Writing 31 Story. COMMENTS?Neighbors
Julie and I moved in about three weeks ago back, in March. The apartment we used to live in was fine for the two of us while we worked our temp jobs, making ends meet doing the nine to five and doing the living together couples thing. I’d get up and start the coffee; she’d fasten a tie around my neck and kiss me off. When Hannah came along, Julie talked of raising our daughter in a spacious new home, hardwood floors, three-car garage, marble kitchen tops, the whole nine. I indulged myself in this fantasy too. I had landed a promising job via some savvy talk with employers who happened to attend the same college I graduated a few years back. Their firm had opened a new branch out in Sunnydale and they offered me a position with a respectable salary so I could buy a home for my family there. Sunnydale, a suburb about a twenty-five minute drive from the apartment, wasn’t anything spectacular. It fell several sheep short of the American dream, if one were to count himself to sleep. You had single story houses, mostly built in the 50’s and 60’s. They stood the test of time but were barely passing. Telephone lines ran down the length of the block, disappearing around the corner. A diverging line went down to each house. Together, they looked like the old folks at the retirement home, hooked up to their IVs. Still, I was glad to have it and my family.
The first weekend was spent settling in. We met the Lowry’s across the street and their neighbor Frank who had an impressive collection of power tools in the garage and strangely, in the home too. Tina Lowry’s husband was out of town on his quarterly business trip to headquarters, she said. She was a stay at home mom, the kind that turned on daytime television and treated herself to a box of chocolates, dabbing at the corners of her eyes while watching her soaps. She had her little angel, “Angel” they named her, whose mischievous smirk turned into a bite on my leg. Tina was going to watch Hannah for us this weekend while Julie and I picked up things for the house. It had to be done this weekend since Julie was starting a new job on Monday as well. Tina would be so kind as to watch Hannah for us during the week. Frank had offered his services in babysitting Hannah, but Julie noted that circular saws and rectangular chisels are poor examples for teaching Hannah shapes.
Sunday evening. Julie was lying on my chest and curled up on the couch in front the new TV we picked up that afternoon. I was reading a book I’ve been working on: “Disraeli: The Victorian Dandy Who Became Prime Minister”. Though I was no prime minister, I thought myself that life was good. Julie looked up at me and said, “You know, we haven’t met the people in the house next to ours yet. You think they’re nice people?” I posited that if they were, they’ll come and see us when they have the time. They were probably just busy this weekend. I continued reading and eventually dozed off next to Julie.
I got up for work the next morning, same as every other day-coffee in hand, Julie around neck. I stepped out of our front door and strolled to the car. As I was standing there opening the door I took my first real look at our neighbor’s house. It was a bit run down. The house was a sickly orange and the paint was peeling severely in some places. It looked like some kind of stressed out goldfish losing its scales, wronged by its half-assed owner that put it in paper cup and fed it once every week. The grass was unkempt and twisted about with patches of weeds. If houses could cry, I’m sure this one did. Under its windows were streams of dirt similar to the way a teary eyed girl’s mascara ran. Somebody had really let the ball drop here. Just then, one of the cats on the porch came down the steps onto the lawn and made on it. The excrement hit the tips of the grass, sunk in, and was never seen again. I shuddered, stepped into my car, and drove off for work.
Work isn’t worth mentioning. I arrived at home and took the trash out as Tuesdays are for greens and Thursdays regular waste. Hannah came out too, excited. “Daddy, I want to help you because I’m a big girl now.” Hannah stood at a full two-foot four. She dragged along the bins and rolling trashcans, both feet planted and bent at the waist. She pulled hard, lost her grip and fell flat on her tush. I walked over to pick her up and hold her over my shoulder while she sniffled.
“Daddy, there’s a lady looking at us…” she pointed.
I turned around to catch the blinds in my neighbors window snap back into array. So somebody does live there. It’s a damned relief because sometimes Hannah plays with Angel on the neighbor’s lawn and I’m tired of wiping shit off my carpet tracked in by their shoes. I took Hannah in and decided to greet the neighbor to ask if she’d need any help around the house.
