Grey Sounds
by Andy Tran
I was drinking apple juice when I looked out the window and saw a young white couple sitting out on the front steps of their red brick house. They were holding hands and they seemed happy. I had never seen them before, but I knew some people had just moved in next door.
The old neighbor had been a widow, who lost her mind after her husband committed suicide on their vacation in Paris, and then she was sent to a psychiatric ward. Her name was Joanne and she had a black cat with white streaks on the end of its tail.
I could see the black cat prowling around the edges of the rose garden in the front yard, purring softly, sniffing a rose, eyes shut, paw hovering over the thorns. I didn’t know the name of the cat and thought it could be Candace or Malcom—I wasn’t sure if it was male or female, and knew it really didn’t matter. It was a cute cat, that’s what I knew.
As a group of grey clouds clustered in the sky, I started growing bored of people-watching so I went into my room and jerked off to Pornhub, a video of an Asian man and a white man making love, then cuddling with each other. After I finished, I had a nap on my crummy sofa.
I dreamed about Joanne sitting in a wooden chair on her veranda, rocking back and forth, spitting tobacco into a mason jar. She wore a torn embroidered dress and scuffed flats. She smiled at me, her teeth growing larger and sharper. She became a black cat and lunged out of the wooden chair at me.
I woke up with a soaked shirt. I changed into a VA Tech hoodie and plaid shorts, then I looked out the window and saw that the couple was gone. I left my house and the neighborhood. I took a bike ride a few miles up to Burke Lake Park, and rode down a steep asphalt slope, popping a wheelie when I made it to the bottom.
There were two 30 something year-old men dressed in camo jackets and black slacks, their heads buzzed and their faces cleanly shaved. One was Asian and the other was white. I was Vietnamese American so I noticed race almost immediately, but then I thought maybe everyone else did too. Or perhaps, they thought less of race than I did.
They were sitting on top of a picnic table passing a bottle of red wine back and forth like a pendulum. They seemed like they were having fun, but their eyes looked baggy and bloodshot. I was riding my bike across the grass when the white man drew his arm back and chucked the wine bottle into the huge blue lake. It flipped around in the air rotating over and over, until it landed in the lake splashing water up.
I heard the Asian man, who was lankier and brown haired, say he wished his life were simpler and less boring. He leaned forward and kissed the taller black haired white man on the lips. His eyes were shut.
And then the white man pushed him in the chest and swung at his face with a closed fist. Soon they were on the ground, one on top of each other, fighting, blood and dirt flying in the air.
As I watched them fight, I felt drops of sweat run down from my shoulders to the small of my back. I felt dizzy and didn’t know why. I was 18 years old and had never seen two men make out before in IRL. My throat was dry. I licked my bottom lip.
When they stopped fighting and caught their breaths, I started to pedal my bike and ride out of the park. The white man glanced over at me and stood up startled. And that was when I realized he was the new next-door neighbor that had moved into the red brick house next to mine.
His eyes were wide and red, large smears of blood staining his camo jacket and white collared shirt. He walked away from the picnic table area and rolled up his sleeves, marching over to me. The Asian man asked me, why was I staring at them? I was so nervous, so I didn’t reply, and then I rode away on my bike, pedaling as hard and as fast as I could.
The next morning I heard someone knocking on my door. I was in the middle of finishing up a dump, so I didn’t answer it. And then the doorbell rang, once, then twice. I finished wiping, pulled up my pants, flushed the toilet, and washed my hands with soap. I headed downstairs to the foyer and opened the door.
It was the young white couple from next door standing on the front wooden porch. The woman smiled and held up a tuna broccoli casserole wrapped in saran wrap. The man nodded at me and held out his hand for a handshake. “We’re the Coopers,” they said in unison with upbeat voices. They spoke as if they had rehearsed it beforehand.
I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I didn’t know whether to take the casserole first, or shake the man’s hand. I hated being indecisive. The woman and man were grinning at me.
A red convertible passed by in the cul-de-sac, and then disappeared from view. Birds were chirping. The black cat slinked across my driveway.
I smiled and hoped it didn’t come off as fake, as I shook the man’s hand. He had a strong grip and I felt like my arm was going to come out of its socket. I said, hi to them and then grabbed the casserole. The woman asked me, “What’s your name, neighbor?”
