crust

If there was one person in the world that I would never want to meet, it would be my next-door neighbor.  It's not so much that I didn't like him.  I've never really talked to him because he would come and go at odd times while I had the regularized schedule of any high school student.  No, I would never want to meet him because I was terrified of him.  I say that with ardor because even as a child I remember peering at him in his house through the blinds of my window, watching him cook his dinner.  He handled a butcher's knife more adeptly than a butcher, and I didn't want to know how he learned that.


But it's too late anyway, meeting him I mean.  I have met him.  Several times, in fact, because my parents seem to want to meet him a lot more than most normal people should.  Mom's always worried about older people and Dad knew him when he was younger.  All those times when I was in the same room as our neighbor though, he glared at me with such disdain that I wondered why no one else has ever noticed.


Today Mom wanted me to bring him some year cake for the Chinese New Year.  Alone.  "Can't you come with me?" I complained, trying to hide the fear I felt reserved for him slowly numb my insides.  "I don't even know him and I won't know what to say."


"Just say happy new year.  I have to get going, you know that."  Mom had to run to the supermarket before all the whole chickens and fresh fish and whatever else you eat for Chinese New Year were out.  "Be nice, okay?  He's always been so nice to you.  Smile."


I snorted, rolling my eyes even though my fingers were trembling.  He was not nice.  He told me when I was younger that I was short enough to be his cane.  Then he told me in middle school that makeup was for tramps.  When I took my dog on a walk and he decided to visit the lawn next door, he bursted out of his front door and just glared at me.  Didn't say anything.  Just glared.


But Mom was already kissing me goodbye and ran out the door.  I did some breathing exercises to calm myself down (didn't work) before going over to my neighbor's house.  Best to get it over with.


I stood in front of his big brown door, the oak and chipping paint wearing down on my nerves.  I rang the doorbell, but I didn't hear anything inside.  Maybe it didn't work.  It would be so easy to just slip away and tell Mom he wasn't home, but we both knew he was.  So softly, I knocked on the door.  I waited for a minute again and then knocked louder.  Waited for another minute and then knocked again, louder.


The door opened and there was my neighbor, glaring at me again.  He was a crusty old man, his face drawn in fine lines and his lips permanently curled downwards.  He used to tower over me when I was younger, but now I stood above his bent figure.  It didn't matter.  I still felt small.


"Why'd you bang on my door?  The doorbell's right here," he pointed with his stubby finger.  "Can't you use it?  It's rude to bang on someone's door."


"S-sorry," I mumbled.  I held out the year cake and looked down at his brown sweater.  "Mom wants to give this to you.  Happy new year."


He grunted and took the cake.  Immediately, I turned around and walked back to my house.  "Wait," he called out, his voice authoritative and demanding.  My heart beat rapidly as I slowly turned around to face him.


He reached around his pockets and pulled something out.  "Here," he said, holding out a red envelope.  He was glaring at me still, but his eyes were calm.  "Happy new year."


I took the envelope and didn't breathe out until I ran back into the house.