Before you read this story, I think I should make you aware of something. This story doesn’t have any sparkly vampires or werewolves commonly known as Taylor Lautner. It doesn’t have magic wizards or fire breathing dragons. It’s not about two people who spontaneously meet,  live out a ton of cliches, and then kiss, or anything like that.

This story is about an old man across the street.

So if that sounds boring to you, then please just stop here. No offense, but what I’m about to tell you is really special to me, and some of it isn’t easy for me to write. So if you think that you won’t like it, this isn't for you.

If you’re still reading, thank you. Now before I really get into the story, you should know a few things about me. My name is Cassandra, but almost everyone calls me Cass. I’m sixteen, and I love video games. I live in a tiny suburb you’ve probably never heard of, and there’s not a lot of kids in my neighborhood. There used to some next door, but they moved. So our closest neighbor for the longest time was an old man in his seventies. Basically, I spent a lot of time online.

And that’s where it all started, really.

* * * *

Freakin’ Boss Level! I was so close! My hands clench until the knuckles are white as a ghost. I’ve been doing this for the past four hours, only stopping for bathrooms breaks and to satisfy my love of Oreos. Wait...maybe it’s been five hours. I’m not sure anymore. I shrug and hit Try Again on the screen. Instantly, the sound of screaming and explosions fill my ears. I run forwards and shoot some of the other team with my trusty bazooka. Boom! It’s like they were never even there.

“The time to act is at hand!” shouts the general over the noise. “Run to the base and destroy the leader!”

I nod and race up the hill. The headphones vibrate a little as a massive bomb goes off. The sound of battle cries and explosions roar loud as thunder as I make my way up the long hill. Almost there. Almost there. This is where we died last time! I’m gonna make it! I’m finally gonna-

“CASSANDRA!”

“Ahh!” I jump and the laptop falls to the floor. “Crap!” I nearly dive off the couch and make sure nothing broke on it. My mom is towering over me with her arms folded, crossly.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention. How many times have I told you not to have that thing so loud? If you can’t hear what’s going on around you, turn it down.”

“Sorry,” I say half heartedly as I get back on the sofa. “I got caught up in the game.”

“As is the norm,” she snarks. “We’re going out to the store.”

Great! Then I have another hour or two before dinner to beat this.

“You’re going to go help across the street while we’re out, right?”

...What? I look up from the screen and try to get a clue from the expression on her face. No help whatsoever. She finally give me a look that reads, Did you really forget? “You said you would help Mr. Clements move some boxes.”

“...When was this?” I ask sincerely. Is this some kinda Mandela Effect thing? I don’t remember anything about boxes.

“This morning,” she declares. “When your dad was leaving for work, Mr. Clements came over and asked if someone could help him move some boxes. I asked y-”

“Can’t he do that himself?” I interject. “Or dad?”

She furrows her brow at me. “ He’s seventy-five. He can’t reach them. Or maybe they’re too heavy for him. And your Dad barely talks to him nowadays and won’t be back till late. It doesn’t matter! I asked you earlier and you said yes. It was right after you ate breakfast, how can you forget so soon?”

Now I remember. I didn’t forget. I had no clue what she was saying. I just remember her coming up to me and talking, but I had headphones in. I was in the middle of the game so I just went “uh-huh” and “yeah” until she left. I didn’t realize I was actually signing up for something!

“Well, you can’t back out because he’s expecting you,” Mom says firmly. “And it won’t take long. You’ll be back here before we’re halfway through with the grocery shopping, I’m sure.”

* * * *

I knock on the door louder that I usually would. For all I know, he could be totally deaf. My foot starts tapping, anxiously, as I wait for the door to open. Just gonna go in, get the boxes that he can’t get for some reason, and go back to my game.

I hear a floor creak inside and the door opens slowly. A pair of brown eyes look down at me. I didn’t expect him to be this tall. I stare. Old people are supposed to be like, short, chubby and have long beards. Like the guys in Snow White. He gives me a small smile, one I really don’t return. His hair is gray and thin. His stomach sticks out like there’s a pillow under his shirt. And it’s hard to tell if those teeth are real or not.

