Why Candice Lived Next Door

Candice lived next door. She used to, at least. At most, Candice was a girl. At best, she was normal-looking. At worst, she was at least the strangest girl on the block, maybe the neighborhood. Maybe it was Candice’s parents. Her dad used to tell her he wished she was a boy. Her mom didn’t care either way, which was worst. At most, she wished she could fly, like her action figure over her bed. She got it for Christmas; her birthday was never celebrated, so she loved Christmas. She used to, at least. At best, Candice simply wouldn’t make eye contact. At worst, she would pant, like a dog, around people. That’s why Candice was kept in her bedroom most times. At most, that’s the reason no friends ever came to play with her. At least Christmas came once a year where, at best, her uncle would visit and she would get another action figure. At worst, he wouldn’t visit and she would cry in her room. Candice loved her room almost as much as her uncle. She had her bed and her action figures, and that’s all she ever needed. She used to, at least. At best,

She was funny. He tried to remember a joke she told, but couldn’t think of one. He could only picture her face, the crease below her lip when she’d smile. But they broke up years ago. It was tough, she had said, for her to commit long term when he was so alone. This hadn’t made sense to him, but he let it slide because he wasn't all that into it anymore either. Even so, for a while after, he thought about it. He knew he was alone, but he didn’t feel alone in the way people’s tone said it. He had a friend or two here and there, not that he saw much, and no one he would bother introducing Mallory to. No family left, except for the weirdos he’d visit on the holidays — his second cousins or something. It was his mom that made him go originally, she was into the family get-togethers, no matter how thin the familial line. Now that she was gone, it was more just habit, and he had nowhere else to