think about was him.
You're too damned needy, Janna... wherever he is, whatever he's doing, I'm probably a million miles from his preoccupied thoughts, a vague figure in the furthest corner of his mind. A new but insignificant memory.
Life, of course, wasn't as easy as seeing someone, falling for them, then spending the rest of your life with them, happily ever after. That sort of lamebrain wish only happened to the characters in romance novels and romantic movies. Real life? Try again. Falling in love, these days, took too much work, too much dedication, and too much trial and error. How anyone got married at all in the twenty-first century—and stayed together happily—was a miracle in itself.
But Janna wanted it to be like the movies, like it was in the old days, when divorce and abuse were much less common. She wanted a storybook romance.
One of the rarest things on the planet.
***
After Who Wants to be a Millionaire was over, she turned off the TV and sat in silence with her thoughts. The room was dark, too, (the shades were drawn and outside looked like doom) which made the silence that much quieter and her thoughts that much bleaker. What am I gonna do for the rest of my life? What'll happen to me when my aunt dies and I have no way to get grocery's? I can't live on food stamps forever; or social security checks! If I never figure anything out, I'm GOING to be stuck in this house, a hermit, a nobody, a loser with nothing to show for herself but aspirations and goals that'll never happen or come true. I need to see a therapist. I need to get meds for this. I have to change. I don't know how to I need... I got... I have to... I don't... I.... There's nothing that—
Boom, boom, boom,boom, boom!
The five hard knocks on the front door jarred her from her chaotic whirlwind of thoughts.
She didn't care who it was... as long as it was someone who would listen; or, even better: someone who could tell her how to fix her gravid, growing collection of problems.
Ended up, it was Baron. He was standing on the welcome mat, dressed in a Mountain Dew colored Nike windbreaker, blue jeans, and boots. He pulled closed a wet umbrella.
“Hello, Janna.”
“Hey.”
“Since we're neighbors now, and friends, I figured I'd come over and have a cup of tea with you.”
“Sure, come in.”
He set his umbrella down beside a lawn chair on the porch. Then he wiped his boots on the mat and entered.
***
Janna's kitchen was closet-small, cramped further by the portable dishwasher and the built-in island. The evenly-placed pendant lights bathed the room in soft, pleasing illumination. There were only two windows—over the sink and behind the table—and both being pelted by thick, heavy drops rain. Counters were neither cluttered nor clean; they were just untidy: a few crumbs here, a few dirty dishes there... None of it bothered Baron. If anything, he felt comfortable here.
He and Janna sat on stools at the island, drinking sweet tea from coffee mugs. Her mug was white and had a peace sign on it; his mug was blue and had small hearts around it. The beverage was smooth, sugary and good.
“So, which'ya wanna talk about?” was the first thing to seep out of her mouth. She said it in the following manner: Why do you wanna talk to me?
“Have you lived here all your life?”
She chuckled sardonically. “Oh yes. Born here, been here for 31 years, and will probably die here.”
“You say that like Denburg's a prison. If you don't like it here, can't you move?”
“Would if I could, but I can't.”
He swallowed a glob of tea. “You know what they say: Can't never could do anything. What's keeping you? Don't you have any goals? Dreams? Desires?”
Too many to count, she thought.
“Yes, yes, and yes.”
“Yeah? Like what? Let me ask you this: what do you want out of life? More than anything else?”
The question made her brain stumble, almost stop. She fought through it, the fighter that she was—yeah, right I am—and responded: “I want to meet somebody who will love me, who I can love, and be happy with. That's number one. Two, I want kids. A family. Three: a career in graphic arts. Four: to be healed. Well, I guess fourth should be first, because unless I'm healed, none of those other things will happen.”
He looked quizzically at her. “Heal? Oh my, you don't have—“
“No, no, nothing life-threatening. It started in high school. When I woke up to go, I'd get real shaky. I of
ten threw up after breakfast. The bus ride there, my nerves jingled like sleigh bells. The whole afternoon was worse than a root canal, filled with anxiety and fear. But when I got home from school, all those feelings just... were gone. Parents had me checked out. I had several different tests done. They ruled out anything serious. Yet, nobody knew what it was. Then, when I blacked out at a concert—there's like a half an hour of my life I still can't recall—someone mentioned—I don't know who, but the name stuck—I had had a panic attack. After that, I had some 'mental' evaluations done. Found out that I have a panic disorder. Social anxiety. When I'm around a lot of people I don't know, I get very shaky and nervous. Haven't had a full-blown panic attack for a while, but I can feel it coming on sometimes, like last night.”