“You must be Cassandra,” he asks. His voice is quiet but carries a cheery feeling. I nod a little, kinda surprised he remembered my name. Maybe Dad said it this morning. I nod some more. I really have no clue what to say to this guy. “Well, come on in. No use just standing outside unless you’re gonna cut my grass.” He steps to the side and I take a few steps into the house.

The front door opens right into the kitchen. If this can be called a kitchen. It’s just a sink and a fridge. He closes the door behind me and I walk in a little more. My shoes stick to the tile floor which was probably white at one point. The counter that holds the sink is cluttered with a bunch of papers, tupperware containers, and a coffee mug or two. There’s a weird smell in the air. I can’t really place it. It’s just like...I don’t know. Old man? It’s just...gross.

The rest of the house is really small. Once you get out of the really tiny “kitchen”, there's a living room with stained, brown carpet. It has a really ugly flowery couch, a recliner, and a decent sized TV. Then there’s a table on the other side of the counter with an incomplete puzzle on it and a few chairs.

“Ever seen The Searchers?” he asks. I turn and look at him for a minute because I have no clue what he’s talking about. His wrinkled hand gestures to the TV. “John Wayne. One of his best films.” I follow his hand and look at the screen. It’s a black and white film. Yikes. I didn’t know they still played movies this old.

“Er...no, I haven’t. But what can I help you with, Mr. Clements?” I ask, trying to move this along.

“Oh, right, the boxes. Follow me. They’re in the back room.” He takes slow steps down a narrow, unlit hall to another room. There’s another one back here, but the door is closed, and a small bathroom. I walk into the cramped room behind him. It has a messy bed, a dresser topped with odd knickknacks and a small closet. He opens the door to the closet, which is strangely more organized than the rest of the room. On the top shelf is a few large boxes filled to the brim with who knows what.

“I put ‘em up there years ago,but it’s about time I cleaned up around here” he tells me. You can say that again. “Now I think if I try to get them down, they'll be too heavy and I’ll break something.” What makes him think I can pick them up? I can’t do more than two push-ups in gym. “Figured another pair of hands would be helpful.”

I sigh a little and get on my toes. The box slides with difficulty as I pull it forward. He puts two hands under it to support it, but even still, it tilts a little. My breath catches in my throat but we slowly lower it to the floor. The only thing that fell out is a piece of paper. I pick it up to put it back, but it catches my eye.

It’s an old black and white photo, but I recognize the building instantly. This is The Pepper Court Restaurant.  It’s one of the best places in town. But it looks different here. I didn't know it was this old. A smiling, young man is standing in front of the building. He has short hair and is kinda dressed up.

“Ever been there?” Mr. Clements asks. I jump. I kinda forgot he was here.

“Yeah,” I say as I replace the photo in the overstuffed box. “We go there all the time.” I reach up for the next box with his help and my curiosity grows. Why does he have that picture? “Do you go there? It’s really good.”

“I used to, but not anymore.”

The second box comes down easier, leaving only one left. “Who’s the boy in that picture?”

He laughs a little as we get the last one down. “That’s the owner. Built the place from the ground up.”

My eyes widen a little. “Really? Wow. Did you know him well?”

His soft eyes meet mine and he grins a little like he knows something I don’t. Which he does. “You could say that.”

Now I’m just confused. “Well, what happened to him?”

Another little laugh. “You’re looking at him. Not to brag, though.”

“...Y...you built The Pepper Court?”

“I did. And I worked there for most of my life after.”

My eyes look him over again and I try to compare him to the boy in the photo. Now that he told me, I don’t know why I didn’t see it. He’s actually aged pretty well. And to be honest, part of me is a little starstruck. Everyone loves The Pepper Court, and I live next to the guy who made it. “So who owns it now?”

“The son of an old friend of mine. Tried to keep it in the family, but…” Some of the light leaves his eyes and his voice lowers. “It didn't work out.”

