Chapter 1

'Bye'. The singular word, harsh, indifferent and dismissive,

The manner, the voice

Thrown over his shoulder to his friend in a car, almost an afterthought as faced away with his back to the vehicle as he hauled his boxes and bags out of the trunk. A careless 'Bye!' accompanying the disinterested wave of an empty hand with veiled indifference one could take as an uncaring demeanour. There was no name attached, a sudden leave with no jest to smooth ruffled feathers. Lumbering down the tree-lined walkway, carrying his ample possessions onto the safety of the pavement.

I have heard bye used as a farewell more times than I can count, but his tone, the way he said it stood out to me. It stood out as standoffish and brusque. As rude.

I watched a distance off on the same path, playing witness to his move, observing him relocate his luggage. I've known of his inevitable arrival, the landlady wouldn't stop mentioning a new tenant. Of how she scanned through countless applications, a disappointment after another until him. Of how he had a 'nice' enough face and a 'nice' enough description. She had such high hopes for a 'nicer' tenant, one that didn't scratch the floors or punched holes in the ceiling. A 'nicer' permanent occupant.

Hah

As is human nature to assume one's worth based on a face and a hundred word essay. I replay his impersonal farewell. 'Bye!' it rings, stinging. I wince. Not long after, he will say the same goodbye as many others have said before to this place, to Boston, after they realised that there was nothing holding them down. You'll see, a slapdash farewell, aloof and impersonal: 'Bye!'

I turned to buzz myself in

Frankly, he has me intimidated maybe it was his nonchalant attitude, or maybe the big timberlands. Or the bulky body that was not hidden by the heavy wool coat and sweater and dark skinny jeans emphasising powerful legs. He seemed almost untouchable, unapproachable. But I could grow to like him. I suppose. Though eventually, as days pass I would grow to hate him with a raging intensity as I do all other residents.

Boring.

I let go of the open door, and it swings.

The door doesn't close

Said Timberlands jam themselves between the fame and the door, I was grabbed and forcefully turned around. I look to the large hand around my bicep, then slowly registered someone shaking my hand, of course, it's him. Who else could it be. He then drops a box in my arm his face flushed from the cold.

Confusion

He bends to my eye level, face close enough for me to see the rosiness of his cheeks.

Green

His eyes are green

A myriad of questions spoke in a rush of mismatched sentences to show he's not crazy

'My name's Marc'

'Could you help me?'

'I just moved'

'I don't have a card yet, landlady forgot to pass it to me'

A chuckle

'So I need you to buzz me in'

'I promise I'm not crazy'

So now I'm helping him carry the boxes into the building. A box or suitcase or trunk one after another. He talks, and talks, and talks. About where he moved from, about  California, about Los Angeles, about summers and family, of winters or lack thereof. He talks about winters here in Boston. Of the current season of autumn.His voice was a deep and soothing bass nut there was something childlike about his rambling. I absorbed whatever came out of his mouth, listening but not really processing his words, intent on performing the task at hand with detached efficiency.

He pauses.

What's your name?

Now I pause to think about the question, and took my time to think about the question I wasn't actively listening to. He must have thought I didn't hear him because he repeated himself

My name is Skye,

My mother gave it to me

I was named for my eyes, as blue as the sky.

Most would then follow up asking if it was Skye with an 'e' or without, why I had a feminine name or attempt to look at my eyes. He didn't. He just grinned, corners of his lips rising as started to move his items again.

Nice to meet you, Skye.

Minutes pass, and his possessions were now indoors. My assistance was no longer required, a thank you was said, although too busy hurrying to escape the situation to say welcome. I step onto the elevator and as the metal groans shut, I hear it, a fleeting farewell. Disinterested and terse:

Bye

Predictable

I could grow to like him

But then I would hate him

Emotions fleeting, fleeting like his words

How boring.

Thump. I heard falling outside. Thump again, resonating dully within my eardrums. I looked up from the music score fraught with graphite, glancing to the ornate clock displayed on the mantle. An hour had passed. How time was so relative to a person is astounding, what felt like second melded and stretched into an hour. I looked back down at the sheet music. Thoughtfully. Running my hand over the deep gouges and haphazard cursive, smudging the writing, blurring the letters.

Tick

Tock

Tick

I spun a pencil around my fingers to the soothing rhythm,

Tick

Tock

Tick

I think of nothing, just fractals of rootless thoughts swirling, one after another,

Tick

Nonsensical

Tock

Senseless

Tick

Meaningless

Tock

Knock

Someone's at the door. How tiresome. I ignore it hoping that whomever it may be they leave and return me to my tranquility, focusing instead on the deft movements of my fingers.  

Tick

No.

Tock

Such.

Tock

Luck.

Knock. And knock and knock and knock. The last one was louder, as if the other was irritated by the occupant's refusal to open the door. I slowly slid off the couch, placing the pencil behind my ear and throwing the papers on a nearby ottoman. Cold seeped through the floorboards, nipping my heels as I walked to the doorway, before wapping my palm around the knob and turning it. Only to be met with him.

Again

His face was one of shock, mirroring mine, not expecting my presence right next to his new home which morphs into a smile, eyes twinkling: Hey Skye,

An awkward rub of his head

Guess we're neighbours

Time is relative. And for me it stopped

He's my new neighbour.

Another annoyance.

Mute and mum, I attempted to process the prospect of having to be in proximity of another human being. My blank stare must had been taken for puzzlement, because he started to introduce himself again. None of his idle chit chat made themself to my conscious mind as I withdraw myself into a shell, away from his words, from interaction.

I may be listening, but I'm not hearing.

But he doesn't seem to notice, so he talks, and talks and talks and talks. I turn my attention to his appearances, a threadbare tee straining against broad shoulders, he had traded his dark jeans for baggy sweatpants and a pair of flip flops reminiscent of summers in Los Angeles. Then to his features, his defined jaw and rebellious coffee coloured hair. His soft cheekbones and even softer eyes that glittered a brilliant green.

Anyways nice to meet you

Bye

Ah that again, the same blunt word said with no attachments as he turned around and slipped into his own apartment next door, still I was left ruminating. A cold breeze swept past me. I shiver

Hah

I turned and closed the door.

Marc

Green eyed, broad shouldered

Marc

Boring.