The Handsome Stranger
The old house sat on top of the hill overlooking the small town in the river valley. The grass was overgrown with years of neglect. The boarded-up windows and strips of peeled paint haunted its historical appearence. Off the main porch was a small car port, the roof weak and bowed as if to give way in the slightest breeze. The house sat apart from the newly developed homes in the area, lonely and deserted. None ever suspected it to be the residence of a handsome stranger. For even the sidewalks along its front were an unwelcome cluster of rubble.
The night I discovered someone indeed lived there, was truly by accident. Often in the evening I would drive around to admire the town and its growth. As a young child it was a small and quiet town but with time it had grown and developed just as I had.
I drove up the street that evening looking and admiring all the new homes, and I stumbled upon this old deserted structure in the midst of all the modern sites. My gaze was captured by its oddness when I noticed the porch light flickering.
"Could someone be living in such a a house?" I asked myself in doubt. A question that puzzled me, as I pulled the car over for a closer look. Through the thick overgrown willow trees I could see a large front room window. It looked as if a white bed sheet had been hung up inside as a curtain. Soon a light came on within the house, and a shadow appeared in the window that startled me. The shadow was not what I expected, as the outline of a tree with long leafless branches cast a deep shadow across the sheet.
An erie feeling came over me, as I could see the tree moving, swaying as if a gentle breeze was blowing within the walls of the old house. I was spooked, and as chills ran up my spine, I slowly drove away into the darkness.
The next evening after work, the site had so plagued my mind that I decided to return to the house for another look. Though this evening all was dark, there were no shadows to be seen within the old two storey house. The house was quiet and peaceful, but as I drove around the alley way I caught the reflection in my head lights of something parked in close to the house under the overgrown willows. It was a car, not an old car, but a newer town car. "How odd," I thought as I drove away.
So every night I would return, as my curiosity seemed to lead me there. Waiting for a moment when I could find answers to the questions that plagued me.
A few weeks had passed before I finally chanced on an evening when I could see the shadow of a human behind the sheet covered window. The tree was still there, but now so was the strong outline of a man figure. The man walked strong and straight, he carried himself with the posture of a thirty year old man, not an old guy like I suspected. He was walking around the tree that adored his living room, adjusting branches, as they swayed back and forth as if heavy weight was jumping from branch to branch. The man would bend down from time to time as if to adjust the base of the tree. It was all so strange.
That evening as I headed home, I concluded that this man must be crazy, obviously to have a large tree planted within a room of his house. To live inside a forgotten structure, with overgrown trees and weeds surrounding him.
The next evening I told my girlfriend at work about this strange house, man and tree. She was just as curious as I so she joined me that evening for a snoop at the old house.
"Have you seen him," she asked. "No," I replied, "as he never comes out."
"Well,I am sure he has to eat, or buy groceries at some point," she stated. And so she began to visit the house with me more often.
Time passed, though all we would ever see is the shadow of the tree swaying and occasionally the shadow of the man coming and going from the room.
As small towns are, our mystery man became the curiosity of all whom lived there. The fact that my friend and I waitressed at the local coffee shop and voiced our findings did nothing but build an audience of onlookers. Soon stories of all kind we're being heard through the coffee shop, from him being an excaped convict, to a paranoid psycho, some of the town kids believed him to be an evil Sorcerer. One story was that he was the ghost of a gardener and his image would appear with the tree ever evening and disperse by morning sun.
As word spread, soon everyone in town was up on the hill driving by the old house. Peering through the windows to get a glimpse of the man and the tree. Children and teenagers would scare each other and make bets daring the other to knock on his door. Instead of late-night bingo or coffee the whole town would turn up in front of this house waiting and prying with curiosity.
My girlfriend and I no longer visited every evening, as a feeling of guilt overwhelmed us both. We had created this situation from our own disrespect. And we could not undo what we had done.
A season passed, and the interest in the mystery man soon died with newer more intresting town gossip. Some claimed to have met him face to face, though no one was able to prove they had seen the man or what the tree was about. Then one day a sign was posted on the hill, 'GARAGE SALE, everything must go'. The address was that of the old house.
I read the sign, feeling uneasy, knowing he would soon reveal himself, and knowing he would soon be leaving our small town. I felt a sense of loss, shame and guilt, as I was the one who had caused this.
That weekend was the sale. I refused to share this information with people at the coffee shop, though it seemed everyone already knew. And the whole town would be there, just to have a glimpse of the mystery man.
