The Six Feet Between Us

"I just talk a lot when I'm nervous."

"Yeah, I figured," I teased. "Not that I'm complaining, though."

"Sorry."

"No, I mean it. I really don't mind. But is it my fault?" It was my turn to finally ask a question.

"Is what your fault?"

"Did I make you nervous? Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh, no, of course not. I'm actually really comfortable with you, so it's nothing like that. It's just been a long time since I've... um, can we please change the subject?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

We both let out a loud exhale at the same time, then broke out in laughter. It was exactly what we both needed.

"I guess it's been a while for both of us," I joked.

"Well, one of us a whole lot longer than the other," she teased in return.

"Yeah, okay. Good one," I mumbled. What else could I say?

We finished eating and were simply enjoying each other's company, until Bubbe interrupted us from behind the counter.

"Miri, the time!" she was tapping her wrist.

"Oh, no! Paul, I'm so sorry, I need to go!" She started packing up her mess.

"I can get this," I offered, "you go ahead."

"Oh good, thank you!"

She was about to rush out the door when she stopped in her tracks and ran back toward me.

I quickly looked around the table for something she might have forgotten when she leaned down and hugged me—a solid, honest, firm hug. The only knock on it was it didn't last longer.

"What was that for? Not that I'm complaining!"

"I knew you were going to say that," she giggled. "Just because."

"Well, can I get a hint, so maybe I can earn points for another."

"Just keep being yourself. I've really gotta go," she scurried back to the door again. "Don't be a stranger!"

"Yeah," I called out as the door was closing. "I won't, Miri..." My voice trailed off as I realized she could no longer hear me.

I barely had a chance to digest what had just happened when every last one of the Breitman clan started whooping and hollering.

"P's got a girlfriend!" Eli chipped.

"Hubba Hubba, Paul. Way to go!" Old Marty boomed from the register.

"I said I had a good feeling, didn't I?" Bubbe kept repeating, hoping someone—anyone—would acknowledge her and agree.

My face turned three shades of red as I slumped in my seat. It seemed the ribbing wasn't going to stop until I'd at least acknowledged it.

"You guys are all killing me!" I finally laughed. "I don't even know what's happening, here!"

"It's no small thing to be chosen by a lady, son. Don't fuck it up," scoffed an unfamiliar voice.

"Jacob! Language!" Bubbe exclaimed quickly.

"Baaa!" he grumbled, then went back to work.

This was the first and only thing Jacob had said to me that day and the fact that he rarely spoke gave me pause. In my experience, soft spoken men were either wiser than rest of us or not to be trusted—and seldom anything in between. My instinct was that he was the former. But with that assumption, a familiar anxiety that I actually would "fuck it up" immediately started to overwhelm me.

I cleaned up the table, bid a friendly farewell to the one...two...three...four Breitmans, and headed home in the chilly late winter air. As I walked next to the corner store, I dragged my fingertips along its bricks, looking forward to seeing Miri again.

The first thing I did when I got home was head to the kitchen. The smoke was all gone, but the forensic evidence of my failed attempts at grilled cheese were everywhere—butter splatters on the wall, carcasses of burnt bread in the trash. Clearly, a crime against food had occurred and if the food police showed up, they'd no doubt lock me away.

I cleaned everything up, started the dishwasher and removed the box fan from the window. As I looked out at my backyard, I noticed a new message in Amélie's window. I barely made it out under the darkening sky.

Birdhouse

I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I headed out back and opened the side door to the broken-down birdhouse. Inside, I found a folded piece of paper with Mister Paul written in childishly cute curvy letters. I unfolded it to find a hand-written recipe for chocolate chip cookies. Apparently, Amélie had taken it upon herself to help me out with the whole 'baking' thing she'd committed me to.

I glanced up at her window and smiled as the curtain shifted slightly. I waved the piece of paper toward her, acknowledging her presence, and headed back to the house.

I obviously had no business trying to bake, but I liked Amélie—she seemed like a sweet kid, maybe a little lonely, like I was at her age. Besides, I figured it might earn me some points with her grandmother, assuming I could somehow do better with cookies than I'd done with grilled cheese. But most importantly, it gave me a reason to go visit the corner store again to see Miri.

Every night that week, I tried to make it to the corner store before she left, but every night, I was too late. I'd expected my first week at work to be more leisurely, but the company was on top of things from day one, leaving me little time to relax. Then, I ended up working into the evenings hoping to make a good initial impression. It wasn't until Friday evening that I was finally able to get there before she closed up shop.

