For weeks, the teenage boy across the street flashed S.O.S. in Morse code from his bedroom window. I’m a former Marine, so I told him to quit playing around.
The night he changed the message to “WE NEED YOUR HELP,” I realized the boy had been desperately trying to reach out all along.
My name is Harold. I’m a former Marine, though these days my battles are mostly fought with my own knees.
I’d been living a quiet life in a small house for years, but that all changed when I got new neighbors.
They moved into the house across the road one Saturday morning in June, a couple in their 40s with a teenage son and a young daughter.
They looked like a picture-perfect family, but looks can be deceiving.
A day later, the whole lot of them marched across the road to introduce themselves.
“Good afternoon!” The man offered his hand the moment I opened the door.
“We’re new in town and wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m David, this is my wife, Sarah, and our kids are Leo and Mia.”
I shook his hand. “I’m Harold.”
“It’s very nice to meet you.” Sarah held out a cherry pie.
Behind them, Leo, the teenage son, stood with his chin tucked, hands anchored deep in his pockets.
Mia smiled and waved at me.
A week passed.
I spent the afternoons on my porch, watching the world pass by. Sometimes, someone would wave, and I’d wave back, but nobody stopped to talk.
One day, David and Leo came outside to throw passes.
I thought they were just having fun at first, but then I realized David was all business.
Leo retrieved the ball, his movements sluggish, and threw it again.
When a throw went wide into the bushes, David rubbed the bridge of his nose and checked his watch.
“Tell him to keep his elbow up,” I muttered.
“You’re not focused. Go throw at the wall until you get it right.” David stepped toward the house.
Leo watched his father go, then his shoulders slumped. He threw the ball straight down at the ground.
It bounced high, landed on the sidewalk, and rolled into the road. Leo moved to retrieve it.
“Keep your elbow up,” I called out to him when he picked up the ball.
“And step into your throws.”
He looked at me like I’d spoken to him in a foreign language.
He nodded. He seemed doubtful, but he called out a thanks and went back to his yard. His next throw was cleaner.
He glanced at me across the road, and I gave him a thumbs-up.
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