Note: No vivid sexual scenes will be described in this story.
Days seemed longer, now that there was a stranger's company around.
Nearly a week later Beauregard had a piano moved into the downstairs living room. Something I was silently all for.
I was now employed too. My income was small with the part-time job, so I was still allowed a housing waiver, but at least money was reaching me.
I sat on the porch. The rain dripped in longer streaming droplets from the shingled edge of the roof's overhang. My chin rest between my knees, my arms wrapped about my legs.
My dad's description of me was spot on. I was like a wary dog when it came to people I didn't know. I avoided them. I tried to not bring any attention to myself or my whereabouts. What bothered me most was that I couldn't seem to break out of this habit. Eternally shy, or in my case, fatally shy. If I met someone who spoke directly to me out at a store someplace, I could play the relaxed, friendly person. Once I saw them regularly, for more than just a temporary visit, I suddenly grew uncomfortable.
I just hoped I wasn't coming across as a jerk, because I had no bad feelings against Beauregard. He seemed really nice. Esquivo just loved him, which wasn't (normally) easy for that dog.
Behind me I heard the screen door creak open. I looked back; surprised if it was Esquivo. He hates the rain, and storms even more. I sometimes wondered if he was a cat trapped inside a dog's body, with all the other weird cat-like things he tended to do.
Instead I saw Beauregard. He motioned if he could sit down too. I nod with a kind smile.
So there was that uncomfortable stillness as I sat like I had been sitting, and him sitting not too far away beside me. I was prepared to open my mouth at several different points, but couldn't find a point of conversation to launch from.
He shifts as he removed something from a back pocket of his jeans. I didn't look over to see whether it was a pack of cigarettes, or what. I could see his hands moving methodically. I figured if a waft of smoke billowed over I'd leave as discretely as possible.
A sharp whistle made me look over sharply. He smiled while handing me a small pocket notepad.
"Have I irritated you at all?"
I looked up from the writing to see he was indeed concerned that my shyness was something aggressive instead.
I point to the pen in his hand, which he then hand me. I wrote back a reply of how it was just me being a nervous type of person with other people; nothing against him in the least. He had leaned towards me slightly, reading beyond my hand. A corner of my mouth lifts a little as I finished writing the last word.
Beauregard then pulls back while he nods. Then he raises a hand and signs near his face, which my head tilts inadvertently as I try and figure out what he means. The minimal amount of sign I ever did learn finally comes to use when he changes tactics and signs "okay".
I try not to let my sight settle on his face, his eyes. But they catch my interest way too often when I do see him. From the distance I keep between us, I cannot tell if his eyes are gray or a light jade green like my own. I quickly rip away my attention to scan the floorboards as I swivel my gaze slowly to the rain pelting down on everything beyond this porch.
Even though I can feel him watching me, I continue to study everything else. I cannot hear anything but an assaulting beat, the rain is so loud. A fine mist is settling on everything not exposed directly to the rain.
A tap at my shoulder makes me look over to see Beauregard holding the pad of paper out to me.
"How do you know my grandparents?"
Honestly I was surprised they hadn't said anything.
I wrote back about my agreement with them and the job I now had. While doing so I shift to sit cross-legged. Beauregard moved closer before I hand the notepad back to him. By now we sat close enough that he didn't have to shift to read what I was writing.
"It sounds..." The pen in Beauregard's hand stalled over an empty space as he tried to think of an adequate word for my new job as a postal worker in an office complex. I tapped his hand with my writing hand. He relinquished the pen for me to write, "Boring".
Unexpectedly he laughed. I continued to write,"So, what do you do for employment?"
He pulled the pen from my hand smoothly before he replied, "online tutoring for (deaf, hard of hearing, or hearing) students learning ASL. A Skype-styled format."
"That's awesome," I replied out loud as I looked over to him. It turns out 'over to him' was closer than I was expecting since we sat as we did now. His eyes were definitely a gray version of my own greenish ones; A dark ring of color around the iris. Except his had no orange—but that didn't signify anything unlikeable in their uniformity of color.
I must have spoken clear enough (usually I speak when looking down or away), because he understood. I felt my face heat up at this close proximity, which bothered me since we'd been writing for a while now and it hadn't made me uncomfortable earlier.
"Do you want to learn ASL?" he wrote.
His question helped me gain control of my thoughts. "How much do your classes cost?"
He tapped a finger on his question. "Yes," I wrote next to his.
"Okay"
This time I tapped the notepad over my question. He took the pen and notepad back, stuffing them wherever he carried them.
I tipped my head with an eyebrow scrunched as I watched him, since he clearly ignored my question entirely. My face was on the downhill of cooling off when, half-smiling, he reached towards me and touched the side of my face with the backs of his fingers.
