The Windows

There was a house next door that was old and dark; nobody looked twice at it. Although that house had a past full of tragedies, I could only see the light in it. I was always curious about that house and its past events, but I ignored my temptations. It was now just a small mystery that was pushed far back into my mind. I ignored the house for years as my life passed by.
I spent the weekends watching reruns on television. Then I spent long nights studying for it to barely pay off. On school mornings I downed coffee and wrote test answers on my wrists. I had things that I did in my free time like read books and poems aloud until the words made sense, or played the drums off tune to old rock music in baggy band T-shirts. I had a strange liking towards the world and all its basic things.
I like to think that I am like my brother, Logan. He has a love for adventure and trouble, which I have always admired. He walked right out of the house after his eighteenth birthday leaving me with my sister and parents. His best friend had gotten locked up for some "bad business."
His best friend was named Trent. Trent McCallister was like family to me. Trent stayed almost every night at the house. His parents became alcoholics after his younger brother died. The cause of his baby brother's death was unidentified. Trent met Logan at the start of middle school. He treated me like a younger brother. I was born two years after Logan. Logan has always been the stronger and more social one. I was like a skinny reclusive version of him. We had a room in the basement that we all shared. After school Logan and Trent would sit in the basement and vape while I played Xbox on the thick TV. I would listen to the conversations they had about girls and football teams.
My grandmother lived with us. My parents had divorced a few years after I was born so my mother took my older sister and fled the country. I was only five when my parents split; Logan was seven. I grew up without a mother but I found myself running into the arms of a stranger when my grandmother passed. My mother and sister moved back when I was fourteen. I would go over to my dad's every Friday night and stay the weekends. When Trent went to jail and Logan left I stopped going.
My dad has a history of being strange. I grew up to my dad's stories and weird antics. I found amusement from my father until he started to become manic. My grandmother told Logan and I to ignore his words. Logan always told me he was too messed up to be a father.
My older sister, Charlotte, and I are only half related. We have different fathers. She is now twenty and in med school. She is the girl that set the bar for academics and social skills. I have never gotten along with her. I find her goody goody personality quite obnoxious. She is like my mother, very petite and plain. I have never really liked my mother either. I just needed a place to be until I was no longer a minor. One more year and I graduate and finally get be free. I had lived with my mother for three years. We live in a boring suburban place. She worked at an office and spent her life convincing people to buy crap they don't need. I was alone most of the time.
It was easy for my mind to wander to that house next door. It was just a coincidence that I looked at the window and saw him. There was a strange boy in the house next door. This house had been empty since I had moved in. There was a fire that had partly burned the place. Nobody wanted to buy the house; it was old and slightly falling apart. There is a dent in the roof and the wood is damp and splitting. I had always had a strange feeling toward the house. But now seeing him, it made me wonder. I thought nothing of it and expected him to just be wandering in there. Kids from the neighborhood used to go into the house and listen for the voices of the spirits that had died in the fire. I had started that rumor when I moved in.
I became intrigued after seeing him a few more times. The house was close enough that I could see into the house through my living room windows. I had just spent a couple seconds of my time sneaking a glance at him. It started as a little weird habit that I had created for myself. I liked checking in and sneaking quick glances at him through the windows in my house. I would use him as a way to fill my curiosity. I never expected my curiosity to get stronger. I found myself looking through those long glass windows for hours. I studied him, the mysterious boy next door. He had a certain style that I liked. He had sad, dark brown eyes and dark black hair. He was strong, I could tell by the biceps that were visible on his arms. My windows looked into the living room where I spent the afternoons with him. He would lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling. I noticed that his wrists had cuts and I could picture him slitting his wrists as blood dripped into the sink. I watched as he read books and stared at the same page rereading. He did these simple things that intrigued me. I could tell he was heartbroken and for some odd reason I was mad. I was angry at the person that had hurt him, but I never wanted to know who this person was. I had no clue what I would do. Could I really avenge someone that didn't know I existed? He was all alone in that house. The one thing that had caught my attention the most was the way he talked. I could never hear his voice, but I could see him talk. He would pace around and move his lips and make hand gestures. I wondered if someone else was there. I never saw anyone. I had come to a conclusion that he was just crazy. He reminded me of my father.
I was staring at the window at him and watched as he cleaned the living room. He moved the books over, and then as if he noticed something, he lifted his head. He stood there for a few seconds looking straight ahead. My view of him was from the side. I watched as his face flashed with realization and his head slowly turned. He was looking at the window. He moved closer and I sat frozen in my spot. His face was soon pressed closely to the window and he looked right at me. His face had no emotion; it was like he was a cold statue looking back at me. I saw his eyes, dark and gloomy. My heart started pounding as I saw him. He stood at the window just looking. Could he really see me? He was looking in my direction. I moved slowly from my seat sitting upright and stopped suddenly as he started to move. He took a step back and he lifted his arm and made a small wave gesture with his hand and walked away into a room where I could not see him. Just like that. A small wave and that's it. I felt like he was playing with me. I felt like I had to do something to get his attention.
Days passed and I didn't see him, but I still thought about him. I soon became bored with life. I didn't like the same things I used to like. I dropped most school clubs and quit the volleyball team. I stayed in my room alone. I liked spending my time with him. I missed him. I was outside in the garden, fixing the flower pots on the small steps outside the back door. My attention turned toward the back gate. I stood looking over to the house next door. I could only see through a small crack into the kitchen. I saw nothing. I moved closer and stared.
"Hey."
I jumped to the sound of the raspy voice. I looked over suddenly to the mysterious boy. I just stood and looked at him.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"What?"
"What's your name?"
"Umm..." It was crazy how I could not muster out a word.
"Fine. Don't tell me."
I stayed silent and looked at him an awe. I had so many questions before but nothing came to mind. I stood up straight and just looked at him oddly.
'You like flowers?"
"Umm.. Not really. They are my mother's."
"Well here. I'll give this to you anyway." He handed me a small purple flower that he had picked from the grass next to him. I took it cautiously.
"You better not lose it."
"What would happen if I lost it?" I asked twirling the flower in between my fingers.
"Just don't. If I see you again you better have it," he said and then walked away slowly. I just stood there. I watched him leave and then I closed and locked the gate behind me. A few days passed by and I didn't see him. I found myself now crazed. I waited out in the garden the next day but he never showed. I was upset and done with being upset. I waited again the next day and the same, no show. After a week I gave up. I walked over to the house and walked right through the door. It was like I had walked into a different world. It was dark and gloomy. I expected to see him. He wasn't there. I walked through the wet floor. The floor was made from wood that had rotted. Purple flowers similar to the one he gave me grew from the ground. I looked around and was confused. There was no furniture, there was nothing.
"Hello!" I yelled. There was only silence. I walked around the house and then heard footsteps. I looked over and saw him. I gave him a confused look.
"Is this where you live? It's different."
"Different?"
"Where is the couch and the... the... everything."
"It looks different from the windows right?" he asked. I felt ashamed and just ignored his words. "It's only the way you want it to be."
"What do you mean?"
He laughed and turned his head slowly walking towards me. I thought I knew him; I felt like I knew him from the windows. He stood in front of me and looked into my eyes.
"I'm only in your head anyway."