My take-home sandwich was gone by Monday. I survived on pizza and leftovers for a couple more days and hot dogs the rest. I was very much looking forward to some 'proper' food from the deli. In fact, a P-B-J sounded delectable, though I wasn't sure if I'd be allowed to order one, since it seemed like a Miri-only menu item.

"Hey stranger," Miri half-joked as soon as I entered the corner store for the first time in nearly a week. "I was afraid you'd forgotten me."

"Sorry, Miri. I let work get the best of me. But believe me, I definitely didn't forget you. In fact, I..." I stopped when I felt a sudden rush of embarrassment. "Never mind."

"You're already on thin ice with me, Mister. You'd better finish what you were saying, if you know what's good for you."

"Um, okay... I was going to say I've thought about you a lot... like every-night a lot."

"Hmm," she paused, "only at night?"

"Um, no. Pretty much any time of day, actually. Except when I'm working. You're not allowed up here, when I'm working," I tapped my temple. "Gotta keep up my productivity, you know."

"Oh, I'm that distracting, am I?"

I blushed but didn't respond.

"So, especially at night, eh? Is that what you said?"

"Um," I didn't know how to respond to that. To be honest, it was true. And some of my thoughts weren't exactly wholesome, but I could never admit to that! "Um," I repeated, as the skin on my face radiated heat like a Death Valley sun-burn. "Um..."

"It's okay," she said, mercifully letting me off the hook. "I've been thinking about you, too, if you're curious—especially, at night."

Oh god. So much for the reprieve! My brain suddenly graduated from strained to overloaded and I guess she could tell I was drifting away by the look on my face.

"Hey," she reached her hands through the opening in her plexiglass wall and snapped her fingers in front of me, bringing me back to reality.

"Oh, sorry. Um, chocolate chips?" I muttered quietly.

"Excuse me?"

I handed her the recipe that Amélie had given me for chocolate chip cookies, still too stymied to say much else.

"What's this?"

"A recipe."

"Well, I can tell that, smartass. But what's with the kid-writing? Who'd you get this from?" she held up the recipe, now-folded, with Mister Paul written on the side she was showing me.

"Oh, the neighbor girl behind my house. Her name is Amélie."

Miri's eyes widened in surprise. "Amélie? Gave you this?"

"Yeah."

"Amélie Madeleine, you little..." Miri mumbled.

"Why? Is there a problem?" I asked

"Huh?" I seemed to startle her out of whatever thought she was having. "Oh...no. Well, she's just so shy and quiet and..." her voice trailed off, as some internal thought seemed to steal her attention again.

"You know her, then?" I asked.

Her attention came back to me. "Um, of course, I do. Big city, small neighborhood," she answered nervously. "I know everyone. But did you just say a ten-year-old girl wants you to make cookies? Doesn't that sound just a little, I don't know, creepy?"

"Only when you put it that way! My god, you make it sound like I'm a... I don't even want to say it!"

"So why are you doing this, then? Like, for real?"

"I don't know. I guess, part of me sees a kid who sits alone in her house most of the time, never has any friends over and doesn't seem to ever go anywhere else. It reminds me of my own growing up. Kids should be allowed to be kids, you know. So, if she wants me to bake some cookies for her grandma, is it really a big deal?"

"Well, first of all, there's no way those cookies are for her grandma—they're for her. Second, it sounds to me like she's got you wrapped around her little finger. And third, she has to know you can't bake cookies!" she gave a hearty guffaw at that last comment. "I doubt she'll want to even try them once your kitchen fills with smoke and the smoke alarm goes off again."

"Hey! That's not nice! And how'd you know about the smoke alarm?"

"Um, again, Paul—big city, small neighborhood. Everyone knows everything. Trust me."

"Well, maybe I do have a soft spot for Amélie. She reminds me of me, except she's sweet and cute and funny and kind of a smart-ass."

"Oh, she sounds delightful," she said sarcastically.

"I know I'm not doing her justice, but I think you'd like her, Miri."

"Think so, huh?"

"Yeah, I mean you seem to like me okay, and she's way cuter than I am," I was fishing for a compliment and I was pretty sure she knew it.

"Like you? You think I like you?" Yep, she picked up on what I was doing right away.