"Vincent,” I said, even though that wasn’t my name. I didn’t want to tell her my real name because I thought she would butcher the pronunciation, and I wasn’t in the mood to spell it out for her.
Also I thought I was in trouble, which was another reason why I didn’t tell them my real name. I had no idea if the man knew if I was the same person at the park yesterday. Maybe, he and his wife were just being friendly neighbors. I hoped he didn’t remember me.
“Good strong name,” the man said. “I’m Daniel and this is my fiancé, Jan.”
She pointed at the casserole and said, “Hope you don’t have any dietary restrictions. It’s a homemade récipe.”
I wondered if I should let them into the house, or go back inside and eat the casserole. I looked at it: bits of tuna and broccoli stalks jutted out from the cheesy spread. I told them, thanks and it looks great, even though I hated casseroles. But sometimes you have to lie in order to make things go smoother, to make things appear natural, even if it wasn’t the case. I hated confrontation as well, but not as much as I hated tuna and broccoli. I said, "I better put this inside. Don’t want it to go bad."
Daniel nodded again and smiled. He said, “Well it was nice meeting you, Vincent. Hopefully we can run into you sometime.” I didn’t know if he was being ironic, but I let it pass.
“You have a very lovely house,” Jan said, stepping down the porch steps. She linked her arm with Daniel’s arm and waved good-bye to me. They seemed fine and pleasant, I guess.
"Thanks," I said, going back inside. I shut the door, went down the hallway to the kitchen, stuck a fork into the casserole. I took a bite of it and tried to swallow, and ended up gagging. I opened up the trash can, and threw away the casserole.
Later that afternoon, I biked around the block and the black cat jumped in my way. I pumped the brakes, the tires burning against the sidewalk. I toppled over on my side and landed hard on the concrete. Blood spurted out a small cut in my forearm and my hoodie was covered in dirt and grass stains.
The front wheel of my bike was still spinning round and round like a crumpled pinwheel. I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes and laughed. The black cat crept over me and nestled on my chest.
"Thanks dude," I said, picking up the cat and setting it down on the street. I thought it was weird that no one had claimed the cat, and wondered if it would ever get a new owner. I hoped it wasn’t hungry or thirsty and knew I should definitely get it something to eat and drink. I just didn’t know what it wanted. I wasn’t sure I had anything to give.
When I stood up from the ground and picked up my bike, I noticed it had a flat tire. Air was hissing out of a hole in the rubber. I groaned and shook my head.
“You alright, Vincent?"
I turned around and stopped walking with the bike.
Jan was sitting on a green beach towel in her front yard. She had on black sunglasses and a floppy straw hat. She also wore a white sundress with purple polka dots. Her long brown hair swayed as a gust of wind passed by. Next to her there was a large picnic basket with a checkered cloth draped over it. She reached inside of the basket and took out two strawberry seltzer waters. “Take one,” she said, walking over to me. Her toenails were painted red and decorated with tiny lightning bolts. “I saw the whole thing. Sorry that happened, is that cat always here?” She took out a napkin and wiped away the blood from my cut. As she held my arm, I started to feel her warm hands on my prickled skin. I didn’t want her to let go.
I set the bike down on the ground and said, Thanks for doing that. And I’m okay and the cat belonged to the old lady who had lived in your house. I took the seltzer water from her hand, and my fingers lightly touched her wrist. My throat was dry. I pulled the tab on the can and drank the seltzer water. I chugged it until the can was empty, and then I crushed it in my hand.
“What was her name?”
I told her, “I don’t know the cat’s name. Might be a male, or female but I don’t know really.”
Jan smiled wide and laughed. “No. What was the lady’s name?”
“Oh,” I said, and laughed too. I said, "Joanne." She was really sweet and kind.
“I’m sure she is,” Jan said, as she took a sip of her seltzer water. Her body was curvy and her legs were long, and she looked like a movie star or a supermodel. I looked away.
I cleared my throat and asked her, "Where’s Daniel?"
