{"id":7829,"date":"2018-02-26T21:39:30","date_gmt":"2018-02-27T04:39:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/?page_id=7829"},"modified":"2018-02-26T21:39:30","modified_gmt":"2018-02-27T04:39:30","slug":"the-man-in-front-of-our-house","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/?page_id=7829","title":{"rendered":"The Man in Front of Our House"},"content":{"rendered":"

Robert Sharp<\/strong><\/p>\n

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Early afternoon and there is a man standing in front of our house waiting for the people that used to live across the street. He doesn\u2019t know that they have moved away, so he stands in front of my house waiting in its shadow, waiting and watching for my neighbour.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s late afternoon. I\u2019m home from school and some kids have joined hands and are dancing in a ring around him. They dance and sing and stamp their feet. He looks at them and laughs, but he doesn\u2019t budge from his spot. Soon the children will go home for supper like I have. I wonder; will the man have something to eat? I watch from my window.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s early evening. The sun\u2019s going down. The man is just finishing off some Kentucky Fried Chicken a delivery boy brought him. Still eating, he carries the empty cardboard carton up our laneway to put it in the garbage pail. Dad says that in a moment the man will be coming up the front steps and ringing our doorbell so he can use the john. Dad\u2019s not too keen on the idea, but he will let the man in; I can tell by the way Mom is looking at him. \u201cHow does the man sleep?\u201d I wonder.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s early morning. I\u2019ve just awakened and gone downstairs to the living room window to look out. The man is standing outside not moving. His head has fallen forward. His shoulders droop. I watch him till it\u2019s time to go to school. As I\u2019m going out the door he comes to life. He lifts his head. He gives his shoulders a shake and he stamps first one foot, then the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cPoor dear,\u201d my mother says. \u201cI wonder if he\u2019d like a cup of coffee?\u201d His body looks like a shadow against the morning sun.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m home from school now and I\u2019ve been watching him for hours. This morning, he walked across the street to get out of the sun, Mother says. Then, in the early afternoon, he moved back to his original spot. Some children have joined hands and are dancing around him and chanting, \u201cGone away. Gone away. Your lifelong friend has gone away.\u201d He laughs at them a little. In a few minutes, when the kids are gone, he will come up on our verandah and ring the doorbell. Mother will let him in.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s the middle of the night and the man is still standing out front. His head has slumped forward so his chin is on his chest. His shoulders droop. His arms hang loosely by his sides. I\u2019m very tired and yawn. They expect rain tomorrow. Will my parents give him an umbrella? I don\u2019t know. If he gets soaked to the skin he might go home. I press my nose against the window.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s morning and it\u2019s raining. Mother says that Mr. Schultz, on his way to open his store uptown, sold the man an umbrella. And now, there\u2019s policeman standing under the umbrella talking with the man. Mother has gone out with two cups of tea and a towel. A few minutes later, she comes in soaking wet and the policeman goes away. \u201cWhat about his feet?\u201d I ask. \u201cWon\u2019t his feet get wet?\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s after school. The little red-haired girl from down the street is talking to the man. She can barely toddle and shouldn\u2019t talk to strangers. The neighbours are angry and Dad has agreed to speak with him. I can listen through the screen window. Dad tells him he doesn\u2019t think the people across the street are coming back. The man asks in a low voice if he can stay a while longer to make sure. Dad tells him he\u2019s on public property and it\u2019s a free country. He offers the man a cup of tea. I want a cup of tea. Mother gives me one. I don\u2019t like it and I pour it down the sink.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s the middle of winter. Snow is piled everywhere around. I take the metal doorknob in my hand. My hand freezes there and I have to wait till the handle warms up before I can open the door and go inside. The man in front of our house is wearing a coat that\u2019s way too big for him. He also wears a wool hat that falls over his eyes; fleece-lined boots he forgot to zipper; mittens, plus a scarf that is wound around his neck three times. He huddles sometimes, and sometimes he swings his arms to keep warm. The house across the street has been vacant for several months. Still he watches. The little red-haired girl has strung Christmas tree lights across his shoulders. He merely shrugs them off into a snow bank when he wants to come inside.<\/p>\n

Mother wants him to move into the spare room at the back of the house. Father says it\u2019s a big step bringing someone into the house. \u201cBut I\u2019m sure I don\u2019t mind, my dear, if that\u2019s what you want to do.\u201d Mother mentions it to the man when he uses our phone to order Kentucky Fried Chicken. \u201cI don\u2019t mind waiting out there, if it\u2019s all the same to you,\u201d he says. \u201cMy friends might come back anytime, and I wouldn\u2019t want to miss them.\u201d The red haired girl is glad. She likes him.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s spring. The house across the street is coming down. The workmen are there. The man watches the house disappear brick by brick. He\u2019s wearing rubber boots to protect his feet from the slush. He doesn\u2019t look very well. Toward the end of winter, he looked worse. We brought him warm drinks; vitamin pills; cough mixture; we even offered to call a doctor at our own expense. He refused. He improved as the weather got better. Today he is watching the house vanish. The little red haired girl has brought him cake and cookies and orangeade, but for the first time, he ignores her.<\/p>\n

The house is gone. The man is going through a crisis today. He spent the morning staring at the vacant lot across the street. This afternoon, he is pacing up and down, waving his arms around and from time to time gesticulating. He\u2019s repeating bits and pieces from Hamlet. \u201cTo be or not to be…\u201d he mumbles.\u201dWord, words, words,\u201d he mutters. \u201cA rogue and peasant slave!\u201d he shouts. Towards the end of day, his pacing slows to a shuffle and his shuffle stows to a standstill. \u201cThere is a providence in the fall of a sparrow,\u201d he recites, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. \u201cWhat will you do?\u201d my mother asks, for she is now standing beside him. \u201cWe are what we are what we are…\u201d he answers staring wistfully at the vacant lot.<\/p>\n

The man has been standing there for seventeen years. Time has flown. He\u2019s been a part of my life from my early days at elementary school, through high school to college where I flunked out. I watched my parents age. I moved away. I married the red haired girl and became a parent myself. I remember once, as a child, I fell off my bicycle in front of him. He helped me up, brushed me off and sent me inside to my parents.<\/p>\n

Of course, it hasn\u2019t been good for him standing outside all these years. He aged more rapidly than anyone else in the neighbourhood. We worry about him a *great deal. We wonder what goes on in his head when he stares at the vacant lot across the street.<\/p>\n

We have all suggested that he go somewhere else, that he go into a home or something. My wife tied to reason with him, to coax him, and in exasperation to threaten him. My father even offered to take his place on the sidewalk. But none of it worked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m a part of here,\u201d he told me once. \u201cI\u2019m settled. This is my home. I want to end my days here.\u201d There was a slight dribble of rain and he opened up the umbrella my wife had given him. \u201cAll my friends are here,\u201d he added while looking across the street.<\/p>\n

This morning, the postman gave him his first pension cheque. He endorsed it and asked me to cash it for him. I said I would. I wonder what would happen if after all these years his friends did show up. I wonder what he\u2019d do.<\/p>\n

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ROBERT SHARP<\/strong> is retired and lives in Toronto. This story originally appeared in print in Who Torched Ranch Diablo.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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