Nights with Bitty

From my perfect-for-spying bedroom window

Moonlight flooded my paisley bedspread. A soft swish-swish sound came to my ears. I peered out my bedside window and saw my old next-door neighbor, clad in a somber black dress, sweeping the sidewalk in front of her house. Three a.m. was a weird hour for yard-work, yet I was accustomed to Bitty’s preoccupation with her hedge. At any time of the day or night, she trimmed the hedge that bordered the sidewalk. Rather than clippers, she picked off leaves and twigs with her small gnarled fingers. Bitty started at the ground and carefully moved upward as high as she could reach. Using a worn-to-the-nub broom, she nudged the green debris into the gutter. Old age bent her petite body, so only the lower hedge received care. The upper half flared skyward over the sidewalk like a giant wave. When walking by her house, the hedge made me bow.

Impulsively, I glanced from Bitty to across the street. The object of my infatuation slept in the corner house only yards away. Skyler, a muscular blond carpenter with cobalt blue eyes, had recently moved into the neighborhood. The lights were off in what I suspected was his bedroom. I wondered what he looked like asleep and whether he wore pajamas. God, you’re pathetic, I told myself. Pathetic and horny.

Nine hundred miles separated me from family and friends. At night the realization jangled my nerves and made sleep fitful. Three months before, I had moved into a shared rental. My new housemates had been quite welcoming and had let me pick the best bedroom. This perfect-for-spying, second-floor room overlooks the street. Coincidences could be easily arranged. I smiled, punched my pillow to give it loft, and closed my eyes, planning tomorrow’s accidental meeting.

“Oh, hi, Skyler,” I said casually the next day, trying not to call attention to the fact that I was barefoot in my mad rush to get outside.

“Hi, Aron.” He smiled. “That’s your name, right?”

“Yes.” I beamed and batted my eyelashes. “How’s the unpacking going?”

“Fine, though I still can’t find my electric razor.”

“It’ll probably be in the last place you look.” I immediately regretted the cliché.

“Yep.” He lifted a canvas tool bag from the back of his pickup truck and smiled again. “Hey, want to go have coffee sometime?”

I floated on dirty ballerina toes back to my side of the street.

Two days later, in a quaint Italian cafe, I ordered a single cappuccino and Skyler ordered a double. Rather than delve into personal territory, we commented on the large black and white photographs of cheese gracing the brick walls. We both agreed that the Swiss cheese photo was our favorite.

“What’s with that nutty old lady on the corner?” said Skyler. “I tried to talk to her. She just mumbled something incoherent, while picking away at her hedge.”

I smiled. “Oh, that’s Bitty. Her real name’s Betty. Because of her size, everyone in the neighborhood calls her Bitty. She’s a widow and she lives alone.” I smoothed my hair behind my ears, so it wouldn’t fall into my coffee.

Skyler stirred two packets of sugar into his cup. “Does anyone look in on her?”

“Yes, her son visits and someone from social services. So far they think she’s sane enough to live by herself.”

Our conversation drifted, each of us relating how we ended up living across the street from the other. He was twenty-nine, had studied history in college and now labored building houses. Someday he hoped to teach.

Skyler fidgeted with his napkin, then blurted. “I’ve got to tell you something.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I have a little girl named Chloe. I’m separated from her mother.”

I blinked as the never-mess-around-with-a-married-man alarm rang in my head. “Sooo, ah, you’re...married?”

He shrugged. “Technically, yes. Though officially, we’re separated. Vicki and I plan to share Chloe’s childcare. Other than that, our relationship is over.”

I felt my shoulders tilt away from him. “As in divorce?”

He nodded, crumpled his napkin and took a swig of coffee. Then he reached over and squeezed my hand.

Humph, I thought, I’ll have to think about this. I didn’t mind the child, but the wife part left a moldy aftertaste. My pondering lasted only until our next lunch date and was conveniently forgotten by the dinner-and-movie date.

When we walked back from the local theater, Bitty was trimming. Rather than duck our tall bodies under her hedge, we veered out into the street.

Skyler wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “There’s our night owl gardener.”

I shook my head. “She’s more like a small black bat.”

We both said hello. As usual, Bitty remained silent, focused on her great green wall.

Skyler walked me to my house. We stood under the porch light, kissing, oblivious to the circling moths. He whispered in my ear. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Me, too.” I gave him a dreamy smile. “Would you like to see my room?”

He grinned. “Sure.”

We went up the wooden steps and into my bedroom. Once inside, I turned on the desk lamp. A candle would have been more romantic. I kicked myself for not planning ahead.

“As you can see,” I said, talking a bit fast, “it’s a basic room. I don’t have any candles or incense, because it makes me cough. But I made the curtains and painted the walls myself.”

He swiveled his head. “Nice, kind of like being in a square rainbow. Never saw that before.”

“I mixed the paint colors to give that effect and scrounged this Persian rug.” Our lips met before I could ramble on about the incredible free deal I got from a dumpster. Wrapped in an impassioned embrace, we fell to my paisley bedspread. Our breathing went from brisk to breakneck. My temperature zipped from normal to gloriously tropical.

With an audible groan, Skyler broke away. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” I said, dumbfounded. Beside kissing, nothing had happened. I felt my ego crawl under the dumpster rug.

He stood up, not looking at me. “Sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I just can’t.” Without further explanation, he rushed out of my room and down the wooden stairs.

I held my head. What the hell just happened? I thought we were in love.

A few days into nursing my broken heart, a large moving van pulled into our street. It stopped in front of Skyler’s house. To my complete horror he was not moving out. No. A lovely, dark-haired woman and a little girl with cobalt blue eyes were moving in with him, into my neighborhood, where I could see their happy family every single day from my perfect-for-spying, second-floor bedroom window.

That evening’s hangnail moon cast no light on my bedspread. All the lights were out in Skyler’s house. Sounds of rhythmic sweeping amplified my melancholy. Though she was barely visible, Bitty and I shared another dark night.

Aron Lee Bowe is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support the work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.