Jan shrugged and yawned, stretching her arms up in an upside down V. She contorted her back from side to side and said, “He’s out and about I guess. Never know with that one. Daniel wanted to move here. Said it was a good neighborhood. Plus, he has friends around here too, like his army friend Rick.”
The black cat tip-toed in the background, waving its white streaked tail back and forth. It opened its mouth and showed its teeth. And then it scrambled up Jan’s front yard and disappeared into the rose garden.
“Word. Cool,” I said, “Does he live close by?”
“Yeah he lives by Burke Lake Park. It’s a few miles up the street, I think,” Jan said and sat on the ground and crossed her legs. She reached into the picnic basket and fished out two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and passed me one. “Sit,” she said. “I don’t bite.”
I took the sandwich from her hand, and this time her nails grazed my palm. I was starting to feel strange, and knew my face had reddened. As I sat next to her on the beach towel, Jan laid back down on the grass and sighed out loud.
“So what’s your story, Vincent,” she asked me.
I nibbled on the crust of the sandwich and ate some more, tasting the peanut butter and jelly. The sandwich was delicious. I thought I had found nirvana. And then I felt guilty and awful for throwing up her casserole. She was a nice lady, and I was an ungrateful person. I put my hand under my chin and considered her question, but couldn’t figure out a witty response. But then I said, “It’s long.”
Jan chuckled and said, “Oh is it?” I couldn’t tell if she was flirting with me, but I liked it.
“How bout’ yours?” I asked.
Jan took a bite out her sandwich and wiped the flecks of jelly staining her lips. She looked at me and put her sunglasses on her forehead, then said, “Still in-progress.”
Later that evening, I looked out the window and saw Daniel and Jan getting into their bright blue Tesla. The engine roared and the tires squealed, as they drove down their long winding driveway and skirted out of the neighborhood. I walked out the door and stepped onto the front wooden porch. I sat on my old rocking chair and rocked back and forth, stuffing my hands in my hoodie sweatshirt pocket, the wind pushing past me. When it was 7PM, a red convertible pulled up beside the next-door neighbor’s house.
A late 30’s something year-old Asian man stepped out and walked up the frown lawn carrying a white duffle bag. He had a thick full beard and a gaunt face. He was wearing a camo baseball cap, faded jeans, and a Tame Impala shirt. He looked over his shoulder and stood in front of the house for a few seconds, and then he unzipped the duffle bag.
The man reached inside and took out 3 rolls of toilet paper and a long Styrofoam box. He grabbed a roll of toilet paper and launched it into the crepe myrtle tree in the front yard. The toilet paper hung in the air and unfurled itself, and then it draped over on the high thick boughs. He threw another roll of toilet paper into the tree, and then a third one, until the branches were covered up like a mummy.
He kept looking over his shoulder, but no one was coming to stop him from destroying the house. The man opened the Styrofoam box and grabbed two large brown eggs. He took a step back and winded his arm like a pitcher, digging his foot into the ground. And then he whipped his arm forward and chucked the egg at the house.
The first one smacked into the door, the egg breaking on impact, little pieces of shell spreading across the porch steps. He winded up again putting his whole weight into the throw, as he launched the second egg at the window. Globs of yolk dribbled along the glass, sliding down to the rose garden.
The black cat snaked out of the roses and walked over to the man, purring. By that time, the man was throwing the third and fourth egg at the metal garage doors. He looked down and there was the black cat curling up on his leg.
He took in a deep breath and laughed, and then he picked up the cat. The house looked like a huge mess of white and yellow, like an abstract self-portrait of suburbia. The man stroked the cat’s head, set it on the ground, and grabbed the duffel bag.
He turned around and grinned. And he marched across the front lawn, kicking up dirt with his dress shoes. As he was walking back to his convertible, the man saw me staring at him and frowned.
I stopped rocking in my chair and held my breath.
He pressed his finger to his lips and said, shush. I wondered what his life was like, what his pain felt like, wondered how he navigated spaces where there were almost no Asian people. Did he prefer to be called Asian, or Asian American? Maybe none of these things mattered for him but they did for me.
I started rocking again in my chair, and looked away.
A car engine fired up. The red convertible flashed its high beams, brilliant yellow light flooding the neighborhood. It sped away from the next door neighbor’s house and I never saw it again.
