I Went to Return My Neighbor’s Pliers – When He Opened the Door, My Legs Gave Out and I Shouted, ‘What Does It All Mean?!’

He worked with a kind of intensity I hadn’t seen in years, not in Benjamin, not in anyone. It made me feel strange and…

small, somehow. Like maybe I’d forgotten what it felt like to be taken seriously.

Fifteen minutes later, the leak was gone. It was like it had never happened, like I’d made it up with my own loneliness.

Jake stood, wiped his hands on a cloth, and finally spoke.

“If it drips again, call me.

Not the landlord; that will take too long. And I know what I’m doing.”

I didn’t ask why. I didn’t ask how he knew to do it.

I didn’t ask anything.

Then he left, forgetting his pliers on the bathroom counter.

The next morning, I grabbed them from the counter. They were heavy and worn, clearly used for more than one rescue mission. I held them longer than I should have.

They didn’t belong here.

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