My neighborhood was the kind of place where people didn\u2019t just live \u2014 they belonged.<\/p>\n
We had block parties. We borrowed sugar from each other. We knew whose dog barked at 6 a.m. and whose kid practiced piano badly every Tuesday night.<\/p>\n
But Mr. White was different.<\/p>\n
He moved into the house across from mine three years ago. He looked about 50, maybe ten years older than me. Tall. Thin. Quiet in a way that felt heavy.<\/p>\n
On his first day, I decided to play welcoming committee.<\/p>\n
I baked banana bread, still warm and sweet, wrapped it carefully, and walked across the street. I knocked on his door.<\/p>\n
It creaked open just a few inches.<\/p>\n
He stared at me like I had stepped out of a nightmare.<\/p>\n
\u201cWelcome to the neighborhood. I\u2019m Anna,\u201d I said brightly.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t smile. His lips barely moved. \u201cThank you,\u201d he mumbled so softly I almost didn\u2019t hear it.<\/p>\n
Then he started closing the door.<\/p>\n
I blinked. \u201cYour banana bread!\u201d<\/p>\n
The door opened just wide enough for his hand to reach out and grab the plate. He gave me an awkward, tight smile.<\/p>\n
Then the door shut.<\/p>\n
I never saw that plate again.<\/p>\n
I told myself he was just shy.<\/p>\n
Extremely shy.<\/p>\n
Still, I felt his presence.<\/p>\n
A few days later, I was in my front yard planting white tulips. The sun was warm on my shoulders. Suddenly, I felt it \u2014 that strange prickling sensation of being watched.<\/p>\n
I looked up.<\/p>\n
He was standing by his car, holding a grocery bag. A gray cat circled around his ankles, brushing against his legs.<\/p>\n
When our eyes met, he stiffened, then raised his hand in a slow, awkward wave.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi there!\u201d I called. \u201cI\u2019m glad I caught you. I\u2019ve been meaning to ask your name.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy name?\u201d He blinked fast. \u201cIt\u2019s\u2026 uh, tu-no\u2026 White!\u201d<\/p>\n
I frowned. \u201cWhite? Or Tunowhite?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhite.\u201d He gave a strange little smile. \u201cJust White.\u201d<\/p>\n
And then he turned and hurried inside.<\/p>\n
That evening, while I dragged my trash bins back up the driveway, I heard a voice drift across the street.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnna?\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped. \u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n
He walked to the very edge of his driveway. The cat followed him like a tiny guard, sitting neatly at his feet.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour\u2026 your garden. It looks nice.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed. \u201cThank you. It\u2019s the only thing I can keep alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a second, a tiny smile touched his face.<\/p>\n
Gone just as quickly.<\/p>\n
He scooped up the cat and rushed back inside.<\/p>\n
Months turned into years.<\/p>\n
Mr. White remained awkward and solitary. He wasn\u2019t rude \u2014 just distant. He showed up to the Fourth of July BBQ but left after 15 minutes. On Halloween, he didn\u2019t answer the door. He left a bowl of candy on his steps with a small sign that said, \u201cPlease take one.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then one night, everything changed.<\/p>\n
I was reading on my couch when there was a knock at my door.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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