The next morning I was sitting on a picnic table in Burke Lake Park drinking a cup of apple juice. The lake water looked smooth and deep blue and tranquility, a real life cliché. I took out my phone and read a James Baldwin short story called “Sonny’s Blues”. I was on the part where Sonny played the piano with his friends. I had never read Baldwin before, but the prose was incredible and solid. As I was turning the page, Daniel walked up to me and waved hello. I told him, hi there.
He nodded and said, “Can I sit?”
“Sure,” I said.
Daniel sat on top of the picnic table and cracked his knuckles. He looked at the lake for a minute saying nothing, just looking straight ahead into the deep blue. “I know you saw me the other day, Vincent. Here, at the park.”
I was looking at the lake as well, my phone in my hand. I looked at him and said, “Are you worried I’m going to say something to Jan?”
“No. I’m not. I know you can keep a secret,” Daniel said, patting me on the back. He looked back at the lake and chuckled lightly. “It was stupid. Rick and I were seeing each other before Jan and I started dating. The other day may have looked serious, but Rick and I aren’t anything. We’re just friends. We just made a mistake. That’s all.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You loved both of them.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not"
"What was the mistake?"
“Everything,” he said, “I wish it hadn’t happened. For all I know, he was the one who damaged my house last night. Don’t know what to think anymore, to tell you the truth.”
I set my phone down on the picnic table and sat up straighter and taller. "Sounds hard, I said, `"Sorry you’re going through that."
He inhaled sharply. His eyes were brimming with tears, as he said, “Everyone has a story. This is mine.”
“What happens at the end?” I asked.
Daniel stood up from the picnic table and walked up to the shore of the lake. He dipped his foot into the water, and then his other one. As the wind started howling, Daniel laughed and lowered his body into the deep blue water. He closed his eyes and dropped his head underneath the surface.
I got up and walked over to the edge of the lake. Before I stepped into it, I looked at my reflection in the deep blue water and held eye-contact. I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. I heard a cat hissing behind me and I turned around.
The sound was deafening.
The old neighbor had been a widow, who lost her mind after her husband committed suicide on their vacation in Paris, and then she was sent to a psychiatric ward. Her name was Joanne and she had a black cat with white streaks on the end of its tail.
I could see the black cat prowling around the edges of the rose garden in the front yard, purring softly, sniffing a rose, eyes shut, paw hovering over the thorns. I didn’t know the name of the cat and thought it could be Candace or Malcom—I wasn’t sure if it was male or female, and knew it really didn’t matter. It was a cute cat, that’s what I knew.
As a group of grey clouds clustered in the sky, I started growing bored of people-watching so I went into my room and jerked off to Pornhub, a video of an Asian man and a white man making love, then cuddling with each other. After I finished, I had a nap on my crummy sofa.
I dreamed about Joanne sitting in a wooden chair on her veranda, rocking back and forth, spitting tobacco into a mason jar. She wore a torn embroidered dress and scuffed flats. She smiled at me, her teeth growing larger and sharper. She became a black cat and lunged out of the wooden chair at me.
I woke up with a soaked shirt. I changed into a VA Tech hoodie and plaid shorts, then I looked out the window and saw that the couple was gone. I left my house and the neighborhood. I took a bike ride a few miles up to Burke Lake Park, and rode down a steep asphalt slope, popping a wheelie when I made it to the bottom.
There were two 30 something year-old men dressed in camo jackets and black slacks, their heads buzzed and their faces cleanly shaved. One was Asian and the other was white. I was Vietnamese American so I noticed race almost immediately, but then I thought maybe everyone else did too. Or perhaps, they thought less of race than I did.
They were sitting on top of a picnic table passing a bottle of red wine back and forth like a pendulum. They seemed like they were having fun, but their eyes looked baggy and bloodshot. I was riding my bike across the grass when the white man drew his arm back and chucked the wine bottle into the huge blue lake. It flipped around in the air rotating over and over, until it landed in the lake splashing water up.
I heard the Asian man, who was lankier and brown haired, say he wished his life were simpler and less boring. He leaned forward and kissed the taller black haired white man on the lips. His eyes were shut.