Trying the doorbell, I realized it was dead. Going for the screen door, the thing nearly fell off on me. I settled for tapping on the glass and waited for an answer. The door swung open and a fragile looking lady met my stare. She looked to be in her mid 30’s and had a pale complexion. Her facial features were anything but flattering. She had these bugged out eyes and her nose was sunken in. I couldn’t look at that every morning.
“Hey there, I’m your new neighbor. Just thought I’d come by and say hello.”
“Is that so?” She looked behind me off into the distance
“Yeah…I noticed the lawn here is getting a little long, I could trim it for you. I recently bought myself a new mower and I’m eager to test that baby out. Of course, you’d have to pick up some of the things your cats leave behind so I can get to it…”
“Yeah, hmm…all right. Look, I have to get back to what I was doing.” And with that, she shut the door. I went home and told Julie about the encounter. I noted that she looked like a spinster that liked cats and jested that they should talk as they had much in common. There were of course, no grounds for comparison as Julie was my beautiful wife, but I said it just to see if I could get away with it. I received a fist to the arm and not a second word was said on my part. The lady seemed rather dismissive. I wasn’t upset about it but I figured I should get some amount of respect for putting myself out there and offering to cut her crap infested lawn.
A few days passed by and still no word about whether or not I have to subject myself to that minefield of feces. I stepped outside again to go and see my neighbor when I noticed clumps of dirt kicked up on my lawn. On closer inspection, it wasn’t dirt as much as it was droppings her cats had generously deposited on my lawn. I drew a breath. Pungent. I can’t believe her. Not only does she neglect her own property, she fails to respect mine by not keeping her Godforsaken cats off my lawn. Calm down. She’s merely an irresponsible human being. I can let this be.
Later in the week, I was forced to work overtime uncompensated since it was near the end of the month and accounts had to be closed at the office. They said everyone pitched in and pulled it off without expecting salary bonuses. It was an act of unity and teamwork at the office they said. I call it highway robbery. I arrived home beaten and in need of rest before I’d allow myself to be taken advantage of again. I found Julie in Hannah’s room. I guess in the process of putting Hannah to sleep, she had done the same to herself. She laid spread out on Hannah’s little twin bed. I picked her up, placed her on our own bed, and kissed her good night. I glanced over at the clock: 1 AM. It was definitely time for bed. This spring, it was unseasonably warm so we spent the evenings with the windows open.
“It cuts the first time, the fourth time, EVERY time!”
I looked out our window to see that the neighbor turned her television set on to an infomercial and set it at the highest possible volume. Looking to share the great buys and innovations with the world, she left her window open as well. I would have the overweight TV chef telling me that miracle blades can slice through the sole of a boot and still cut a tomato for the rest of the night. Even with the windows shut, it was like he was whispering to me, “Hey buddy, we’re so confident you’ll like our product, it comes with a 30-day money back guarantee.” I’ve had enough of this. I need to say something.
I shouted out the window for her to adjust the volume on her set. I tried several times and on the third plea, she threw an empty can of cat food at my window. Some obscenities followed. The nerve of this lady…
Early in the morning, I pried myself out of bed with my eyes shot. Julie’s were too. That Goddamn woman kept us up until four in the morning. All I wanted was a little consideration, not a can to the face. That hag has no sense of decency. It was Thursday morning: 7 AM. The garbage man’s not even here yet. I saw trash cans lined up along the street. Even hers was brought out to the curb. I suddenly had a stroke, the good kind, where genius is involved. I walked over to her gray trash bin and wedged it underneath my arm pit, top off, and I began to dance, as this would be a joyous occasion. I imagined myself to be a young flower girl at a wedding, spreading petals with glee except in reality, I was prancing along, littering her lawn with milk cartons, rotting fruit, and other trash of these sorts. There is a certain sense of accomplishment that accompanies such undertakings. She got what was coming to her in my opinion. I returned the bin to its fully upright position and hosed off my hands, going to work in a slightly better mood that day.
