The boy who lived next door

Without your love

I slowly opened my eyes, blinded by a bright light. I blinked, the time to get used to. I was in my bed. I patted the seat next to me looking for Pete. Nobody. I sat up and looked around, still nobody. I got up and wandered in the apartment.

“Pete?”

No reply. Where could he be?

“Pete? Pete, where are you?”

Still no reply. The phone rang. My heart pounding, I rushed for it, sure that it was Pete calling me.

“Hello?”

“Michelle? It's me.”

“Pete?”

“What? No, it's Ian.”

“Ian, where's Pete?”

“What?”

“Where. Is. Pete?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Don't be silly, I'm talking about my new neighbour! He lives at 221.”

“But, Michelle, nobody lived at 221 since you arrived! Who's Pete?”

“Pete Townshend!”

“Who the hell is he?”

“Ian, don't be silly! I went to King's Cross yesterday for him, and Roger, Roger Daltrey, he was here.”

“Listen, Michelle, I don't know who you're talking about, I don't know why you talk about all those things I don't understand, but you're worrying me. Yesterday we went to a concert together at a club!”

“The Who?”

“No, but there was a poster of The Who in a corner, indeed. We were at the Tin Pan Club for a blues concert.”

“That's impossible! Yesterday I was at Platform 1, at King's Cross. Pete was there, he was wearing a Union Jack jacket!”

“I assure you you weren't, love.”

“Ian, we broke up!”

Ian paused. I could hear his heavy breathing through the phone.

“You want to break up?”

“We did! Pete was there and...”

“Listen. I don't know what you're talking about, I don't know who's that fucking Pete, but stay at home. I'll be there in half an hour or so.”

Then, he hung up. I threw the handset in front of me and sat down on the floor. I was sure to have nothing imagined. It was real. Too real, maybe. I did not remember we had returned home with Pete. I did not remember I had gone to bed either. I leaned back and forth, trying to regain my senses. Why did I feel that, deep in my heart, that Pete was real? I had not imagined. Surely not. If it was a dream, then I fell in love. What kind of shit was I going through?

I jumped. Someone had just rung the doorbell. Not daring to open, I stood up from the floor. The person rang again. If it was Ian? No, he had to arrive half an hour later. If it was Mr. Garrington, I could always ask him about Pete. The person rang a third time. I got up in a hurry and rushed to the door I opened violently. It was not Mr. Garrington. A young man whose body was skinny in front of me, he had black hair, blue eyes, a small mouth and... a big nose. On sheepishly, he asked me:

“Good morning, sorry for bothering you, but I've just moved to this floor and I'm afraid I have shorted the current. Do you mind if I check that it doesn't affect your apartment?”

A huge smile appeared on my face. I understood, now. I looked at him lovingly and replied in a tender tone:

“Come in, Pete.”