My little neighbor didn't let anyone into his home until a police officer arrived and stepped inside.
My little neighbor didn't let anyone into his home until a police officer arrived and stepped inside. I'm 91, and loneliness has become my shadow. My husband died decades ago. My children stopped visiting. Birthdays, holidays, ordinary days — all painfully silent. The house creaks and ticks, and some days I feel like a ghost waiting to be remembered. Then Jack moved in next door. He was twelve, thin, always with a skateboard and his cap on backward. Every evening I saw him riding alone, long after other kids ran home when their mothers called. I thought he was just independent. I was wrong. One night, I woke up to crying. Soft. Broken. I looked outside and saw Jack sitting on his porch, knees hugged to his chest, shaking in the cold. My heart clenched. I stepped out and asked if he was okay, if he needed help. He stared at me for a second — then ran inside and slammed the door. The next day, he never came out. No skateboard. No movement. I baked a pie and knocked. No answer. ...