I could hear my neighbor through the wall. She was sewing and it was three in the morning. That meant that when I woke up in the morning, there would be a new project of hers displayed outside her door. Lately she’s done a lot of little pillows featuring little bunnies and mushrooms. I can’t decide if she’s a total druggie or just an old woman who doesn’t know what has become of the world. Either way, it has become a routine of mine; checking her door every day, waiting for the next one.
She stopped sewing and it’s 4:36 in the morning.

Today’s breakfast was oatmeal. Cat hair is a common garnish in our home. Mom fidgets with her spoon while telling us about a dream she had last night. She said she was watering Dad’s hand and little stems came out of his finger nails. Instead of flowers or vegetables, my head and our cat, Simon’s, head sprouted. She says we laughed at her and she stomped on my father’s hand until we got squashed. Mom thinks Simon knows about her dream and sprinkled extra fur on her breakfast as revenge. Following that logic, I pulled out a piece of my hair and laid it flat on her orange juice cup. She gave me a slap and Dad laughed until he choked on a fur ball.

On the way to school I stopped by her door. She spent an hour and thirty six minutes on a little pouch with a buffalo on it. I wasn’t so impressed by this, so already the day was a little off. I put a quarter in the pouch as a way of saying, “BUY NEW FABRIC!”
While riding my bike, I saw a small bunny and suddenly wanted to bring it to her. She’d probably hate it. Who wants a bunny in their home? I just really wanted her to feel it’s fur and press it to her cheek. I wanted her probably sore, needle-bitten fingers to heal in the fur.

At dinner, Mother made lasagna and Father and I found that the cat hair added a little something to the texture. Mother took that as a crack at her cooking and ran to her room crying. She’s always been sensitive. We could hear the bath running, so I guess she was in there for good. Father started digging around in the cupboards until he found his stash of pot. He rolled one for each of us. He talked about seeing the most beautiful statue of the Virgin Mary on the street for sale at one of those sketchy vendors. They’re all over town, but he’s very picky about where he “shops.” He bought his shoes off of a little boy downtown. He paid $15 for a brand new pair of loafers and brags about it to everyone that comes around.
I didn’t tell him about anything. He’s the talker, anyway.

I could hear her sewing, again. It was two in the morning and I was up drawing trees for art class. We’re supposed to find character in the trees we draw. All I see are branches and wimpy leaves. I’m about ready to draw a smiley face in the trunk and call it a night. I just want to wait for her to be done. If she’s creating her masterpiece in there, I want to be awake for the final sounds of her machine rattling and spitting it out.

At breakfast, Mother just gave us bowls and told us to figure it out. My father was stoned again and just wet his fingers and dipped them in the sugar jar. I cut out the middle man and inhaled some fur. Mother said she didn’t dream because she was too upset. All she saw was the black of her eyelids. She couldn’t sleep because of the “racket to our East.” She said she’s about ready to go over there and give Evelyn a piece of her mind.
Evelyn. Her name’s Evelyn. I can’t eat anymore. My stomach is filled to the brim, suddenly, and I need to check her door. A quick goodbye to the two and I leave with crumbs on my face and fur in my pockets.

There’s nothing outside her door. I don’t get it. She’s never done this. Did she throw it out? Doesn’t she know we need to see the good and the bad? We need them all! I need them all! I’m so mad and confused, I pound on her door and scream for her. I don’t know why I was so startled when she answered. I sucked in my breath and we made eye contact for a full five seconds before I ran down the stairs and out the door. Standing in front of her was like standing in front of the Grand Canyon for the first time. She had her own air and it was so fresh and so unfair. I wiped the crumbs off my face and cried.
I left school early complaining of a sore throat. I walked to the book store to look for love poems.

I came home because I needed to check one more time. I stood in front of her entry and she had a small quilt nailed to the door. It was just blue, but she had embroidered daisies, lilies, and poppies all over. She had hummingbirds and more bunnies. There was even a sun in the upper right corner. It was like looking at her face and trying to speak. It couldn’t be done, she was untouchable.
Then I saw it. In the lower left corner, was my face. It was as if a hand reached out of the Canyon and pulled me right in. It was better than bunnies, better than trees with character, better than $15 loafers. It was me, coming from her hands. She made me. Her crooked hands bent just for me. I was hers. I belong to her, now.

I haven’t heard her sewing machine’s rattle in over a year, now. I’ve had no contact with her ever since our five second meeting. I’ve ripped out every poem of the book I bought and shoved it under her door. I’ve even written a few, myself. I pass that quilt every day and I feel a breeze from the Canyon. It’s the sweetest air I know. It fills my lungs and for a second, I feel as though I’m staring at her again. Our eyes are locked and for five seconds, just five seconds, everything’s right in the world and cat fur tastes like heaven.