Thy Neighbor

Chapter One

All that was left from that morning was a the light blue coffee mug that sat on the counter. Black, no cream. She didn't want to wash it out, fearing that it would wash away the memory of when he came into her home and poured his life out to her. He'd only be gone for ten minutes but that felt like an eternity. No man had ever exposed himself to her before. And in that moment – when she was doing what her heart, soul and spirit told her to do – is when she realized that she may have felt that one thing that eluded her: open honesty.

She would see him often. He lived in the apartment next to her. She could hear his random trysts too. And watch them leave before her in the morning, passing her with a lick of shame on their faces. She knew he was a playboy who kept himself in shape. All she ever saw him carry from his car was his gym bag. Sunglasses on, even in the wintertime, as if he was hiding something. He seems like a mystery.

A fine one at that.

Dark, rich chocolate complexion. Teeth brighter than a flashlight. A build strong enough to put the fear in iron. Never said much, not even a nod. If he did, she never noticed. Always putting her head down when he passed her as if she wasn't allowed to look at him. Hiding her amusement, I guess. She didn't want him to know that he crossed her mind once or twice as they ran on neighboring treadmills at the gym. That always happened for some reason.

This morning started like any other. She had just finished doing her morning devotionals, her tea cooling down by the second, forgetting to drink it as she zoned out about her day – and her outfit for work. The sun took its time rising that morning, temperature climbing rapidly. As she turned on her favorite talk radio station, she heard a large thud in the hallway.

And tears.

"Hey. Are you okay?" She sees her neighbor crouched in front of his door, gym bag seemingly at the end of the hallway. His head dangled from his body, his breathing labored. She could see pools of water tapping his thighs, sweatpants soaked with tears. She never thought a man like him could cry like that.

"Hey. Are you..." Her voice trails off as she sees his body slowly fall to the ground. She runs up to him, wrapping her arms around him, trying to catch his fall.

"I can't...I just..." Every word brings wails of pain and anguish. He breaks his fall with his right hand while grabbing onto his neighborly comfort with this other. For some reason, she feels the only response is to caress his head, to show him through touch that everything is going to be okay even though she has no idea what was wrong.

"Is there someone I can call for you? What happened?" She asks as he sucks back the tears.

"My Dad..."

It all clicks for her in that moment. She lost her father years ago to cancer and cried the same way when she found out that he was gone. Everything makes sense.

"Hey... hey... it's okay. Come on," With strength she didn't know she has, she pulls him into her apartment. She feels like he needed to be a safe space in the moment. A safe space to the man she only knows as a mysterious figure that sometimes crowds her thoughts and occasionally passes in the hallway.

As he slowly walks into her apartment, he uses his gym shirt to wipe away the tears.

"We don't have to talk about it. I just think you need some tea."

"You have coffee?"

"I do."

She grabs the near expired can of Folgers and the only other mug she has in her apartment. Pouring his coffee, she watches him flip through his phone.

"I'll give you some privacy if you need to make calls."

"Nah, I..." He drops his phone. "This fucking sucks."

"I know it does. Here." He tries to take a sip of the coffee and fails, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He tries to apologize but cannot.

"Sorry. I just..."

"It's okay. You don't have a say a word. I got you."

I got you.

That phrase struck a chord inside of him. His father would tell him that everytime he would go away for work. It was his way of promising his son that he'd return. And he did. He knew it as a statement of love. When she says it, he instantly feels her warmth.

She feels his warmth too as he looks into her eyes, trying to form sentences but only strong enough to say his name.

"I'm Trevante, by the way."

"Ciara. Sip on your coffee, Trevante. I'll be right back, I need to make a call to let my job know I'm running behind this morning."

"Oh, I don't... I can go."

"It's okay, I promise you. You need to sit for a second. It's cool. I'll be back."

As Ciara walks into her bedroom, Trevante notices her bookshelf. Theology, social justice, biblical history, art, every translation of the Bible. Pictures of her father. Her college degree. Her acceptance letter to graduate school. He thinks she is so put together and maybe has all of the answers.

"Why did God take my Dad away?"

She freezes. She is only there to care not to be his minister.

"Whatever answer I give you is not going to be right one. I had the same questions too when my Dad died. I'm just okay with never knowing the answer."

For some reason, that is the right answer. He didn't want to know that it was just the way that God worked. He didn't want to know that God controlled everything and that some things are out of our control. He just wanted to be heard. Her answer made it seem that way.

"Yeah. It's unfair. My Dad was in the military, hit the gym everyday. I remember getting up super early to watch him lift weights in the morning. Two months ago we found out that he had late stage cancer. My Mom was already gone. And I never went... I never went home to see him. And then I said that I had to and not he ain't here anymore..."

"I didn't see my Dad in the hospital too, so I get it." She wants him to feel as if he wasn't alone. So he wouldn't pile on the guilt and shame.

"I fucked up. I really fucked up." His voice cracks as his body slumps on Ciara's couch. Ciara looks at his massive frame falling into itself, trying to hold itself up against the weight of the news just received.

Trevante's phone vibrates against the leg of the coffee table.

"That's my sister. I should probably go."

To say that Ciara's heart didn't break in that moment would be a lie. "Sure. I'll walk you out."

"Look, I uh ... thanks for the coffee and everything. You didn't have to do this."

"It's cool. I just wanted to make sure that were cool... and not alone."

Ciara slowly opens up her door. Pride wanted her to convince him to stay. Her heart said otherwise. As she closes her door, her body goes limp. Falling onto her couch, she stares at the not-quite-empty coffee mug on her counter. She didn't want to wash it, afraid to let the memory fade.