Baron was silent. He looked into his cup of tea, either uninterested or indifferent.
That's what it looked like to her.
“Are you seeing anybody for that? A therapist?”
“Not for a long time.”
He drank the rest of his tea. “So, you don't work? You don't leave the house?”
“No, and only once in a while. I have my good days and my bad. Sometimes my anxiety doesn't bother me, other times it does. Just depends, I guess—where I am, where I go, who I go with.”
“You never got the chance to go to college for graphic design? That sounds like it'd be good for you.”
“A lot of things I'm not doing now would be good for me. I did go to the Art Institute for about three months before... my panic disorder acted up. I've also had many bad relationships that made my anxiety worse. Lots of guys like last night. You're not getting this, are you, Baron?” She held eye contact with him. “You think I'm just a loser who doesn't deserve anything the world has to offer.”
He grinned. “You can't read my thoughts, Janna.” His eyes met hers. “Those guys who hurt you—sometimes circumstance puts the wrong people in our past repeatedly. It's not your fault. No, I don't think you are a 'loser,' I think you just need a push in the right direction by the right person. You need somebody to tell you it's okay. It is. I can't relate to the 'panic' thing, because I've always been an outgoing, social person. That's just my personality.” He stopped to catch his breath. And though she couldn't relate to him being outgoing or social, she felt a spark burn within her. It started in her core and then spread out to every possible direction, engulfing her. Igniting her. She had not felt a connection with a man in nine long years. Here was one with whom she liked, and he was her exact opposite, in terms of personality. None of that made any difference.
Thoughts scattered, broke. Matters of attraction and need took over. There was no way—no need—to suppress it any longer. It took control of her.
She leaned forward, toward him, eyes barely-open, lips puckered tight. She didn't see him lean back, his face a confused, contorted, surprised mix of emotion. Her lips closed in on his, coming fast, and he could smell her scent. He continued to lean away.
Then he fell—out of the chair and onto the floor. The coffee mug flew out of his hand and broke somewhere further across the room.
“I think I'd better go, Janna. Sorry.”
He was out of the room before she opened her eyes; before she relaxed her lips. She heard the front door open and close as he stormed out. She was left alone, abandoned, and devastated. Every good feeling that filled her only seconds ago dissolved away, gone with him. Why had he been so kind up until then, when she made her move? Was he appalled by her looks? By her social anxiety disorder?
Why did he freak and flee?
She'd scared him away.
Now she was back at square one—before square one—with more unanswered questions. Were any of them answerable?
Angry and hurt, Janna threw her coffee mug. It slammed into a wall, where it shattered to pieces.
Just like her heart.
Chapter 6
Janna cried herself to sleep that night. Sleep did not come peacefully, and when it did, she did not sleep soundly. No bad dream that could have come could dispute the dark emotions brimming within her. Life was the ghastly nightmare in itself.
Across the street, Baron lay in bed awake most of the night, not in much of a good mood himself. He didn't check his Facebook or email. He didn't do much else but lay there, staring up at his bedroom ceiling, replaying the day's events over and over again. Sleep didn't claim him until 5:07 A.M.
***
The bright sunlight that shimmered through her window woke Janna at 2:19 the next day. Its radiant warmth lacked the power to liven her bleak disposition. She felt no different from last night—if anything, only worse. The only thing radiant within her was her growing resentment for the opposite sex.
She was sure that God, if She existed, was a woman. Had to be. Satan was surely a man, no doubt about it.
Getting out of bed wasn't ever easy for her. Moving her body was strenuous enough. Today, however, she didn't know if she could get up. The soft mattress beneath her felt like a comfy cloud holding up her relaxed body. Lying here for the rest of time seemed fine and dandy to her.
Maybe I could just go back to sleeeeeeeee....
