“Hi, Dagny, is it?”
“I’m Tad, your neighbor?”
Ah, that’s why he looked familiar. I usually manage to avoid my neighbors – not on purpose – it just happens, but I see him every now and then.
“Yes?” I fell into his ‘questions-as-conversation’ pattern.
“Well, I thought maybe we could talk? You know, about your letter?”
“My letter?” How the hell did he know about my letter. Unless – could he have written it? And would one of us ever utter a declarative sentence?
“Yes, “ he continued with determination in his voice. “Your letter. You sent me this, “ he waved a piece of paper in my direction. “Why? Would you think to even suggest this to me. We’ve hardly even met, so I’m a little confused.”
“Me too. In fact, I’m a lot confused. I haven’t suggested anything. What do you think I’ve suggested?”
He blushed. He actually blushed. “Could I maybe come in. This is rather… it is difficult to discuss like this.” He glanced around, furtively, if I may say so.
“Look, Tad, are you saying you received a letter from me? Because I never sent you a letter.” Why would I send him a letter?
He made no comment as he pushed the somewhat crumpled light blue sheet of paper toward me.
I took it. I skimmed its contents. I looked right. I looked left. I grabbed his arm. I pulled him inside.