I ran into my neighbor, Mr. Schneider, on my way out the door the other night. At eighty-eight years, he’s older than I am but seems to be doing well and he also seems to be a good fellow. We’ve had a few talks about whisky and family and dancing. He drives a van with a church bumper sticker on the front and regularly takes it out for a spin going who-knows-where but probably going to church and getting things to eat. He and the Mrs. are small people and can’t eat much, though I think he likes candy.

Last Halloween I opened my front door to check on the level of treats in the large wooden bowl I had sitting out there, and surprised him; catching him with his hand deep in the sweets, that guilty hand looking like a kid half-buried in those old ball-bowls at Chuck E. Cheese’s. We nodded.

Mrs. Schneider, who’s probably about the same age as her mate, had a medical event a while back and ended up in the hospital for nearly a month. Mr. Scheider would drive the 80-mile round trip every day to visit her. I knew he missed her, even more so when I met him at the mailbox one day and found him wearing a burgundy dress, complete with thin little bra straps showing at the shoulder. He wasn’t smiling and, as I said, I knew he was lonely. It’s a short walk to the mailbox and there’s not much exposure. We talked for a few minutes, neither one of us saying a thing about the obvious or unusual. 

He shuffles when he walks and it’s a very slow shuffle. He’s being careful and that makes good sense. When the snow and ice came, he made sure to use at least one hiking stick to steady himself, but he still shuffled. I’ve never seen him shuffle further than his car – except for the one time I ran into him at the Meijers. We talked that time also, but I’m not certain he knew who I was.

I took a walk a while back. I wore good, treaded boots and my long burgundy overcoat. I don’t shuffle but I like to think I take care. I should say that it was both snowy and icy out and that I don’t use a hiking stick. Coming to a road to cross, I checked both ways, saw no traffic, and started across. I woke up sometime later, flat on my back in the middle of the road, three or four cars stopped, forming a protective wall around me, and two or three people kneeled near me, asking if I was okay or if I needed help. I could see my glasses clearly, lying about ten feet away, too far to crawl but crystal clear as if the fall had sharpened my vision; a lady got them for me. Two guys helped me up and asked if I needed anything. In my mind, I said, “Yes, please, someone take me home.” Outwardly, I said, “No, but thanks for what you’ve done,” and I cut my walk short and shuffled back home.

I haven’t seen Mr. Schneider in a few days.