“Oh.” I look back to the floor at the three boxes. They’re ridiculously full, which only fuels my curiosity.

“Thanks for helpin’ me with these,” Mr. Clements says. “I thought they’d fall if I tried it myself. And some of the stuff in there’s breakable.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” And it really wasn’t. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes. “I, uh, I could help you go through them if you want to. My parents won’t be back for an hour, probably.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“No, really, I wasn’t doing anything anyway.”

He smiles and a warm feeling fills my stomach. Helping people is like a warm blanket. He sits on the edge of his bed as I go for a chair and grab a box. “I’m not quite sure what we’ll find in these,” he admits. “They’ve been up there for a long time.”

He makes it sound like I’m gonna find his Playboy collection.

A few minutes go by and the most interesting thing we find are old notebooks with football bets and tax information. I got a trash bag from the kitchen and it’s about a quarter of the way full then. I’m starting to wish I was in front of my computer again when my hand brushes against something cool and hard towards the bottom of my box. I pull it out and find it’s small enough to sit in my palm.

It’s a weird, silver colored badge. I have no clue what the symbol in the middle means. But for some reason, it really piques my curiosity. “Hey, Mr. Clements, I, uh, think I found something.”

He looks up from his box into my palm and a warmth comes to his cheeks. “That’s my old fireman badge.”

“You were a fireman?” That’s kind of a stupid question considering you have the physical proof in your hand,

“I volunteered senior year of high school. Any time they needed help, me and some friends would get called out of class.”

“Weren’t you, like...scared?”

“The first few times, yeah. But someone has to do it, right? If you didn’t do something just because you were scared to, nothing would ever get done.”

He goes back to looking through his box but I leave my gaze on him for another minute. This man saved lives in high school and went on to found a popular restaurant...and I sit in front of a screen all day.

As we go deeper into the boxes, the stuff turns from random papers and garbage to photos and more personal items.  I smile widely when I uncover tons and tons of dog photos. I love dogs. And it turns out, everyone I find has a story to it. I show Mr. Clement’s the pictures and he tells me about the time he found Lady the German Shepherd and brought her home. She refused to come out of his kitchen for over a month out of fear, but once she came out, she loved the yard.

I don’t know what it is, but every time he tells a story, I hang onto every word. I can picture everything: the dog, the fire station, the restaurant before it became what it is… It’s like he’s putting on a little movie in my head. And I really want the sequel. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but Mr. Clements is pretty cool!

He finishes his box faster than me, somehow, and moves onto the third and final one. I keep searching through mine, trying to find something interesting to ask him about. I grab another photo and turn it over, excited. A young Mr. Clements looks back at me with the same light shining in his eyes and real teeth. His arm is around a curly-haired woman in a purple sundress. They’re sitting on the porch of the house. At their feet are two small children who look like toddlers: one boy with his dad’s hair who’s sort’ve looking off into space, and a girl with her mom’s smile and a lot of dirt on her little skirt. I didn’t know he had children. “Mr. Clements? I think you’ll wanna hang onto this.”

I hold out the photo and the mood in the air shifts drastically. He takes it slowly and his face falls. For the first time that day, his age shows. His cheeks are gray and his eyes dim as if I’ve just blown out a candle. They stare down at the picture with longing.

“...Mr. Clements?” I ask quietly. “Are you okay?”

He takes a moment before answering. When he does, his voice is lower and has a kind of roughness to it. “It’s hard to believe it’s been almost thirty years since she’s been gone.” I follow his gaze and see that he’s looking at the woman, his late wife, apparently.

A pit opens up in my stomach and I shift, uncomfortably. What am I supposed to say? “I’m sorry for your loss”? “She’s in a better place”? Even though I just met him today, I feel obligated to make him feel better somehow. Seeing him go from happy and laughing to this is just painful to watch. It’s as if the pain is still as fresh as it was the day she died.

The gravity of that thought hits me as I see he’s trying not to cry.

