flash fiction | Beneath The Headstone

As time is wont to do, Summer became Fall, Fall became Winter, and Winter became Spring once again. During these long months, the people of Bryer Street had become very accustomed to seeing their new neighbor, whom they came to know as Andy.

Andy was like ole Sammy D. in some ways. After his first steps into the sun, it was more and more common to see him out for an evening walk. At first, he would offer an awkward nod or smile as he passed. Sometimes he muttered a shaky “Hi” or “How ya doin today”, but unsure of how to follow-up, he would make a clumsy excuse and shuffle on.

He knew more about cars than any of the residents would have ever suspected, he looked more the type to specialize in some form of computer technology, and would occasionally remark a ‘spot on’ diagnosis of a problem based on the sound an engine was making.

He gained a bit of admiration amongst the men. It was nothing they spoke of openly, but whenever he passed, they greeted him a bit more honestly. The women were cordial, but their trust wasn’t to be earned so easily. They continued to watch him with wary eyes whenever he passed and their smiles only masked their true expressions as they studied his every move.

Andy was very much like Sammy, in that he quickly grew to be a fixture in the community. Everybody knew of him within hours of his first appearance. Each person had their own story to tell about the strange young man from up the street.

“He knows so much about cars. It’s like he’s got the gift…”

“How can he afford to pay for that house when he never leaves for work?”

“He’s good with the children. They seem to like him too…”

“He’s sick. That must be why he stays home all the time!”

There were many different stories about the strange, young, Andy From Up The Street. Some were darker than others and none were more creative than those of the wives, told on rainy days from behind the safety of their curtains. Others were hopeful, with such imagined histories that included untold fortunes or entrepreneurial genius.

Though they spoke of possibilities, no story could be so much farther from the truth. They spoke of vast fortunes, and while he did not possess such a thing, he did have enough money to satisfy his particular needs. They spoke of illness, and much like the pipe dreams of hidden wealth, this, too, was not completely true. Though he was ‘as fit as a fiddle’, as the previous owner of his house might have once said, there was a certain something about him that wasn’t quite right.

Andy From Up The Street, because his neighbors didn’t yet know his last name and they were coming to accept that the previous resident was truly gone, was indeed, very sick. There was an itching inside of him that occasionally needed scratched, a desire that had to be catered to, and it had been far too long since he had given in.

“-nessa! Vanessa dear! It’s time to come inside!”

Several houses away from her home, Vanessa sat on the memorial bench that had been placed outside of the vacant home at the end of the block. It had been two years since the passing of the resident inside, two years that might as well have been lifetimes to the young girl. She had very little memory of the old man who had once lived inside, but she did remember that he had once crafted wonderful things for his friends.

She also remembered that she had been his friend as well, and while she no longer played with it, the unfinished ballerina continued to ever remind her of the kindness he had shown her and the other children in her community.

“Vaaaanesssa! Come on dear! Your dinner awaits!”

Of all the other children, she was the only one who remembered where her gift had come from. While they were playing the latest expansions of their favorite computer games, she began to follow in the footsteps of the veteran who had once kept a watchful eye over their community. Every free moment of sunlight, whether after school, during the weekends or over breaks, she walked the sidewalks just as he had done in her father’s stories. She stopped and talked to each of her neighbors with a much higher maturity than any of her peers, and often found herself in conversations about the more worldly things in life.

Sometimes she helped out when she could, picking up trash, sweeping the sidewalks or raking up leaves. Over the last two summers, Vanessa Rowen became a familiar and welcome sight among those who lived down Bryer Street way, and everybody loved the little girl whose heart was bigger than most of the other children her age.

“Coming mommy,” she finally hollered in response as she stood up and brushed off dress. Her mother smiled and waved before going back into their house and with one sad look over her shoulder, she pondered the meaning of the “For Sale” sign that now adorned the lawn of ole man Dryden’s house, and the “SOLD” sticker that was plastered over it.