The Neighbor // Brallon

Ever Since We Met

Listen to this piece call 'La Mamma Morta" by Maria callas please

One thing a lot of people don't know about me is my love for gardening. I will stay outside for hours digging and planting, getting right down in that dirt. I love it and so whenever I get the chance to, I bust out my breast cancer awareness gloves and dig.

It's really a beautiful day. The sky is a bright blue with a few scattered clouds and the air is sweet. The jasmine that I'm planting so small and fragile but very powerful. It's scent perfumes the air gorgeously and I get lost in it. Dig, spread, place, cover. It's a simple couple of steps to follow and I take the time to think about brendon.

I think about his eyes and his too big forehead. The way his hair smells, the laugh he makes when he's happy, the way his brow furrows when he's grading shit papers. All the things that I love about him. It helps to pass the time.

I hum a tune while I work, cursing at a fly that buzzes around my face and lean back on my heels to wipe the sweat of my face, wiping my dirt covered palms all over. I look up and down my flower beds and nod my head in approval. I'm proud of this. Brendon would be proud. I stand up slowly, stretching my aching back and trying to wipe the dirt off of me somehow. Grabbing my gardening things, I go back to garage a happy man and collect an ice cold beer from the fridge, cracking it open with a bottle opener. When I go inside I check my phone lying on the counter to see if bren had called.

MISSED CALL: (714) 254-3906 (4)

"Fucking solicitors..." I mutter to myself before connecting my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and playing my favorite opera playlist. The heavy cello and violin have me swaying in the kitchen while I cook up something for dinner with Bren. I think he said something about coming over.

The singers voice is riddled with pain... her house had been burned down by a mob during the French Revolution and her mother is killed . As her pain increases and she watches her childhood home crumble into ashes the music gets more intense and her voice, God, her voice. Then, the strings. And that single cello. There's hope. Hope for love and life.

Then my phone rings again.

This time I answer, "hello?"

"Yes, is this Dallon James Weekes?"

"Yeah who are you?"

"I'm from the LA regional hospital, and one of our patients was wishing to contact you..." the man says from the other line.

"Who?"

"His name is Brendon, said you were his boyfriend?"

My heart practically stops, "OHMYGOD what's wrong?!"

"He got into a car accident, it's nothing major just a concussion and a badly broken arm."

"I'll be there as soon as possible, thank you for calling!" I grab my keys and leave the house in a rush to see him. The drive is an anxious one, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and focus on the asphalt in front of me. When I get to the hospital I practically crash my car trying to park and then run in to find him. The nurse that talked to me on the phone leads me to Bren's room where he lays, flipping through channels on the cable tv.

"Brendon?!" I'm out of breath. His head snaps up to look at me and he immediately looks away. "Bren..."

"What?" He snaps at me with pure venom lacing his voice.

"I'm here," I say dumbfounded, "to see you?"

He scoffs, "how many times did that call you?"

"4 times before I picked up..."