Meeting the Neighbor

After a long day of running errands, I pulled into the driveway and saw, out of the corner of my eye, a long-haired man standing on the back porch of the neighboring apartment building. His hair was dark and he wore round eyeglasses and his hands were on his hips. He was standing with his chest puffed out and looking out over the parking area as if he were a pirate and it was the sea.

I was eager to meet my neighbors. I was eager to meet anyone, really. I was completely solo in my new town, and I wanted to make an ally or two. I parked my car and hopped out, but by the time I turned around, the long-haired man was gone. He disappeared. In a blink of the eye and the time it takes to put the gear shift in "park," he dissolved into the building.

Huh, I thought. Maybe he doesn't want to be met.

I took my grocery bags inside and lingered in the kitchen for a while. The first department mixer was later that evening, and I thought I might want to look nice. I threw the five items of clothing in which I felt most comfortable onto the bed. I picked up the red cotton tank top in which I'd traveled western Europe. I threw it back on the bed. I called my friend Nicole.

"What should I wear?" I said to my friend, who'd just had a baby in Ohio.

"A bra," she answered. "Wear a bra."

Two months before I moved south, I cut off all my hair. I wanted a fresh start, which I thought should include a fresh look. Instead, the cut, plus the product that the stylist convinced me to buy, made my hair look flat and stringy and greasy. I'd gained a little weight between acceptance and arrival, too. I didn't feel like myself, and I had to go meet a bunch of strangers.

"Maybe I should stay home," I said to Nicole.

"Well," she said. "Then you don't have to wear a bra."

I wore a bra. And I went to the mixer. Everyone was generally nice, although I did get the distinct feeling that we were being sized up. I was fresh meat. I walked out onto the porch of the professor hosting the shindig and I saw my next door pirate, standing with a few other people - people I didn't know, and I didn't know if they were new or not. I was new. I knew no one.

But, I'd seen this man and I was fairly certain he'd seen me.

"Hey," I said to him. "I think you're my neighbor."

He whipped his head around to look at me and his hair followed. It punctuated his movements like a period ends a sentence. He moved, and his hair let you know how to read it. His movement seemed quick and clipped. And I could see how this man could disappear in a snap.

He didn't say, "Nice to meet you." He didn't say anything. He just nodded. And then he was talking to the other people.

The nod was enough. I wasn't put off by it and I didn't feel brushed off. A small, still voice from deep within told me that the little yes was big beginning. What it didn't tell me was that before I knew it, I'd have a cataloged collection of every Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode before it was released on DVD. Courtesy of the man with the pirate presence and the exclamation point hair.