Mr. Timmings

It lies there tauntingly, centered on the table. My lip is raw from subconsciously biting it. My body encased in time, the only giveaway that life is still going on around me is the subtle need to breathe and blink every so often.

I feel the muscles cramping around my eyebrows due to the frown that plastered itself on my face since I’ve sat here. I think I should do it. I think I should reach out my hand and just do it. But I can’t. Physically my body won’t even let me.

I think about when he gave it to me. I’ve always loved going for a run with my dog. Especially early in the morning at the start of autumn, where the weather starts to cool and the whole forest looks like it's getting ready to sleep, making soft beds with piles of orange and golden leaves.

It’s the best way to start the day. Take my dog out and wake myself up, ready to tackle the day ahead. Jessie is my medium sized, red-coloured, rescue and the only companion I have living alone.

On that particular morning, right as we were reaching the crest of the hill, the point where you can just see above the trees, have the cool, morning breeze brush against your cheeks. My favourite part of the run, where if you stand at just the right point you can catch a small glimpse of the forest around you, see the small tufts of tree crowns all stretching up trying to touch the sky. The part of the run where you can see just how expansive the world without civilisation is. It was at that point that Jessie decided to take off barking.

I called after her, it’s unlike her to run off, she’s always been an easy dog, stays quiet by my side, and does everything expected of her. Annoyed I chased after her, trying to figure out what made her ruin my favourite part of the run.

She veered slightly off path, down a trail I didn’t often take. It was fairly overgrown and difficult not to trip over rocks and sticks, or get scraped by branches that invaded the path. I called out for her several times as I dogged the branches that seemed to be targeting me.

When I heard her barking getting closer I slowed a little, feeling at ease knowing she was ahead, close enough that I would be able to see her shortly.

I pulled back a branch revealing a small clearing near a stream. The instant humid, smell of slow-moving water that was stagnant in areas chastised me immediately. Wrinkling my nose I stepped into the dark clearing, my new running shoes squelched in the mud. The trees barricaded all light from entering. I swatted away a mosquito as I went to discover what it was that had got Jessie so excited. I had to blink once or twice; unsure it was really him at first.

“Mr. Timings?” I questioned, eyebrows furrowed as I squinted trying to check it was him in the dark of the trees overshadowing us. My voice seemed to catch him off guard as he petted Jessie on the head, whilst she licked his hands. He looked around, almost dazed until his eyes finally landed upon me. A little unsettled I stepped more cautiously towards Jessie.

“Oh, Laura,” he stated, looking at me blinking, he seemed just as unsure of me in the woods as I was of him, “What are you doing here?”

“Just going for my morning run,” I stated. I grabbed Jessie by the collar and pulled her back to me. Although I kept mostly to myself, almost everyone in the neighbourhood had seen me going for my morning runs. The stranger question was; what he was doing there. “Are you lost?” I asked bluntly.

“No, no, I think I’m where I’m meant to be.”

I knew what I was supposed to do. Ask him if he needed help. Make sure he got home okay. He is my neighbour after all. The old, lonely man from next door, who had a wife that passed from cancer around ten years ago and left him living alone. People in our street gossiped about him, about how he’s too old to be alone in such a big house, how he should have been living in a retirement home years ago, especially with all his crazy stories he came up with. I often wondered if they gossiped about me the same way. The girl who moved out at just 18, away from her family, the young girl who lived alone and kept to herself, I wonder if they talk about how I don’t try to socialise and fit in with the small town cliques, how I keep to myself. I often wonder if I will turn out just like Mr. Timings, old and alone, with no family and no one left to support you. It sounds like such a sad reality, but sometimes it sounds like it could be my reality. That I could one day be the old lady everyone whispers and gossips about, with only pets to keep me company.

Thing is, having Mr. Timings as a neighbour, isn’t all bad. He may not entirely be completely there anymore, often knocking on my door and asking for help, sometimes I’d catch him watering the same patch of grass three times a day whilst the other side lay untouched, drying and browning out like some kind of disease. I think he may have fought in a war at some stage because sometimes he’d get this look that would wash over him, like he was watching a movie unfold behind his eyelids where something would terrify him and he’d often say things like “they’re coming,” or, “there’s not much time left” and “they’ll be here soon.”

I learnt to ignore his weird behaviour over the past few years and there would be times where he’d seem fine. Ask me how my day was, he helped me fix some plumbing issues when I first moved into the house and helped me with my run down car once or twice. He’d have days where he seemed lively and present with reality. In all honesty, he was probably one of the few people in this town who hadn’t judged me when I moved.

