Can a person look confused and fierce . . .

 . . . at the same time? Strong and weak? Welcoming and hostile? I wouldn’t have believed it to be true until that night.

I didn’t see Pirkle when I first opened the door. My eyes swept the living room to the right of me and the kitchen to the left. Then I looked at the staircase and saw him standing in the shadow of the landing. He was as still as a statue, naked except his underwear and combat boots. Tightly gripped in his hands, a baseball bat. His hair, normally neatly slicked back, was sticking out every which way. Even his eyebrows jutted from his forehead like battle flags. My stomach churned, and for a second I thought I was going to be sick.

“Mr. Pirkle?”

He didn’t say anything. Just continued to look at me like he was trying to figure out what I was doing there. And then after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said so softly I almost couldn’t hear. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

“You called me.”

“You called me?”

“No, you called me.”

Our standoff continued with him about ten steps above me on the landing. Still clutching the bat, although by that point it hung from just one hand.

“I don’t think so,” he said cautiously.

“I came by to check on you,” I tried a different approach.

“Well since you’re here, hurry and come upstairs.”

“Um . . .”

“Um, what?”

“Why do you have that bat? Is something wrong?”

“Prowler,” he said. “I heard a prowler outside. I’ve been broken into before. This time I’m ready for them.”

“It wasn’t a prowler, it was just me. I went around the back to get the emergency key when you didn’t answer the door.”

“Just you then?”

“Yes, sir. Just me.”

“Sure about that?” His eyes danced in his head.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“We’re wasting time. Come on up.”

“Could you put the bat down, please? It’s making me nervous.”

He shook his head, visibly annoyed, before leaning the bat up against the corner of the landing. I followed him up the stairs. Trailing behind him, I was close enough to see the power of the muscles in his back, even though the skin was brown and wrinkly like old leather and spotted with tufts of silvery hair. His boots made deep clomping sounds with each step. I felt like I was padding on kitten paws.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He didn’t answer so I just followed him into his bedroom, the only room in the house that was dark. It was the first time I’d been up there, and nothing looked out of the ordinary except for the balled-up bed sheets laying in a pile on the floor. He led me to a window which overlooked his backyard, and I was surprised to see the picture of the little girl propped up on the window ledge. Also on the ledge, a pair of high-powered binoculars which he thrust into my hands.

“Stand here,” he instructed. “Keep looking right at that window across the way. The one that’s lit.”

A house which rose above the fence of his backyard was like the x-ray opposite version of Mr. Pirkle’s. Where his was light, the other was dark. An upstairs window, small and round, shone brightly in the adjacent house, directly opposite from Mr. Pirkle’s bedroom. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was spy on his neighbor with those binoculars. It felt way too creepy.

“I don’t think we should be doing this.” I handed the binoculars back to him. “It’s probably illegal or something.”

“Illegal? I’ll tell you what’s illegal. That’s my daughter over there.”

“Your daughter lives there?”

“Lives, no. But she’s there. I just saw her.” He tapped on the framed photo of the little girl. “That’s her picture. Without a doubt, it’s her.”

I glanced at the little room across the way but didn’t see anybody. I was one hundred percent confused, but I was pretty sure he was even more confused than I was.

“The girl you saw looked like this girl in the picture?”

“That’s right. My daughter.”

“But your daughter . . . she wouldn’t be this age now would she?”

“Three . . . three-and-a-half almost.”

“But . . . this picture was taken a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

“A long time ago?” For a second something seemed to click but then he went on. “Keep looking. She’ll be back any minute.”

It occurred to me there wasn’t a hint of alcohol on Pirkle’s breath.

“Can I bring a chair over here?” I asked. “So I can sit down.”

“Go ahead.” He stared out the window towards the tiny circle of light.

I dragged the chair over to the window and sat down. Pirkle continued to stand, occasionally bringing the binoculars up to his eyes. From time to time, I’d glance guiltily at the window but never saw so much as a shadow. Ten, fifteen minutes went by. I yawned. He yawned in response.

“Mr. Pirkle?”

“Hmm?”

“Should I tell you a story?” It worked the last time, and I was pretty tired in spite of all the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

“A story? Do you know a good one?” he muttered, still focused on the neighbor’s window.

For some reason, I realized he probably didn’t remember my last story. Not in his current state. I thought I’d give it a try. He liked it before.

“Did I ever tell you the story about when my father promised to buy me a car?”

“No. I don’t think so.” He put the binoculars down on the window ledge, walked over to the side of his bed, and sat facing me.

“I was around seven years old, and my father was about to go away for a long time,” I began.

By the end of the story, Pirkle was looking at me in that familiar head-ducking way, and I knew he was back. The real Pirkle, not the weird, nearly naked one.

“Military?” he asked. “Your dad?”

“Yes, sir. Army. He was killed in Iraq.”

“It’s a real shame, Hudson. A real shame.” He lay back on his bed, combat boots and all. “You know, I was a military man myself. Marines.”

“Really? Did you fight in World War II?”

“Yes, I did. The Pacific front. We fought over every last God-forsaken scrap of coral in that whole goddamn ocean. I thought it would never end. But it did. Eventually everything does.”

His voice showed signs of fatigue, and when he finally threw his head back on the pillow, he let loose with a series of rip-roaring snores. I sat in the dark watching him for about five minutes until it didn’t seem like he was going to wake up. How he slept through that, I couldn’t imagine.

I glanced over at the circular window again. The light was off, but I’d seen no one. I stood up and walked to the side of his bed where I picked up one of the blankets from the floor and shook it out. Couldn’t be too comfortable sleeping in those boots, but I didn’t want to risk waking him by pulling them off. I covered him with the blanket and walked down the stairs and out the door, locking it behind me with the emergency key which I slipped into my pocket. I’d return it the next time I was there.

I looked up at the sky full of stars, dimmed slightly by the brightness of Pirkle’s house. Home. School. Alana. They were worlds away.