"Well, I was hoping. I mean, I am your boyfriend, aren't I?"

"Hm. Just 'cause you're my boyfriend doesn't automatically mean I like you. I even know plenty of married people that can't stand each other."

"Now you want to marry me?" I joked. I was quite proud of myself with that one.

"How about we split the difference and just go on a date?"

"Yeah, okay," I started chuckling a little, thinking she was just playing around, until I saw her glaring at me through the plexiglass wall. "Wait. Are you serious? A date? You and me?"

"Well, are you my boyfriend or not?"

"Just imaginary, I thought."

"Yes or no, Paul? This isn't hard."

"Um, Yes. Definitely, Yes."

"Great! There's an old theater in north-town I haven't been to in forever. Would that be okay?"

"Sure. Sounds interesting. When do you wanna go?"

"How 'bout we leave at six."

"Today?"

"Why? Do you have plans already? Who is she, Paul?"

"What? No! Tonight's great!"

"Good! Oh, and I was wondering, would you mind if I met you at your place? I've been dying to see it."

"Um, sure. I mean, I haven't really done anything with it yet, but sure."

I hurried home with a bag full of cookie groceries and made a frantic effort to straighten up every room. She already didn't like the chimney pots—I didn't want to give her anything else to hate about the house.

"This is nice, Paul! It's so much bigger than it seems from outside. A lot bigger than my place."

"Thanks. Yeah, I like it so far. Except nothing in the kitchen seems to work right," I joked.

"Pretty sure that's operator error, pal. Do I even want to know what that smell is?" she asked while scrunching her nose and sniffing the air.

"Well, I tried to make some of Amélie's chocolate chip cookies. Only three or four turned out. But I saved you one."

"How chivalrous of you to save me one," she giggled before taking a bite and immediately spitting it out. "Oh my god, I take it back! Chivalry would've been if you didn't save me any at all!"

"Sorry, I didn't think they were that bad."

"They're awful, Paul. You need help!"

"Are you offering?" I smiled.

"Blech. I don't know. You might be hopeless." She tossed the remainder of the cookie in the trash and opened my fridge and grabbed a drink. Then she started walking around, as if she was a prospective buyer. "Okay, so how many bedrooms?"

"Three. I'm going to use one as a home office and set the other one up as a guest room, I guess. Not really sure."

"Good plan. Is the master suite down here, too?"

"No, that's upstairs."

"How many baths?"

"Okay, listen lady, don't be getting any ideas," I started joking. "I bought this house fair and square, so it's mine, got it? You just go get your own."

"I don't need to get my own. My boyfriend has one just like it!"

"Well," I tried to think of another comeback but was drawing nothing but blanks. "Okay, you got me. Two bathrooms. This one on the main floor and the big one is attached to the master upstairs."

"The 'big one?' That sounds intriguing. Show me?"

"Um... okay." I walked her up the stairs to the second floor of the home, into my bedroom. I knew it was immature, but I actually felt nervous having a beautiful woman in my bedroom, especially, when she went directly to my bed and sat on it, testing its bounce.

"This is nice, Paul," she said as she looked around the room. "It's very relaxing in here. But it could use a different color, don't you think? I think lavender would look great against the white trim. And the ceiling fan is a bit dated.

She rose and headed to the bathroom to check it out. "Oh wow. Now I'm sold! Looks like you saved the best for last. This is gorgeous!"

"Yeah, it's the only room they really updated. But they did a great job with it."

"Ooh, a jacuzzi tub?" she smiled seductively, "and a shower for two?"

I hadn't even started trying to say anything yet, but felt myself stammering in embarrassment. "Um, yeah, so two people can get ready for work at the same time... I think," I joked weakly. "It's more efficient that way, you know."

"Uh huh." She walked past me, back out to the bedroom, and went to the window facing the back yard. "So that's her house, huh? Amélie's?"

"Um, yeah. I guess her room's on the back, down there on the main floor. She uses a whiteboard to send me messages. She's pretty funny."

"So, you're texting with a ten-year-old now? You are kinda creepy."

"Miri, I know you're just joking, but can you please not say things like that. It's really not like that. I swear."

"Sorry. So, what kind of messages does she send you? And do you write back?"

"No, I don't have anything to write back with. But she says things like 'I smell smoke, you cooking?' or 'Grounded' and then she tells me what cuss word she got in trouble for. She does that a lot, I guess."