Suddenly, I become a puppet on a string. A force moves my hand closer to him until it wraps around his. He looks away from the photo back at me. His brown eyes speak volumes and he takes a tight grip on my hand. For a minute, we just sit there in silence. It’s the loudest sound I’ve ever heard.

He lets go of me and points to the woman. “This is Jaclyn. We were married for almost twenty years before she...before she passed. We only knew each other for about seven months before I asked her to marry me.” He glances at me and adds, “If any guy asks you that early, don’t do it. It doesn’t usually work that way, I don’t think.” I find myself laughing a little but the dark feeling is still lingering.

His finger travels down to the small boy. “That’s my oldest, Arthur Junior. We just said A.J., though, unless he was in trouble. And my little girl, Clara. They’re twins, if you can’t tell. Only eight minutes apart. Partners in crime, they were. Jackie couldn’t stay mad at them, though, bless her soul. They had her wrapped around their little fingers.

“A.J.’s married now and moved outta town. Clara’s a school teacher. I didn’t think we were gonna be able to put her through all that schooling, but with her grades, we found a way. I swear, they never will stop amazing me.”

“Do you go see them?” I ask. “Like around the holidays?”

I hear him take a long sigh and regret asking. “Actually, we don’t talk anymore. We haven’t for a few years now. After Jackie died, we kinda lost the glue that was holding things together. Somehow, the kids got to fighting. It got to the point where Thanksgiving was more like a battlefield and the rest of us were just sort’ve waiting for the first shot to fire. Then I got mixed into it, too, and...we just stopped talking. I guess it was better for us to have our own lives rather than making each other’s so stressed. We all said stuff we didn’t mean, but...even still, it’s really hard to take back once you do.”

“...I’m so sorry.” And I am. It’s barely been an hour and I just want to give this man a hug.

“It’s all in the past now,” he says. “You can’t change it.”

That’s why The Pepper Court isn’t run by his family anymore, I realize. He had no one to give it to.

He puts the picture aside and for the rest of the boxes, it’s almost totally quiet. No more laughter or stories that have me on the edge of my seat. He’s such a nice guy, I think. It’s such a shame that he’s all alone. Why do family have to break up like this? Can’t people just put their pride aside and say sorry? But I’ve never been in Mr. Clements’s shoes. Mom and Dad have the occasional argument, but nothing like this.

The trash bag is now full to the top. Everything else, the photos and knick knacks, can now fit into just two boxes. I help him put them back on the closet shelf, and as he closes the door, it occurs to me why he put them up in the first place. It’s a lot easier to forget things when they’re not all around your house. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Well,” he begins with a small smile. I can tell he’s forcing it now. “Thanks for helping me, Cassandra. Hope I didn’t bore you too much.”

“Are you kidding? You should write a book.”

He laughs sincerely as we walk back to his kitchen. I can see out the window that there’s still no car in my driveway. Mr. Clements stands in front of the sink and leans on his arms. “Where did they go again?”

“Grocery shopping. For some reason, it takes a while.”

“Huh.”

My PC game is the last thing on my mind. I don’t want to go home. I want to hear his stories again, and see him smile. I want to distract him so I know he’s not sitting here alone the rest of the day.

“...Do you mind if I stick around until they get back?” I ask sheepishly.

His eyes widen in surprise. I can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since someone else has been in this house with him. “Sure. I don’t have any plans.”

“Cool.” I stand next to him and mimic his pose on the counter. Again, it’s silent.

Almost in sync, we both notice the unfinished puzzle on the table in front of us. I glance at him and he does the same.

My parents come back before we finish. I send them a text telling them where I am. As I put the last piece where it goes, a sense of peace fills the room. Like it’s not just the puzzle that feels whole again.

He holds the door as I walk out of the house. “I’ll see you around,” I grin. And I will.

“Alright,” he says. “Thanks again for helping me with those things.”

“It was no problem. I wasn’t busy. Have a good day, Mr. Clements.” I start to walk back to my house, hoping the groceries are already put away.

“Cassandra.”

