The Church Next Door [Short Short Story]

[A/N: I swear, this is based on a true story. This is labeled as non-fiction but I did elaborate on bits I didn't know. All names were changed, but most of this gossip is true.

This is my first attempt at third person.]

Sarrah walked through the lawn of her front yard and watched her new neighbor with interest. She had lived next to the church since she was twelve and seen countless priests come and go, but never had she seen one mow his own lawn. She made her way up the stairs and onto her slowly rotting porch before pausing to watch him. 

He wore the black habit that all Catholic priests wore, but the sleeves were rolled back to relieve some of the summer heat. His greying hair was cut short and boring and looked very nondescript. He was unremarkable except for one annoying habit.

He rang the church bells every morning.

When he turned and caught sight of her, he waved. She smiled, unashamed to be caught staring, and waved back before making her way into the house to make dinner.

The next day Sarrah and her husband were just coming back from paying the bills when they saw the father sitting on a lawn chair on his freshly mowed lawn, reading a book. Her husband had been complaining about the bells lately and wanted to know if this was going to be a forever type of thing.

After a moment of internal debate, Sarrah shrugged her shoulders and approached the fence.

"Excuse me!" She called while her husband awkwardly hovered behind her. The priest smiled and put down his book. She smiled and leaned towards her husband.

"What's his name again?"  She hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

He shrugged. "Just cover your mouth and mumble."

Sarrah gave him a droll stare before turning back to the approaching priest and dismissing her husband with a wave of her hand. Her husband just shrugged and continued into the house, returning to his beloved xbox before his late shift started at the seaside restaurant.

The priest leaned against the fence and smiled at her. "Hello."

He sounded like he was tempering a really thick accent that she couldn't quite place.

"Hello there. I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name." Sarrah gave him a sheepish smile, embarrassed of her failing but the priest only gave her a puzzled look.

"I don't think we've met?"

Sarrah blushed. "Oh, we haven't, but gossip spreads on the rez, and I was definitely told your name when you moved in. I'm Sarrah." She extended her hand awkwardly, never really comfortable with shaking someone's hand. 

Growing up on the reservation, you knew everybody from a young age or you were introduced by somebody you knew. Those situations usually involved a nod and a hello. Occasionally the guys would fist bump. Handshakes were too formal and definitely for *Kwalitans only.