Returning home that evening, I spotted Mike Lowry out in front of his house picking up the mail. I waved at him and crossed the street. We shot the shit, figuratively, and talked about the wives. Then I told him about the episode with the neighbor last night.
“She can be like that, she’s a druggie, you know.” Mike felt it necessary to inform me. “She lives by herself and usually sticks to herself.” Apparently the woman’s not social. I could’ve told him that. At any rate, I’d have nothing to do with a substance abuser.
My mother was a heroin addict. No, she wasn’t addicted to committing heroic acts. She lived with a needle in her arm constantly and spent a good amount of our money for groceries, clothing, and other necessities on drugs. When either my dad or I tried to take her stash from her, for her own good mind you, she’d completely lose it. Once, she stabbed him with one of her needles and she’d usually beat me when I tried to get her to stop using. It was hell to live through so my father and I picked up and left her when I was nine. I thought about her often at first, but remembering what she did to us and for what reasons, there being none, I’d grow calloused and tell myself that we were better off without her and I didn’t need a mother. Seeing that I didn’t care for mom, my father denied her the privileges to see me. So that’s how we lived: without her.
Julie was waiting for me at home and she asked me if I had anything to do with there being a sudden collection of trash on our neighbor’s lawn today. Worrying Julie is the last thing I’d want to do so I tell her it was probably the neighborhood kids and it was only a matter of time anyway-the lady was nuts. Our neighborhood didn’t actually have any kids besides Hannah and Angel. She looked at me and said “good” because she wouldn’t stand for that kind of behavior. I decided it would be best if I left the lady to her own narcotic tendencies and we each lived our lives free of each other.
My plan to leave things be would have worked well if not for what happened the following morning. I woke up, thinking to myself, “Same shit, different day.” Having my job will give you that kind of outlook on life. I have a tight-assed boss, which leaves me to wonder how he got his head so far up in there. He’s not known for giving any leniency to his employees. Anyway, I ran to the car because being late has its consequences at work, turned the key, started backing out, and heard this flapping sound, like somebody was beating the car with a deflated balloon. Well, something was deflated: my tires. The nozzles had been uncapped and toothpicks were stuck in them to let the air out. Son of a bitch. It could only have been her. The one air pump we have in the house is the one for Hannah’s bike tires. I needed to incorporate exercise into my schedule, but not like this…It took me about an hour to refill my tires and get to work. My boss was not impressed with the story of my physical prowess in refilling my tires manually. He decided to make me an example to the rest by docking my pay. Now I really hated this lady. She was going too far, my neighbor. She would face my wrath.
I got home mad as hell because I had to work overtime for less pay. Staring at my neighbor’s wretched house in contempt, I saw the same window with the television in it was still open. I also saw that I stepped in one of the many piles of intestinal expulsions her cats left for me. Upsetting. Bringing a dustpan out of the house, I scooped up what poo I could find on my lawn and hers. There wound up being a pretty hefty collection on the pan. I walked over to the window and flung the little brown troopers as hard as I could and returned home wiping my shoes on the grass.
With my lawn finally clean, I made it a point to mow it that weekend. Right when I brought my mower out front though, Julie called to me and asks me for help in the kitchen. There was a rat she cried. I found her crouching on top of our dinner table looking anxiously at the floor. I caught the tiny perpetrator, let it go outside, and returned to my work to find my mower was missing. I knocked on Frank’s door asking if his hardware fetish gave him the impulse to “borrow” my new mower. He answered no, but he’d like to have a look at it when I was done. Well it’s got to be her then. I knocked on my thief of a neighbor’s window and told her to come out. No answer. I was pretty angry now but I wasn’t about to be arrested for breaking and entering so I left.
Angel and Hannah went to play on the front lawn, while I did the dishes in the kitchen, watching them. Julie had gone shopping so I was stuck with both jobs. I was halfway through the plates when the neighbor came back and approached the two girls.