I look over my shoulder to see he’s still standing in the doorway. As I look in his eyes, I can see them: The man who made one of the best restaurants. The teen who saved a baby from a burning building. The father who may have made mistakes, but never stopped loving his kids.

“Thank you.”

It’s easy to tell he isn’t just talking about the boxes. A warm feeling fills my body and I smile as he goes inside to his John Wayne movie. As I walk into my own house, I see my computer on the couch and put it in the case.

* * * *

I kept going over to his house to visit him. After school, weekends, I think at least once a week I went over there. Every time I did, I would ask for a story. I didn’t care if I’d heard it before, because the way he told them made it sound like the first time all over. Sometimes they were happy. Sometimes they weren’t. Either way, I listened. Sometimes people just need somebody to listen. Once in awhile, we’ll put a puzzle together. They’re actually a lot more fun then I thought.

Even as we got to know each other more, I always called him Mr. Clements for some reason, never Arthur. And he always said “Cassandra”, never Cass. But that was just the way it worked out. Mr. Clements became one of my closest friends outside of school. He even gave me a birthday card when it came around. It’s the only card I haven’t thrown out after I read it.

This is where it gets hard for me to write, so please bear with me.

A little over six months after I first went over to his house, Arthur Clements passed away.

Apparently, one of the neighbors had gone over to borrow something from him and got concerned when he didn’t answer the door. The hospital said he’d been dead for a few hours when they found him. He died in his sleep, painlessly. Like his spirit just left his body in the middle of the night.

I attended the funeral in my best black dress. It was a sunny day, not rainy and gray like it always is in movies. He was buried at the local cemetery next to his wife. It had said to do so in his will. A whole crowd of people showed up, from people he used to work with to old school friends who still remembered him. I didn’t cry. I cried all my tears the day I heard that he passed away. My mom had to call me out of school the next day. I don’t think she understood how special he became to me over the time I knew him, but I think she tired.

I recognized Arthur Junior and Clara sitting in the front row at his burial. Like I said, when Mr. Clements told stories, I could picture them. Somehow, they had ended up sitting next to each other. I remember worrying for a minute if they would start arguing at their father’s funeral.

Then something happened that I will never forget.

As the priest was saying a few words, Clara began to cry. Not very loudly. I only heard it because I was sitting a row behind them. But she started to cry into her hands and makeup started to trail down her cheekbones. I could tell that she was thinking about the last thing she’d said to her father. I could only wonder what it was.

Before my eyes, A.J. reached out and took one of her hands off her face. She sniffled and looked at him. I think it was the first time they’d made eye contact that day. It was then I noticed the silent tears in his eyes as well.

He held her hand the rest of the time.

It was as if two lost puzzle pieces were finally put together again. And I got the feeling that nothing would break them apart again. I could only hope.

They cleaned out Mr. Clement’s house a few weeks ago. It feels strange calling it that when I know he’s not there. Clara knocked on my door and asked for me.

“This is for you,” she told me. In her hands was the puzzle I’d put together with him the first time I visited. “He wanted you to have it.” That was the last time I saw her.

I finally opened the puzzle box up a few days ago and what I saw nearly broke me down into tears all over again. A note was sitting on top of the pieces.

Cassandra,

I wish I could tell you this in person, but I know I will cry if I try to. You have made me happier than I have been in a long time. You’ve filled a hole in me that I thought would never be filled again after AJ and Clara started fighting. I can’t put into words how special you make me feel and how much you mean to me. You’re like the granddaughter I have always wanted.

Thank you so much for helping out an old man who couldn’t bear to go through those boxes alone.

Your friend,

Mr. Clements

By this time, you’re probably wondering why I wrote this if it was so hard for me. I wanted to tell you how special this man was and everything he’d accomplished in the seventy-six years he was alive. I wanted you to know that sometimes, you have to get to know people. Because some people are like diamonds in a cave: hard to find, very rare, and unlike anything else you will ever see. You have to sort through the rocks to find the diamonds. And in this way, Mr. Clements is still here. People are never truly gone as long as you tell their stories.