The idea fluttered away, along with consciousness. She slept for under ten minutes—more restful sleep than last night for sure—when the loud knock on the downstairs door pulled her awake.
Baron?
Laura?
Who?
I don't care, go away!
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Dammit! I'm coming! Hold your damn horses already!”
Half-asleep, she got out of bed, made it downstairs (while bitching and cursing and thinking of what obscenities to say to whomever had wakened her) and to the front door. Checked the peephole. Hoped it wasn't Baron.
It wasn't.
Yet, that disappointed her.
It was Laura, her aunt.
Suppressing her crankiness, Janna opened the door.
Laura was a 52-year-old cougar who looked one decade younger than what she actually was. Janna had always thought she looked more attractive than herself. The woman had flowing dark hair untouched by gray, a petite little nose, big blue eyes, and lips that never went without lipstick. The only thing that made her unattractive—to some people, not all—was that she always smelled like an ash tray. An old ash tray, at that.
Laura was dressed in short, frayed denims and a yellow tank top. A little on the trashy side, but still a looker in her middle years.
“Hi, Jan.”
“Laura.”
“Well? Do you have your grocery list written out?”
Janna had forgotten all about it, and her face said it all. “Sorry.”
“Dammit, I said I'd be over today. I got things to do, y'know. The least you can do is help me out. I don't know what to get you.”
“You know what I usually get to eat.”
“No, your tastes change from week to week. Then when I get something you didn't want, you get mad. And when I didn't get something you told me to get but didn't write on your list, you get upset too. I'm no mind reader. Just... forget it. I'll go to the store and do my best. Just come get the grocery's out when I beep. Okay?”
“You want me to write a list now?”
“No, I don't have time. I have to take Denny to his friends, then I have to pick up—“
Janna could see that her aunt was in a very pissy mood. She was in a pissy mood, too. Telling this woman off didn't seem like such a bad idea. Venting her stored up anger on her or anybody would have been a relief.
“Is there anything you specifically need from the store?”
“Tea.” She suddenly thought of Baron.
“All right. Be ready to come out and get the bags when I come back. I'll beep—only once. 'K?”
Janna nodded. Laura half-rolled her eyes, turned, and went back to her car. Across the street, Baron's front door creaked open. He flipped open his mailbox, took out a stack of letters. He was dressed in a white wife-beater and black cotton boxers, his hair an omnidirec
tional spiked mess.
Janna watched him and waited for him to make eye contact with her. He glanced at Laura as she got in her Audi and sped down the street. Then he went back inside. Before he closed the door, his eyes did meet Janna's. He glowered at her for under a second and shut himself in, without saying hi, smiling, or waving.
Janna felt like puking. Puking, then stuffing herself with a bunch of junk food to fill her barren feelings.
Barren... Baron...
Janna almost wanted to move to a new town just so she wouldn't ever have to see or deal with him again.
Or my bitchy aunt...
But running away wasn't the answer. She knew that. Hell, that'd probably make everything considerably worse, down to the most basic level. You could never run away from your problems.
Because I can't run away from myself...
She realized the truth. If she wanted to get away from Baron, from Laura, from Ben, from the whole tri-state area of Denburg, she would get nowhere. No, none of those people were her problem. Her problem was, essentially, herself. Nobody could run away from their demons, and all demons were essentially internal. Everyone had to deal with their own in their own way. How would she? How could she? What in life was she not doing that she should be doing? Where was that first baby step? Was it possible to do any of it herself? Or did she need outside help?
All this time—her entire life—she thought only a romance could end everything that was wrong with her. But maybe she had to repair herself before that could happen.
But love can do anything! Love can cure.
Nobody will ever love me.
Love can move mountains...
Nobody likes me.
Love can conquer all!
Love isn't in my cards...
SHUT UP!
Then came another truth, harder to digest than the first:
I have to love myself first before it's possible for any man to love me.
If that was the case, why even bother? Why put forth the effort? The steep curve it would take to accomplish that would be extremely arduous, not to mention time-consuming. She had never loved herself before, she was sure, not once in thirty-one years. Instead, she'd spent that time relying on others to show her the love she lacked for herself.
Love Thy Neighbor Page 4