“Hey you thief! Get away from my daughter!” I yelled, running out on to the lawn. “You get away from these kids. People like you shouldn’t even be allowed near children!” She looked hurt and upset, which made me feel even better about what I had said. It’s my firm belief that people like my mother should never even be in the presence of children, much less try to talk to them. “And I want my mower back too!” I felt it necessary to add that to my verbal barrage.
“What do you know about me? Who…do you think you are to say something like that to me?” Her reply was choked mid sentence, apparently because she was fighting back the urge to cry. She turned around and hurriedly walked into her house. “And I don’t have your stinking mower!”
“Daddy, why are you so mean to the lady?” asked Hannah.
I told her that she was a very bad lady who did nothing good and that she stole daddy’s things and made him late for work. She had this blank expression on her face and told me to be nice to the lady. Kids don’t know any better. This neighbor was hardly fit to be a member of society. She doesn’t know anything about common courtesy and being a neighbor, living next to other people, and she did drugs for God’s sake. I had no respect for this lady at all, nor did I believe she deserved any.
After that incident, I didn’t hear from her anymore. No more flat tires and no more late night TV. There was still the matter of cats doing their business on my lawn, but I’ve grown to accept that since it was more fodder for launching at her window. It was late at night when I got home and Julie approached me telling me what a police officer had told her earlier while I was at work. She said they found my neighbor nearby on a street, struck dead by a vehicle, apparently high at the time because she had white smeared under her nose. It was a hit and run felony and they were still searching for the culprit although I was sure it was no manhunt since she had no family looking for justice.
“So she finally got hers.”
“Honey, that’s a terrible thing to say! It’s not like you to say something like that!”
“She was a drug addict! She let the air out of my tires! And she stole my mower! I could care less what happened to her…”
“My God, you sound like a monster. I’m going to bed.”
“You go to bed, I’m going to get my mower back…”
I went to the empty house and climbed in through the still open window. What a sad state of affairs it was in here. The brown that I flung on to the walls actually decorated the room for the better. She had a fold-out tray table that she placed in front of her old leather recliner. I looked up and saw the paint cracks and mold on the ceiling from when it rained and leaked. The whole house smelled musty, like an old boot. Walking into the kitchen I was hit with an odor most foul. Looking around, I saw dishes in the sink, covered in grime and rotting food. She had one light bulb hanging from the ceiling and it glowed tiredly, flicking on and off to reveal the bare walls: no wall paper and discolored. On her kitchen table were bent spoons, burnt on the bottom and fast food straws cut to quarter length. There was still some white residue on the table, no doubt cocaine and next to it, an open can of cat food, half-eaten with a spoon in it. This lady lived in hell here.
Walking down her hallway, I saw picture frames hung neatly and clean; not something you’d expect from a woman that lived as she did. I got closer and looked. There was a woman in the pictures that resembled her, only much prettier with the look of youth still in her facial features. Around that woman’s neck clung a little girl and what seemed to be her husband. They were all smiles and in front of a house. Not this one. On the table beneath the picture was another frame with smudges on the glass. Behind the smears was a picture of her little girl looking over her back at the camera. Gathering by the blur the all the smudges made, she had been looking at this picture a lot. Several opened letters sat under the frame. The one on top read, “Dear Mrs. _______, we regret to inform you…denied custody…” sent by Social Services. I looked at the letter long and hard then left. I couldn’t find the mower anyway. Someone must have thought I had left it out to give away and took it.
Some days you feel like shit, you really do. I am pretty much morally bankrupt. I cursed this lady for petty things and sent her home telling her she has no right to be near children when she wanted her own more than anything else in the world. I couldn’t help but wonder if my own mother had wanted me back in the same way. Nothing in this woman’s life was going right for her and she had practically nothing, not even a family. I walked in the front door and down the hall. I check to see that Hannah is tucked away, deep in her slumber. In my own room was Julie, sleeping peacefully. I kiss her good night. As I’m lying down, I am reminded of something Benjamin Disraeli said years ago, “The greatest good you can do for another is not to share your riches, but to reveal to him his own.”
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