A Door to the Heart

A Door to the Heart By Thomas Grant Bruso Josh Tully stands at the edge of Red Maple Lake, one of his favorite peaceful places to pause and adjust the grocery bags cutting into his wrists. He inhales and feels a winter cold settling deep in his chest. He wheezes and gazes out at the frozen landscape of late-December, dazzling in its soft, soothing stillness. Suddenly, the placid moment is interrupted by the sound of an approaching vehicle speeding along Main Street. Josh whirls around as a Gordonville taxi zips by too close to the shoulder, its tires kicking up chips of snow and ice and slush into his face. Frustrated, Josh wants to yell an obscenity at the driver. Instead he heaves a deep sigh, sucks in a breath of crisp winter air, and wipes the slush from his glasses. He tucks his specs back over the crook of his ears, takes another breath, and looks both ways before heading across the street to his residence. As he reaches the top of the landing and the wraparound porch adorned with multicolored twinkling Christmas lights, he is in luck. As if an angel is watching over him, he notices someone coming out of the front door. A new face Josh has not seen in this quaint, sleepy town. Beyond the stranger’s pierced nose, five o’clock shadow, and ten dollar haircut, Josh also notes the man’s charming smile and stunning baby blues. Openmouthed, Josh stares as the twenty-something boy-next-door tugs the baseball hat in place on top of his coffee-colored curls. The man’s left earlobe is stretched with a rubber plug. Juggling a leashed German shepherd in one hand and a graffiti-scarred skateboard in the other, the young man uses the tip of his left boot to kick the door open for Josh. Startled, Josh loses his grip on the grocery bags, spilling most of their contents across the front stoop. Josh watches as the man releases the skateboard and bends down to lend a friendly hand. A few Granny Smith apples spin and roll down the steps, and a gallon of organic milk gushes open across the porch. “Damn it.” As Josh reaches in front of him to pick up broken pieces of crushed chocolate chip cookies, a pint of vanilla ice cream and an assorted box of holiday truffles, the two guys butt heads, and the new tenant’s face is in Josh’s with his striking gaze and appealing smile, pulling Josh into his boyish charm. Heart racing, palms sweat-slick, Josh is distracted by the outline of the guy’s lean, sinewy swimmer’s build beneath his tight-fitting turtleneck and torn jeans. Josh reaches down and scoops up a hand-sized bottle of banana lube from behind the heels of the guy’s muddy boots. Embarrassed, Josh jams the item into the deep pockets of his winter coat. He feels his hands shaking through the leather lining. “Sorry,” the guy says. The large dog at his side is yanking on the leash. Josh shakes his head, as if ashamed. “No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” He pushes his glasses back into place along the ridge of his bony nose. Heat creeps into Josh’s face and neck. The guy grins. He grips Josh’s apples as though he is going to use them as weights, and Josh glimpses the veiny cords of muscle in the man’s arms as he hands the fruit to him. “Thanks,” Josh says, shyly, standing and shoving the apples back into the bag. The empty carton of milk lies at his feet. The stranger says, “I’m heading into town. I wouldn’t mind picking up another gallon of milk for you.” Josh crouches and grabs a few other perishables by his foot and tosses them into his bags. “Um, sure. Thanks. Here—” He reaches into his pocket for his wallet. The man waves a hand at him, tugging the dog leash with the other. “We can catch up later.” Josh nods. “Cool. Thanks.” “No prob.” The athletic man starts off towards town, gliding across the ground on his skateboard, the dog running a few feet in front of him on his leash, pulling him down the street. When the man reaches the end of the yard, Josh yells, “Be careful! The sidewalks are icy.” He immediately feels like an i***t after the words come out. Oh God! I sound like my mom. Without turning around, the man shoots a salute of his hand into the air at Josh. Before Josh disappears through the door and climbs the stairs to his fourth floor apartment, he realizes, I don’t even know his name. Strange. * * * * Half an hour later, while Josh plays his guitar, he is interrupted by a soft rap on his apartment door. He removes his fingers from the strings. Listens. At first, he thinks the noise is coming from the middle-aged couple in the apartment below him. With his guitar slung over his shoulder, Josh stands and crosses the thin blue carpet of his cardboard-box sized bedroom, out into the hall, towards the closed door in the living room. He leans into the door, hand gripping the knob. “Hello?” “Milk delivery.” The baritone male voice curls Josh’s mouth into a grin. Josh yanks the door open and peers across the small, stuffy alcove into the youthful face of his new neighbor. “You ordered milk?” the man says, smiling. He nods, grins. “Come in. I’ll pay you.” Stepping into the apartment, the man announces, “I’m Eddie, by the way.” Josh stops and swings around at the sound of the man’s guttural voice. The way he says his name. Eddie. Teasing. Feeling awkward, Josh says, “I’m Josh. Thanks for the milk.” “No prob.” Josh nods, turns, and disappears into the hallway. He grabs his wallet from the top of a chest-high desk, and pulls out a five dollar bill. When handing it over, Josh’s hand brushes the tips of Eddie’s fingers. Blushing, Josh folds his arms across his chest, and stares down at the floor. He asks, “Do you live here?” “Yup. Rolled in from sunny LA last week.” “Why would you leave beautiful LA for the brutal winters of Minnesota?” “I like adventure.” Josh scratches the tip of his earlobe, while staring at Eddie’s pierced left ear. “Did that hurt?” Perplexed, Eddie looks at him wide-eyed. “Did what hurt?” Josh rocks back and forth on his heels, and taps the tip of his ear. He points to Eddie’s left ear as if a fly has landed on it. Eddie snorts, ejecting a succession of laughs in machine-gun speed. “I was too drunk to remember.” Awkward pause. Both guys look away. “Thanks again for the milk,” Josh says. Eddie nods, turns, and as he stands at the door, asks, “Do you like bowling?” A slew of images tumble around in Josh’s mind. Hate it, he wants to say. But he answers, sounding proud, and gaining faith, “I was never very good at it. I’m the king of gutter balls.” “I’ve been known to bowl a three-hundred on a good day.” Eddie grasps the doorframe as if a strong wind is at his back, sucking him down the staircase. “Would you like to join me at the Bowl N’ Rock Monday night?” Josh shrugs, his insides trembling. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” “Awesome! See you then.” He disappears around the corner, and Josh hears Eddie banging down the stairs in his heavy boots. But then Josh hears Eddie yelling up at him from the bottom step, “Josh! Hey, Josh!” Josh scurries to the door and looks down at Eddie grinning up at him. “I live in 2D.” And then he is gone. That sounded more like an invitation than a statement. Josh saunters back inside, giddy as if he has just won the lottery, and shuts the door behind him, feeling somehow happier than before.