Just A Knock Away

03: THINKING OF YOU

NEIL

Not a lot of people are like me. I say a lot of what I think. I make a lot of jokes, even to people that I don't know. And I try to be a nice guy. But I know that a lot of people aren't like me, they especially weren't raised like me, and they aren't always going to understand why I do the things that I do.

When I decided to leave L.A., I told everyone that it was about my career. I needed a new muse, a new setting so that inspiration would flow in a new way. Everything was new. I'd lived in California my entire life, had been adopted at 12 and lived in L.A. ever since, so a change in habitat made sense. And because L.A. is the crowned king of creative fluctuation everyone supported me. In fact, they threw me a going away party. A party for leaving. I laughed and drank and kissed my moms and then I booked my flight and I left.

I owed them the truth. All of them. My moms, my friends, my boyfriend. Ex boyfriend. But I was terrible at being too honest with people, because I hated hurting people's feelings. Ironically, people were never hesitant to hurt mine. But I'd tell them the truth one day, when the timing was right and when I accepted it myself. For now, I'd just keep running.

I knew I wanted to be on the east coast simply because I needed to be near an ocean. I didn't want to go too far south, so I stuck with New England. I'm a city kid at heart, so it was either New York or D.C. When I checked my bank account, D.C. was my new home.

Day one was lonely. Unpacking into an empty room with only gas and warm water wasn't as fun and exciting as the movies made it out to be. There wasn't a peppy soundtrack in the background to put a smile on my face, so I was moving pretty slowly. I had a mattress on the floor and sheets, and for the first couple of days that was all that I relied on. Then I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself and I went shopping. I ordered a real bed, a comforter set, and already felt better about myself.

The next few days were the same, but this time I had a neighbor. Maybe a new friend, a fresh start. I saw her come out of her apartment a couple of times, because I kept my door open like a hopeful college freshman. But she never stopped by. I don't think she even noticed my existence. Until day eight, my last few boxes had shipped and I was halfway through setting up. I remember feeling exceptionally good about this day because I'd set up my cable service and had the TV working, as well as the living room almost set up. I just needed to finish the kitchen, get some decorations, fix up the bathroom and bedroom, and create a space for my art.

Anyways, the girl. The lady. I didn't want to just focus on her looks, because my moms taught me not to be shallow when observing people. But she was pretty. Really pretty, with curly hair that seemed like it never behaved itself, skin like toffee, and a more upright demeanor than people in L.A. She walked back and forth from her apartment about a couple of times a week, never looked my way, and kept her eyes downward. I know I sound kind of like a stalker, but it's either I unpack or I people watch. And I enjoy people watching a lot more than I do cardboard boxes.

I said something really stupid the day we met, and I knew it as soon as I left my mouth. She was reactionary to everything that I said or did. Her eyebrows furrowed when I struggled with my boxes, she rolled her eyes when I introduced myself, and she closed into herself when I called her a witch. It was a joke, something to break the ice. "I was at a funeral." She sharply rebutted, her face tightening. I didn't even get a chance to read her, to figure out where I went wrong, because her door shut and locked and I didn't see her again for a couple of days. That was my only shot, and I blew it.