"Oh, really? She has a potty mouth, huh? That's interesting."

"Oh yeah, she gets in trouble for it a lot. Her grandma seems pretty strict about it. She seems pretty old-school so she gets punished a lot."

"Well, I hadn't heard that one in the rumor mill yet. Good for her grandma. I'm sure the little brat deserves it."

She sat down on my bed again, and spread her hands along the bedspread, smoothing it out better than I'd done. A different energy started to fill the room, at least, I thought so.

"So, this is where all the action happens?"

Yep, a different energy, for sure.

"Um, right... I mean, I haven't... well, you know... Shouldn't we probably get going?" I croaked nervously.

She smirked at my discomfort. "We've got time. Just one more question. You don't have a telescope hidden in your closet or anything do you?"

"Huh?"

"You have a straight view to that window over there. I mean, it's good they can't see in here from their main floor, but that what about that window on the second floor? You're not a secret voyeur, are you?"

"No, Miri! The only window I look at is Amélie's... Wait... that sounded terrible!"

"Okay! Okay! I understand. But just so you know, if you can see in, they can see out. Did you ever think of that?"

"Well, no... but like I said, literally nothing happens." I immediately regretted saying that.

"Nothing, Paul? Not even solo? I know that's not true."

"Um..." My face turned beet red. Of course, 'solo' things happened! Every freaking night! But I sure didn't want to talk about it!

"Just think about getting some curtains, okay? You never know when someone might be watching."

"Um... yeah, okay... can we go now?" I again begged.

She smiled and finally showed me some mercy. "Yeah, let's go."

"So, do we need to drive?" I asked, having no idea where we were going.

"Nah, it's just a few blocks."

"Oh, cool."

I felt exceedingly juvenile walking next to her.

"I'm sorry I teased you so much about Amélie. I think it's sweet that you pay attention to her. Although, I have to admit, it did sound kind of bad at first."

"She really is a sweet kid. I worry about her."

"Worry about her? Why?"

"I don't know. It just seems like she's got something missing. I've never seen her mom or dad. I guess she's just there with her grandma most of the time. It just feels like something's not right. Kinda like how I was at her age."

I looked over at Miri, who looked a little stunned.

"I'm not making any sense, am I? Sorry. Maybe I'm just projecting."

"No, it makes sense." She didn't offer any further explanation. But she did reach out to take my hand in hers. It wasn't the first time we'd held hands, but it was the first time it really meant something. Yes, there was electricity this time. And yes, I felt it where you might expect.

She didn't let go of my hand until we'd arrived at the theater. From the outside it looked like a boring, uninspired chunky box of orange-ish bricks. We bought two tickets and headed in.

The lobby immediately exceeded any expectations set by the outside architecture. Two staircases rose like bookends on either side of the large grand foyer. Between them a long concession stand, with a glass case filled with candy.

"Is this for real?" I asked when I saw the menu board. "Only four bucks for a large popcorn? And two bucks for a large drink?"

"Shh," she whispered. "They set the prices decades ago and keep forgetting to update it. If you go and blow it, the entire neighborhood will hate me for bringing you here."

"Well, you know I have to get me some, right? This is like unicorn popcorn."

"Ha! Unicorn popcorn."

We ordered a huge popcorn and shared a drink—Mountain Dew, of course, since I'm an IT guy, now. Then we headed into the theater. I just about tripped over my own feet as we entered the theater itself. The gem within was a three-story tall theater, decorated with a Japanese motif throughout, and an old Barton pipe organ set front and center.

"You can close your mouth," she teased.

"This is beautiful, Miri. Thanks for bringing me here."

"You haven't seen anything yet."

A few moments later, I watched as a man sat at the old pipe organ and started playing and I could feel the vibrations reverberating through my body. He played the organ for about thirty minutes, before finishing to rousing applause by the now full crowd. He took a bow.

"Wow!"

"You still haven't seen anything yet." Miri reach over and held my hand, then leaned against me.

An announcement was made that two movies would be shown and a description of each was provided. I barely listened to any of it, my senses filled only with the feel of her body nuzzled closely against mine, as close as the old-style theater seats permitted, anyway.

The movie started and I was transported back in time—to a time before my time—the time of silent movies. The pipe organ wailed, providing a live soundtrack to the otherwise soundless, black and white film which even included a pie-throwing scene—something else I'd always thought was just a myth.