And then the white man pushed him in the chest and swung at his face with a closed fist. Soon they were on the ground, one on top of each other, fighting, blood and dirt flying in the air.
As I watched them fight, I felt drops of sweat run down from my shoulders to the small of my back. I felt dizzy and didn’t know why. I was 18 years old and had never seen two men make out before in IRL. My throat was dry. I licked my bottom lip.
When they stopped fighting and caught their breaths, I started to pedal my bike and ride out of the park. The white man glanced over at me and stood up startled. And that was when I realized he was the new next-door neighbor that had moved into the red brick house next to mine.
His eyes were wide and red, large smears of blood staining his camo jacket and white collared shirt. He walked away from the picnic table area and rolled up his sleeves, marching over to me. The Asian man asked me, why was I staring at them? I was so nervous, so I didn’t reply, and then I rode away on my bike, pedaling as hard and as fast as I could.
The next morning I heard someone knocking on my door. I was in the middle of finishing up a dump, so I didn’t answer it. And then the doorbell rang, once, then twice. I finished wiping, pulled up my pants, flushed the toilet, and washed my hands with soap. I headed downstairs to the foyer and opened the door.
It was the young white couple from next door standing on the front wooden porch. The woman smiled and held up a tuna broccoli casserole wrapped in saran wrap. The man nodded at me and held out his hand for a handshake. “We’re the Coopers,” they said in unison with upbeat voices. They spoke as if they had rehearsed it beforehand.
I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I didn’t know whether to take the casserole first, or shake the man’s hand. I hated being indecisive. The woman and man were grinning at me.
A red convertible passed by in the cul-de-sac, and then disappeared from view. Birds were chirping. The black cat slinked across my driveway.
I smiled and hoped it didn’t come off as fake, as I shook the man’s hand. He had a strong grip and I felt like my arm was going to come out of its socket. I said, hi to them and then grabbed the casserole. The woman asked me, “What’s your name, neighbor?”
"Vincent,” I said, even though that wasn’t my name. I didn’t want to tell her my real name because I thought she would butcher the pronunciation, and I wasn’t in the mood to spell it out for her.
Also I thought I was in trouble, which was another reason why I didn’t tell them my real name. I had no idea if the man knew if I was the same person at the park yesterday. Maybe, he and his wife were just being friendly neighbors. I hoped he didn’t remember me.
“Good strong name,” the man said. “I’m Daniel and this is my fiancé, Jan.”
She pointed at the casserole and said, “Hope you don’t have any dietary restrictions. It’s a homemade récipe.”
I wondered if I should let them into the house, or go back inside and eat the casserole. I looked at it: bits of tuna and broccoli stalks jutted out from the cheesy spread. I told them, thanks and it looks great, even though I hated casseroles. But sometimes you have to lie in order to make things go smoother, to make things appear natural, even if it wasn’t the case. I hated confrontation as well, but not as much as I hated tuna and broccoli. I said, "I better put this inside. Don’t want it to go bad."
Daniel nodded again and smiled. He said, “Well it was nice meeting you, Vincent. Hopefully we can run into you sometime.” I didn’t know if he was being ironic, but I let it pass.
“You have a very lovely house,” Jan said, stepping down the porch steps. She linked her arm with Daniel’s arm and waved good-bye to me. They seemed fine and pleasant, I guess.
"Thanks," I said, going back inside. I shut the door, went down the hallway to the kitchen, stuck a fork into the casserole. I took a bite of it and tried to swallow, and ended up gagging. I opened up the trash can, and threw away the casserole.
Later that afternoon, I biked around the block and the black cat jumped in my way. I pumped the brakes, the tires burning against the sidewalk. I toppled over on my side and landed hard on the concrete. Blood spurted out a small cut in my forearm and my hoodie was covered in dirt and grass stains.
The front wheel of my bike was still spinning round and round like a crumpled pinwheel. I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes and laughed. The black cat crept over me and nestled on my chest.
"Thanks dude," I said, picking up the cat and setting it down on the street. I thought it was weird that no one had claimed the cat, and wondered if it would ever get a new owner. I hoped it wasn’t hungry or thirsty and knew I should definitely get it something to eat and drink. I just didn’t know what it wanted. I wasn’t sure I had anything to give.
