Dear Old Man who Lives Across the Street from Me, Part 2

Dear Old Man who Lives Across the Street from Me,

I always thought you hated me, and in your defense, I really don't blame you. Maybe I annoy you when I sing at the top of my lungs with my windows open or maybe you can't stand it when I go out in the front yard and yell, "Levi...get your little butt in this house right now." Hard to say, really, but we've made some real progress recently.

A couple of weeks ago when you were out mowing and I was out running, I saw that brief but very meaningful eye contact you gave me. Don't worry, though. I didn't tell anyone. No one will ever know that you actually looked at me. It's our secret, but I saw...I know.

And I can't be 100% positive, but I think you were actually waved at me last week as I was leaving the neighborhood. I quickly glanced in my rear view mirror to see if you were waving to the car behind me, but no one else was there. It was just me.

But I was shocked, to say the least, when you rang my doorbell yesterday morning. I thought surely Oliver, our free roaming cat, must have bitten you and you were seeking proof of her annual shots or some form of medical compensation. Or maybe, just maybe, you were coming over to accuse my kids of climbing your trees or picking your flowers or something. But no. Oh, no, no, no. It was something much more personal.

I would like to admit, however, that it's sometimes hard to recognize you without that fisherman hat on. But I know it was you; and you were talking to me. Me. Heather. Me. Deep breath.

"I have some mirrors I want to give you," he said.
Me? Why me? Do you know who I am? You actually came over here to ask ME if I wanted something? I felt like throwing myself on you for a momentous hug, but thought you might have gone all kung-fu on me or something.

So, I told a couple of people where I was going, just in case I went missing. I mean, I don't know this guy. Sure, he lives across the street from me, but he could bury dead bodies in a trap door in his garage floor. Dang that 48 hours Mystery show for making me so freakin' crazy.

So, after school, the kids, the cat, and I made our way over to the single cleanest garage I've even seen in my life to retrieve my gifts. I mean, seriously. Where are the leaves on the floor, the cobwebs in your windows, or the dead bugs gathered in the corner. Where are they? Do you clean this thing every single day or what.

Anyway, I graciously accepted two mirrors and a paper shredder of all things. Not that I actually needed these things, but I just couldn't say no. I didn't care if he gave me a cow skull, I had already decided I was going to take whatever he offered.

We've made some real progress in the last month. It only took me 4 3/4 years, but we're gettin' there. You'll be coming over for coffee and watching Regis and Kelly before we know it.

Hugs and kisses,

Heather