Page 3 of Deck the Fire Halls

I thanked her and managed a smile as I left. It was only a short walk back to my house, but I spent every step wondering if I’d stepped into the Twilight Zone, or if small towns were really like this. Where everyone was on afirst name basis.

I was going to have to get used to it.

As I walked up the two steps to my porch, I heard a rumble coming down the road, and by the time I juggled my groceries and got my key in the door, the very loud Harley slowed right down and pulled in next door. Male rider from the size of him—huge bulging biceps, broad shoulders—though he wore a helmet, so I couldn’t see his face. But my god, the sound was so damn loud.

I pushed inside and closed the door. The noise cut off a few moments later, the resulting silence overly loud in its absence.

Or maybe it just seemed so loud because the rest of the town was so quiet?

With an annoyed sigh, I put away my groceries and pretended I hadn’t just bought a house right next door to a motorcycle gang member...

Which was probably a gross exaggeration and an awful stereotype, but as a doctor who’d spent way too many hours in the ER tending to riders of motorcycles and the occasional gang member, it was easy to presume such things.

I was disillusioned with the world. I was allowed to be mad about it.

I tried not to dwell on it though. Made myself my first home-cooked meal in far too long and put myself to bed with a book I’d been meaning to read for years.

I didn’t give my Harley-riding neighbor another thought. He had been quiet all night, thankfully no loud music or parties for a Saturday night, and I’d managed another decent night’s sleep...

To be woken again by the loudest, sleep-shattering rumble of that damn motorcycle.

I shoved my pillow over my head to drown out the noise, unsure if I wanted to weep in frustration or yell in anger. The rational part of my brain knew that going outside in my pajamas to yell at the guy probably wasn’t the best way to establish new neighborly relations, especially if he was in some motorcycle club.

But then the ruckus faded as he drove off, leaving blissful silence in its wake. I sighed and tried to doze off again, wondering if the bone-deep exhaustion would ever leave me.

Maybe it was part of me now.

Along with the jaded pessimism and general crankiness at life.

I never used to be like this, and I needed to shake off the mood, the funk. I needed to start looking at the positives. This was a new start, a new life. I’d left the darkness behind me and needed to start appreciating the good things.

Like coffee and sunshine through my living room window.

So with that in mind, and considering I was now very much awake, I threw back the covers, put on my robe and slippers, and headed for the kitchen.

I switched on the coffee machine to warm up, taking a few moments to breathe in the peace and quiet and the first rays of sunlight coming in through the living room window, casting shards of white on the yellow walls and sending dust motes into a spin.

Peace and quiet.

I could get used to this.

I inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, trying to breathe in the serenity.

I made my coffee, almost smiling as I took my first sip...

Until an all too familiar sound came thundering down the street, closer, slowing in front of my house before turning into his driveway.

My neighbor from hell.

Anger bubbled up inside me, irrational and stupid, and with my coffee in hand, I stomped out my front door, across the frosty front lawn, and met my inconsiderate motorcycle gang member neighbor in his driveway.

“Hey,” I yelled. I couldn’t even hear myself over the roar of his stupid motorcycle. “Hey!”

He cut the engine and my voice carried over the silence.

He sat on his huge motorcycle, wearing blue coveralls and a leather jacket. He lifted his hands and took off his helmet. I was expecting a hard face, scars, or neck or face tattoos.

But what I saw stopped me in my tracks.

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