When I stood up from the ground and picked up my bike, I noticed it had a flat tire. Air was hissing out of a hole in the rubber. I groaned and shook my head.
“You alright, Vincent?"
I turned around and stopped walking with the bike.
Jan was sitting on a green beach towel in her front yard. She had on black sunglasses and a floppy straw hat. She also wore a white sundress with purple polka dots. Her long brown hair swayed as a gust of wind passed by. Next to her there was a large picnic basket with a checkered cloth draped over it. She reached inside of the basket and took out two strawberry seltzer waters. “Take one,” she said, walking over to me. Her toenails were painted red and decorated with tiny lightning bolts. “I saw the whole thing. Sorry that happened, is that cat always here?” She took out a napkin and wiped away the blood from my cut. As she held my arm, I started to feel her warm hands on my prickled skin. I didn’t want her to let go.
I set the bike down on the ground and said, Thanks for doing that. And I’m okay and the cat belonged to the old lady who had lived in your house. I took the seltzer water from her hand, and my fingers lightly touched her wrist. My throat was dry. I pulled the tab on the can and drank the seltzer water. I chugged it until the can was empty, and then I crushed it in my hand.
“What was her name?”
I told her, “I don’t know the cat’s name. Might be a male, or female but I don’t know really.”
Jan smiled wide and laughed. “No. What was the lady’s name?”
“Oh,” I said, and laughed too. I said, "Joanne." She was really sweet and kind.
“I’m sure she is,” Jan said, as she took a sip of her seltzer water. Her body was curvy and her legs were long, and she looked like a movie star or a supermodel. I looked away.
I cleared my throat and asked her, "Where’s Daniel?"
Jan shrugged and yawned, stretching her arms up in an upside down V. She contorted her back from side to side and said, “He’s out and about I guess. Never know with that one. Daniel wanted to move here. Said it was a good neighborhood. Plus, he has friends around here too, like his army friend Rick.”
The black cat tip-toed in the background, waving its white streaked tail back and forth. It opened its mouth and showed its teeth. And then it scrambled up Jan’s front yard and disappeared into the rose garden.
“Word. Cool,” I said, “Does he live close by?”
“Yeah he lives by Burke Lake Park. It’s a few miles up the street, I think,” Jan said and sat on the ground and crossed her legs. She reached into the picnic basket and fished out two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and passed me one. “Sit,” she said. “I don’t bite.”
I took the sandwich from her hand, and this time her nails grazed my palm. I was starting to feel strange, and knew my face had reddened. As I sat next to her on the beach towel, Jan laid back down on the grass and sighed out loud.
“So what’s your story, Vincent,” she asked me.
I nibbled on the crust of the sandwich and ate some more, tasting the peanut butter and jelly. The sandwich was delicious. I thought I had found nirvana. And then I felt guilty and awful for throwing up her casserole. She was a nice lady, and I was an ungrateful person. I put my hand under my chin and considered her question, but couldn’t figure out a witty response. But then I said, “It’s long.”
Jan chuckled and said, “Oh is it?” I couldn’t tell if she was flirting with me, but I liked it.
“How bout’ yours?” I asked.
Jan took a bite out her sandwich and wiped the flecks of jelly staining her lips. She looked at me and put her sunglasses on her forehead, then said, “Still in-progress.”
Later that evening, I looked out the window and saw Daniel and Jan getting into their bright blue Tesla. The engine roared and the tires squealed, as they drove down their long winding driveway and skirted out of the neighborhood. I walked out the door and stepped onto the front wooden porch. I sat on my old rocking chair and rocked back and forth, stuffing my hands in my hoodie sweatshirt pocket, the wind pushing past me. When it was 7PM, a red convertible pulled up beside the next-door neighbor’s house.
A late 30’s something year-old Asian man stepped out and walked up the frown lawn carrying a white duffle bag. He had a thick full beard and a gaunt face. He was wearing a camo baseball cap, faded jeans, and a Tame Impala shirt. He looked over his shoulder and stood in front of the house for a few seconds, and then he unzipped the duffle bag.