“Why are you here?” I sighed, I could tell he was having an off day. I knew I wouldn’t return to finish my run and that my day wouldn’t start refreshed by the breeze at the top of the hill but rather, annoyed having to walk him home instead. It was like my words snapped him out of his daze. I’ve never been one for a polite undertone or one to hold a gentle pitch, probably why most people don’t offer to help me when I’m stuck on the side of the road with my bonnet open.

“I…” he started, looking around as though he finally realised where he was, “I…I’m here for something…” he frowned and suddenly seemed anxious, like something was worrying him.

“Let’s just go home,” I suggested not wanting to get him stressed out, that was the last thing I wanted to deal with on an already interrupted morning.

On the walk home, neither of us talked and I liked it that way. I couldn’t help but notice he was on edge though; looking around and keeping an eye on every car that drove past. As we approached our street he turned to me, eyes wide, frantic. He clutched onto my shoulders, something that knocked me off guard. He was so close, I could see all the lines that shaped his face, where the skin sagged a little and his wide, yellowing eyes burned with a sudden burst of intensity.

“I remember!” he exclaimed, “I was looking for you,” a little uncomfortable, I tried to wiggle myself out from under his gaze, but for an old man, his grip was strong. His hands remained clamped on my shoulders, “I don’t have much time left, I know it, I needed to give you this.” With a wave of relief he let go of my shoulders and started shakily fumbling around in his pockets. I looked around trying to find a way out of this uncomfortable situation and when I returned my gaze to his, he was desperately trying to shove something into my hands.

“Keep this, keep this safe…” His eyes widened impossibly more as he searched mine to make sure I would understand what he meant, “do not open it until I’m gone for good.”

I didn’t feel comfortable with what he said and I certainly didn’t feel comfortable taking anything of his. Before I could even respond he resumed a calm exterior and walked off towards his front door.

I wish I could say I was surprised but that kind of behaviour was common for him, I looked down at Jessie, she panted back at me. I wished people were as simple minded as dogs.

I arrived home, chucked my keys on my side table, and kicked off my muddy shoes. Then I realised I was still holding it. Looking down in my right hand I turned over the small, black, book, the leather brushing against my palm.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I wondered what was inside the book. Knowing Mr. Timings, it could have been something simple like a notebook for to-do lists, or shopping lists. Either way, it felt too invasive to check the book so I threw it on the dining table with my pile of unfolded washing and that’s where it sat. Until today.

I didn’t see Mr Timings much after that; he didn’t seem to linger outside his house like usual, he stayed inside with his curtains drawn. I delivered some groceries for him and fed his cat, which I often did when he was feeling a bit sick.

Three weeks after that strange encounter, I was sitting at home when I heard sirens blaring. I saw them wheel him out on a stretcher, half conscious. I went and visited him at the hospital, I think I was the only one. I knew he was old but seeing him in the hospital, tubes attached made me realise how close he really was to the end.

The only thing he said when I saw him “keep it secret, keep the book secret” when I tried to press for more he was too drugged up to answer. That was a few days ago, today I got a call from the hospital telling me he had passed. I still don’t know what to feel, can you really feel grief for someone you barely knew?

I guess he was the only friend I had in this town, the only family I had. Now I’m alone again, just me and my dog. And his cat.

The house is dark, I didn’t even realise the sun had started to set, it must be late afternoon, evening possibly. I just keep staring at that damn book. I tell myself to lift an arm. Just open it.

Eventually, with a deep breath I slowly reach over. Hands shaking. I can feel my heartbeat in every muscle, every vein that’s needed for this simple movement.

I pick up the black book, feeling its soft leather and finally, before I can stop myself, I open it. Inside is an envelope. A small letter written on the pages the envelope was bookmarking.

To my neighbour, don’t let them find the rest.

I frown, and glance down at Jessie by my feet, she stares back blankly, probably just as confused as me. I flip through the other pages of the book, they’re all blank. That’s it? The rest of what?

I open up the envelope and suddenly I feel as though I’ve come across something I shouldn’t have…inside is cash. Not just a little cash, but a lot. Hundred dollar notes all tied together. Part of me says; it isn’t mine, I shouldn’t touch it…

But part of me needs to know. Needs to know how much it is. Why he gave it to me. Guilt etches away at me as I undo the elastic band and count it, note by note until it adds up to Twenty-thousand dollars.

It feels wrong to keep that much money. To take it. But he gave it to me. He wanted me to have it right?

As far as I knew, he didn’t have any other family, I’m all he had.

What I could do with that money; fix my house, my car. My life. Part of me knows it’s wrong. Part of me knows I shouldn’t take it. And part of me just wonders…

Where’s the rest?