Shadows and Strangers

1978 was a good year for Clarence at 3127 Ramsey. Divorce final, only son off to the Navy, he was free, easy, and 42. Promoted to day-shift supervisor at the Wunderkake bakery, 63 guys working under him, so he had some money in the bank even after the down payment on the new house. As soon as he got home from work he’d head for the back porch and sit there until bedtime, drinking Old Grandad and 7-Up, smoking Viceroys, looking out over the ravine back of the only house he, himself, had ever had all to himself. That lady next door seemed… interesting. Maybe he’d head over there with that bottle one of these evenings, see what the view was like from her place.

1978 was a bad year for Sylvia at 3125 Ramsey. Her sister Beverly had moved out of the house next door, married a sausage-fingered pipefitter named Doug, and moved to Terre Haute. She didn’t care for the guy who bought her place and moved in. A mustache, at his age? Sylvia never had kids of her own, and now with Beverly gone, things were quiet, so quiet. She expected she would fill the void by getting more involved down at the church, or maybe with the other gals from the DMV. But the loneliness had the opposite effect, feeding on itself, growing, making it harder and harder to want to see anyone at all.

Although it was late, they were both up that July night when the lights tripped off. Clarence was just pouring his fifth drink, jutting his jaw to keep his 33rd cigarette of the day from sending smoke up into his eye. He noticed the lights on next door, and wondered if maybe she’d like some company. Sylvia was watching Give Us This Day, a two-minute sermonette that preceded the Star-Spangled Banner that marked the end of the broadcast day. It was that black pastor with the gray suit from across town, gently warning against the sin of pride - and then everything went dark.

Nobody knew why. It was a calm, clear night. Maybe there’d been a storm a few towns over. Maybe too many people were running their AC. No point in worrying too much about it, Sylvia thought, probably should have gone to bed a long time ago anyway. But Clarence had other ideas.

In the dark, he did up a few of the buttons on his flannel shirt, smoothed his hair vaguely to one side, and felt around in the cabinet above the fridge for a fresh bottle. He wouldn’t call on a lady half-empty. Hoping she had some 7-Up of her own, Clarence felt his way to the front door of his still-not-familiar house and stepped out.

The sky was shining, the trees and houses black silhouettes against a glittering carpet of stars, laced with silver highlights from the half-moon. Clarence gasped. That lady next door should get out here and see this. He tiptoed down the front porch and into the darkness between their houses, headed for Sylvia’s door.

CRASH! Dammit! He’d kicked over some damn plant pot or something and now he was falling and the bottle flew out of his hand and shattered on the ground but his shoulder plunged into something soft that yowled and what the hell!

Sylvia charged out of her front door, the blade of a huge butcher knife glinting moonlight in her hand. "I don’t know who you are, you son of a bitch, but get the hell - "

“Lady, LADY, it’s just me from next door,” Clarence moaned, sprawled on the driveway between the two houses.

But now Sylvia heard the crying of the terrified cat, who bolted away from Clarence and up onto her porch. She’d never much cared for animals. But the way it looked up at her, it seemed to be pleading for some kindness. If she couldn’t spare it that, she was no better than that clodhopper next door.

“What in God’s name did you do to that cat? And to my marigolds?”

“I fell,” he burbled. “Accident.”

“Well, you ever come over here again, you’re going home with this in your belly,” Sylvia spat, punctuating it with little slashes of the knife.

Clarence picked himself up, aching everywhere, feeling like he was going to throw up. Oh, great, his cigarettes fell somewhere in the darkness, too. He’d never be caught without a flashlight again.

Sylvia watched him limp away through the shadows, then knelt down to the little animal at her feet. “A cat, huh? Well, let’s see if we can’t find you something to eat. But don’t get any ideas about staying.”