The man reached inside and took out 3 rolls of toilet paper and a long Styrofoam box. He grabbed a roll of toilet paper and launched it into the crepe myrtle tree in the front yard. The toilet paper hung in the air and unfurled itself, and then it draped over on the high thick boughs. He threw another roll of toilet paper into the tree, and then a third one, until the branches were covered up like a mummy.
He kept looking over his shoulder, but no one was coming to stop him from destroying the house. The man opened the Styrofoam box and grabbed two large brown eggs. He took a step back and winded his arm like a pitcher, digging his foot into the ground. And then he whipped his arm forward and chucked the egg at the house.
The first one smacked into the door, the egg breaking on impact, little pieces of shell spreading across the porch steps. He winded up again putting his whole weight into the throw, as he launched the second egg at the window. Globs of yolk dribbled along the glass, sliding down to the rose garden.
The black cat snaked out of the roses and walked over to the man, purring. By that time, the man was throwing the third and fourth egg at the metal garage doors. He looked down and there was the black cat curling up on his leg.
He took in a deep breath and laughed, and then he picked up the cat. The house looked like a huge mess of white and yellow, like an abstract self-portrait of suburbia. The man stroked the cat’s head, set it on the ground, and grabbed the duffel bag.
He turned around and grinned. And he marched across the front lawn, kicking up dirt with his dress shoes. As he was walking back to his convertible, the man saw me staring at him and frowned.
I stopped rocking in my chair and held my breath.
He pressed his finger to his lips and said, shush. I wondered what his life was like, what his pain felt like, wondered how he navigated spaces where there were almost no Asian people. Did he prefer to be called Asian, or Asian American? Maybe none of these things mattered for him but they did for me.
I started rocking again in my chair, and looked away.
A car engine fired up. The red convertible flashed its high beams, brilliant yellow light flooding the neighborhood. It sped away from the next door neighbor’s house and I never saw it again.
The next morning I was sitting on a picnic table in Burke Lake Park drinking a cup of apple juice. The lake water looked smooth and deep blue and tranquility, a real life cliché. I took out my phone and read a James Baldwin short story called “Sonny’s Blues”. I was on the part where Sonny played the piano with his friends. I had never read Baldwin before, but the prose was incredible and solid. As I was turning the page, Daniel walked up to me and waved hello. I told him, hi there.
He nodded and said, “Can I sit?”
“Sure,” I said.
Daniel sat on top of the picnic table and cracked his knuckles. He looked at the lake for a minute saying nothing, just looking straight ahead into the deep blue. “I know you saw me the other day, Vincent. Here, at the park.”
I was looking at the lake as well, my phone in my hand. I looked at him and said, “Are you worried I’m going to say something to Jan?”
“No. I’m not. I know you can keep a secret,” Daniel said, patting me on the back. He looked back at the lake and chuckled lightly. “It was stupid. Rick and I were seeing each other before Jan and I started dating. The other day may have looked serious, but Rick and I aren’t anything. We’re just friends. We just made a mistake. That’s all.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You loved both of them.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not"
"What was the mistake?"
“Everything,” he said, “I wish it hadn’t happened. For all I know, he was the one who damaged my house last night. Don’t know what to think anymore, to tell you the truth.”
I set my phone down on the picnic table and sat up straighter and taller. "Sounds hard, I said, `"Sorry you’re going through that."
He inhaled sharply. His eyes were brimming with tears, as he said, “Everyone has a story. This is mine.”
“What happens at the end?” I asked.
Daniel stood up from the picnic table and walked up to the shore of the lake. He dipped his foot into the water, and then his other one. As the wind started howling, Daniel laughed and lowered his body into the deep blue water. He closed his eyes and dropped his head underneath the surface.
I got up and walked over to the edge of the lake. Before I stepped into it, I looked at my reflection in the deep blue water and held eye-contact. I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. I heard a cat hissing behind me and I turned around.
The sound was deafening.
Andy Tran is a writer from Piscataway, NJ. He lives in the DMV. He's been working on a novel called "Calendar" and a short story collection called "Big Sis". He's been published in Hobart, Triangle House, Heavy Feather Review, Maudlin House, and diaCRITICS, amongst a number of other awesome lit mags. Follow him on Twitter: @AndyT187. He also blogs: https://djfuturenova.tumblr.com/
