Under My Skin

Calamity

I watched the fleet of vans and trucks outside my window. Men in unwashed, paint-stained undershirts haul dressers, tables, chairs, and just about every piece of furniture imaginable out, and into the house. A white house with yellow trim, a big bright green lawn, and a small wooden fence surrounding the perimeter.
The same white house with yellow trim, a big bright green lawn, and small wooden fence that I've been looking at from my window the past four years.
The same white house with yellow trim, a big bright green lawn, and small wooden fence that folks have moved in and out of, my entire life, without so much as a wave in the driveway when they're out to fetch the morning paper.

The same ones who have never come to say hello or introduce themselves, the same ones who play their music too loud and have parties too late and blow their leaves at six in the morning.

I watched as a young man exited out the front door. His relatively thin frame was disguised by a brown and burnt orange flannel shirt, worn two sizes too big over a white undershirt, the fabric pilling from what looked like decades of use.
The orange tones of his shirt matched the nest of wavy, styled hair that sat on the fence of a dark ginger and light brown. He was tall, probably only a few inches shorter than myself.

He took one end of a mattress and steered it through the doorway, one of the movers hoisting the other.
They moved everything into the house in just an hour and a half. If he's anything like the last seven people who lived there, he'll be back out in months. It's a shame that it goes to waste, really. It's a nice little house, but it never seems to keep a resident. Consequently, I'm not in the habit of making friends with the neighbors. They have their life, I have mine. I don't need anyone interfering with my routine.

I kept on with my day despite the distractions next door. I checked all the appliances, I tidied up, I listened to my music, finished the book I'd been reading. It was like any other day. It was like every other day.

Until someone knocked on the door.

My groceries weren't coming until Monday, I know it's not him, my mail arrives at nine, he's already been here. There wasn't anyone else it could've been. Not anyone I knew, not anyone I associate with.

"Who is it?" I nervously called out through the door

"It's your new neighbor! Just moved in next door!"

With caution, I opened the door for him. He stood on the porch, his hair color quite striking up close. I'd brushed it off earlier, but it was actually quite a sight that I'd overlooked.

"Hi! I'm Connor, Connor McKinley, I live next door." He smiled widely and stuck out his hand to shake

I tugged at and twisted the top button of my shirt, trying to loosen the neck a bit. It felt like it was tightening with every second. I just stared at his extended hand, keeping mine clenched to my side

"I'm Kevin.. you uh.. you look awfully young to be buying a house.."

"I'm renting. It's.. It's crazy cheap, and I'm going to school right over in Farmington, so it's the perfect spot.." he finally let his hand down

"Oh, yeah, the student housing there is... expensive"

"Are you a student there?"

"Me? Oh- no, I'm not.. not a student anywhere.... uh, Is this your first year?"

"No.. no this is my second year here... I lived with some friends right by the campus before.."