Friday night, I could hardly sleep, as when I closed my eyes all I could see was a man with a blank face, sad, and hurt by the prying eyes. Angry at me, shouting at me for my rudeness, my inconsideration, as the tree lay beside him dead, limp, and homeless. I cried.
Saturday morning my girlfriend called she had also seen the sign about the garage sale. We would go together. Somehow, in my mind, I was hoping this would be a change for me to make things right.
As we drove up the hill, we could see rows and rows of cars. There were people everywhere, crowds of people. All waiting to see the man. We drove around the block and could see furniture and belongings piled up in the car port. The yard was full of people. My girlfriend and I decided to come back later when the crowds had died down.
Around seven that evening we pulled up in front of the old house. The yard and streets now quiet, the town folks gone. The high weeds had been tromped down by the crowds, revealing some of the old fence and stone walkway. A small light shone from inside the car port. As we exited the car, we could hear the rustle of papers as we walked around some of the personal belonging still left in the driveway.
It was then I noticed the tree, it was a large willow tree planted in a big ceramic pot. It leaned up against the side of the house.
I felt overwelmed with the sight of it. This was what cast the erie shadows behind the window. But now, it had lost its mystery. I decided I wanted it, for some odd reason. Perhaps as a memory, a reminder of it and the strange man. I picked it up and carried in slowly into the light of the car port. If he asked why I wanted it, I could tell him for the ceramic pot,I thought. I walked slowly, feeling uneasy, and as the light grew brighter I could see a man, in his twenties, not much older than I behind an table, reading a book, his head bend down into the pages of an Art manual. Beside him on the table sat a metal cage and within the wire bars a large green Iguana sat. With big sad lizard-eyes, the iguana looked up at me and quickly turned away.
"Oh, don't worry about Alex, my iguana. He is not used to such small living space, and is a little distressed," the man said as he looked up at me from his book, his eyes a soft hazel, thick brown hair covered his head with soft waves. He was so incredibly handsome and soft spoken. A dark tan caressed his face, making him appear wise and peaceful. I sat the tree down by the table.
"Oh, I see you found Alex's tree," he stated.
I was startled for a moment. "Oh, no wonder he is so sad, this is his home."I replied.
"Yes, I had a whole room set up in this old house for Alex to roam, the one with the big window in the front of the house. Iguanas like lots of space...something us, as humans, aren't as lucky to have."
The man looked deep into my eyes. I know he could see my shame and my guilt. I looked away shyly.
"I am sorry," I said, hoping this would help rid me of my guilt.
"For what?" he asked, although his voice had a knowing tone.
"That you are moving. It is a hard thing to move from place to place, expecially for iguanas, I'm sure."
"No," he replied, "it's not moving that is difficult, it is privacy that is difficult. Why do you want Alex's tree?" he asked.
"For the ceramic pot," I replied, feeling the blush of my lie. "How much?" I asked.
"Take it," he said, "there is not much left anyway."
When my girlfriend finally approached us, all she could do was stare at first, as her mouth dropped. "Oh, you live here?" she asked.
"I lived here," he replied and went on to fill us in.
"I had a job near Barrymore, but it was only temporary, so I moved up here 8 months ago to work. I am also an artist and the peaceful landscape inspired me. This old house was really reasonable to rent and because I'm not home alot I didn't need anything fancy, besides that Alex could roam freely without the landlord being too bothered by it.
But the landscape here has changed a lot. It is no longer the peaceful, innocent land that once inspired me. It has been tarnished by the people. The rivers are polluted, the forests are stripped. It seems the people here overwhelmed with curiosity because boredom affects everything around them. Bored because they are are being separated from the peaceful beauty of things that should be left alone.
Then I understood. I understood how one's curiosity and prying into the peaceful existence of another can affect one so greatly. I shook his hand, it was warm and kind. I thanked him for the ceramic pot and turned to go.
"Oh, just a minute, I have something for you," he said as he turned and grabbed a painted canvas from behind him. "I painted this about four months ago. It is for you, My Mystery Girl," he said with a chuckle.
There it was -- a painting of the newer house across the street late in the evening. And in front of the house was a blue car, my car,and inside the car you could make out the shadowy vague outline of a face. But it was my face, looking intensely back at me. A small red glow in my hand, as he had even captured me with my cigerette in hand. My face grew red with shame as I was looking at my own prying eyes prying back at me.
Life holds gifts of many interesting folks)
This story is for my friend Rod and his pet iguana, Alex. Thinking about you and hope your doing fine in your new landscape.
