He sat in his old and weathered chair, looking towards the street with disgust. Since when did all of these people move in? Rich people nonetheless. Those damned rich people. He set his crossword on the grass next to him and raised himself off the recliner.
A girl around the age of eight walked by with a permanent smile on her face. "Hello there." Her pigtails bounced with each word she said.
Her perk was too much for him. "Hi," he said as he snatched his newspaper off the ground, turning his back to the little girl.
She stood there, watching the old man go about his business until she couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer. "I live across the street you know. We just moved in a few days ago. We see you out in that chair every single day, so would you like to come eat supper with us?"
"Nope," He put his hand up as he walked away, showing his honest dissinterest.
The girl looked sad as she stood there. She turned to her house and signaled that she had no luck with the old man.
He made his way from his favorite recliner in the yard to the hard wooden chair at the kitchen table, so he would not be bothered. He was facing the window once again. The window that now revealed flocks of young and happy families, ready to start their new beginnings. Every single one of them. Those god damned young people. He made himself some Campbell's chicken noodle soup, which had become a regular meal for him these days. Barbie croaked at him while he was slurping his dinner.
"Shut up, you old coot," he scowled.
"You're the old coot!" She repeated, laughing.
He got himself into this every time they conversed. He would say something to Barbie, and she would repeat it. And since he was constantly insulting her, she would always insult him back. Maybe it was some kind of masochistic trick.
He saved all of the noodles for last and dumped the hardy spoonful into his mouth as he removed himself from the table. He got the fruit salad out of the fridge and packed it into Barbie's bowl perfectly. "Here you go, Barb," he said as he put it in her cage.
"Thank you, Ace!" The bird squaked. That was the first thing that he taught her--his name.
He decided to make his way into the room that was once for gathering. All it gathers now is dust. And some bird ****. He turned on Jeopardy but wasn't enthused. His absent minded thinking was interrupted by a phone call.
"I wish Barbie had some hands on her," he mumbled to himself as he walked towards the ring. The phone was never on the hook.
"Hello?" He said sternly.
"Hi, it's Sam. Mind if I come over? I'm in the neighborhood."
"Uh, yeah I was just about to go to bed,"
"Okay, thanks anyway. Bye." She hung up the phone as quickly.
"What the hell was that about?" He asked himself out loud. "I can't even have my own ****ing daughter over because I'm so unhappy. No wonder I'm good for nothing."
"Good for nothing!" Barbie blurted out, laughing once again.
He tried to concentrate on himself once again, shaking her remark out of his head. What the hell was he thinking? He refused to talk to a little girl and his own daughter.
He let Barbie out of her cage for a little exercise and decided to think about this over some sleep. Sleep never came. He was up the entire night thinking of how curmudgenly he had become and how he is too stubborn to change. Once his mind exhausted his body, he slept solidly until Barbie wanted to be fed.
He gave her some more fruit and went outside to his recliner, hoping that he could be greet the new day in a slightly nicer manner than usual. The paper seemed better than usual, but still nothing to get ecstatic about.
The little girl across the street played jumprope as her mom gardened. The little girl waved and he pretended not to see until finally she was right in front of him, waving her arm off. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Trying to read my goddamned paper,"
"My mom wants to meet you; come on over," she pranced out of my leg room to give me space to get up. Who was she kidding, though? He wouldn't get up even if she was torturing good ol' Barbie.
He got up. He tried to anyway, but hee was shaky from sleep deprovation and old age. The little girl hurried over and assisted him to a standing position.
Her mom ran over immediately, "Sit down, sit down."
Goddamned women, always assuming.
"Go get him some coffee, honey," she shooed her daughter inside.
"Do you like your place?" He asked, so it wouldn't be awkward.
"Love it." Her brown curly hair bounced in her ponytail when she talked. "How long have you lived here?"
"About as long as I can remember. Gotta get out of this place though; too many people barging in on my and Barbie's privacy, you see," He pointed to the house.
"Oh, is that your wife?" She clapped her hands together in excitement.
"No... my wife died five years ago."
"Oh, oh, sorry. If you need to talk about it with anyone, let me know. We had a death in the family a couple years ago, too. It's hard." She took off her gardening gloves and sat cross-legged on the grass directly in front of him. "Do you have any kids?"
"Yes, two. Samantha and Lance. They don't live too far from here, but I'm afraid I've scared them off." He found himself talking more and more. "Since she died, I've gotten so bitter and even Barbie doesn't get the attention she deserves. Just last night, Samantha called and I couldn't even let her come over becuase I was in such a slump."
The woman heard her daughter approaching with the coffee. "Oh, just go give that to your father. See what he's up to; you can help him with whatever he's doing. Just tell him I said it was okay."
She frolicked into the backyard, spilling coffee with every step, but not having a care in the world. He envied the little girl.
