First Impressions
The walk back from Hameldon Square was mostly uphill. The incline was not terribly steep, but was still enough to leave Evan breathing heavily by the time he crested the hill.
He had stayed at Barton’s for a while after Terry had left for work, buying himself a meager meal with a ten-dollar bill that had ever-so-fortunately been forgotten in the pocket of his pants - his wallet, of course, was somewhere in the apartment - and dawdled there, enjoying the crisp afternoon. Time flowed easily at times like that.
To his relief, the improbably-numbered 999 October Street came into sight at last, and Evan took a deep sigh as he settled into the final stretch.
Something else accompanied the duplex into sight. Don’s blue pickup truck was wedged into the driveway alongside the ugly old station wagon.
Evan remembered the new tenant. It must have been four o’clock. He didn’t see any sign of Don, or the new tenant. Or tenants.
He slowed as he drew closer, looking and listening for the visitors. Visitor and resident, rather.
There was a pair of suitcases at the foot of the front steps. Beyond that, no signs.
The front door opened. There emerged a young man, short and slim, in a dark coat, dark glasses, a fedora cocked to one side. His dark hair and attire made him look starkly pale. He took a few steps of noteworthy grace to the end of the porch and paused, looking down at Evan.
No, not an effeminate young man, Evan corrected himself, a very boyish woman. Her short haircut played a bemusing trick on the eyes, and Evan felt a twinge of embarrassment in the pit of his stomach for his mistake. The first few moments of obsolete impression sat uncomfortably in his memory.
He blinked.
A few seconds passed where neither party moved. They observed one another, regarded one another, her above and him below, frozen in place like two startled deer.
Finally Evan nodded. “Hey.” He gestured towards the second floor. “I live upstairs.”
“Hey,” said the boy who had turned out to be a girl. The voice had a mature depth to it. She touched the brim of her fedora as if to tip it. “I’m Aya. I’m moving in downstairs. Don was just dropping me off. And showing me around.”
Evan nodded. “I’m Evan.”
Behind the glasses Aya’s eyebrows shot up, and her lower lip pursed. “Evan…” she said thoughtfully. “Nice name. So I’ll be seeing you around, I suppose.” She descended the porch steps and grasped the handle of a suitcase in each hand.
“Need any help with that?” Evan offered.
“I’m good,” Aya dismissed him, hefting the pair of suitcases and dragging them up the stairs with only some exertion. She propped open the screen door and shuffled inside. As Evan ascended the porch steps he heard the voice of Don from deeper inside.
“Evan’s outside,” came Aya’s voice as she shuffled out of sight.
“Hm? Oh. Is he?” came the reply from Don.
Don appeared at the front door. Don was a heavy man with a round face and harmless eyes. He had graying hair and, on closer inspection, a layer of fine gray stubble.
“‘Ey, Evan. I see you’ve met Aya. I was just about to go up and knock on your door after I got her settled in to introduce ya. She’ll be living downstairs.” Don was verbose, and his voice had an earnest affability.
Evan nodded. “Need a hand with anything?”
Don waved him off. “No, no, we’re all set. I’m just showing her around, really; all the furniture’s already in there, after all, so there’s no heavy lifting or anything to do. But thanks.”
“Sure. Alright.”
Don backed out of the way as Evan opened the screen door. Aya appeared behind him. She smiled at Evan and gave an offhand salute-like wave.
Evan started up the staircase. “Well, I’ll be upstairs then. So long, Don; see you around, Aya.”
“Nice meeting you,” said Aya, and disappeared.
“Alright, Evan, take care now,” called Don. “Just give me a holler if you need anything.”
Don absolutely never mentioned the rent before the end of the month.
Evan sat back down in his armchair. He took his laptop onto his lap. However, for some time Don’s voice rose through the floor, muffled and constant and punctuated by his loud, self-provoked chuckling, making concentration borderline impossible.
He had stayed at Barton’s for a while after Terry had left for work, buying himself a meager meal with a ten-dollar bill that had ever-so-fortunately been forgotten in the pocket of his pants - his wallet, of course, was somewhere in the apartment - and dawdled there, enjoying the crisp afternoon. Time flowed easily at times like that.
To his relief, the improbably-numbered 999 October Street came into sight at last, and Evan took a deep sigh as he settled into the final stretch.
Something else accompanied the duplex into sight. Don’s blue pickup truck was wedged into the driveway alongside the ugly old station wagon.
Evan remembered the new tenant. It must have been four o’clock. He didn’t see any sign of Don, or the new tenant. Or tenants.
He slowed as he drew closer, looking and listening for the visitors. Visitor and resident, rather.
There was a pair of suitcases at the foot of the front steps. Beyond that, no signs.
The front door opened. There emerged a young man, short and slim, in a dark coat, dark glasses, a fedora cocked to one side. His dark hair and attire made him look starkly pale. He took a few steps of noteworthy grace to the end of the porch and paused, looking down at Evan.
No, not an effeminate young man, Evan corrected himself, a very boyish woman. Her short haircut played a bemusing trick on the eyes, and Evan felt a twinge of embarrassment in the pit of his stomach for his mistake. The first few moments of obsolete impression sat uncomfortably in his memory.
He blinked.
A few seconds passed where neither party moved. They observed one another, regarded one another, her above and him below, frozen in place like two startled deer.
Finally Evan nodded. “Hey.” He gestured towards the second floor. “I live upstairs.”
“Hey,” said the boy who had turned out to be a girl. The voice had a mature depth to it. She touched the brim of her fedora as if to tip it. “I’m Aya. I’m moving in downstairs. Don was just dropping me off. And showing me around.”
Evan nodded. “I’m Evan.”
Behind the glasses Aya’s eyebrows shot up, and her lower lip pursed. “Evan…” she said thoughtfully. “Nice name. So I’ll be seeing you around, I suppose.” She descended the porch steps and grasped the handle of a suitcase in each hand.
“Need any help with that?” Evan offered.
“I’m good,” Aya dismissed him, hefting the pair of suitcases and dragging them up the stairs with only some exertion. She propped open the screen door and shuffled inside. As Evan ascended the porch steps he heard the voice of Don from deeper inside.
“Evan’s outside,” came Aya’s voice as she shuffled out of sight.
“Hm? Oh. Is he?” came the reply from Don.
Don appeared at the front door. Don was a heavy man with a round face and harmless eyes. He had graying hair and, on closer inspection, a layer of fine gray stubble.
“‘Ey, Evan. I see you’ve met Aya. I was just about to go up and knock on your door after I got her settled in to introduce ya. She’ll be living downstairs.” Don was verbose, and his voice had an earnest affability.
Evan nodded. “Need a hand with anything?”
Don waved him off. “No, no, we’re all set. I’m just showing her around, really; all the furniture’s already in there, after all, so there’s no heavy lifting or anything to do. But thanks.”
“Sure. Alright.”
Don backed out of the way as Evan opened the screen door. Aya appeared behind him. She smiled at Evan and gave an offhand salute-like wave.
Evan started up the staircase. “Well, I’ll be upstairs then. So long, Don; see you around, Aya.”
“Nice meeting you,” said Aya, and disappeared.
“Alright, Evan, take care now,” called Don. “Just give me a holler if you need anything.”
Don absolutely never mentioned the rent before the end of the month.
Evan sat back down in his armchair. He took his laptop onto his lap. However, for some time Don’s voice rose through the floor, muffled and constant and punctuated by his loud, self-provoked chuckling, making concentration borderline impossible.