Neighbors
The first house I ever owned was in Florida, in a small town called Zephyrhills famous to many for bottled water and to few for skydiving. It was a small house with only a single bathroom but it was new and my father unexpectedly helped me out with the down payment. The previous owner didn't actually live there, he just stayed there while he worked on the development of the subdivision. We took out boxes of blueprints when I moved in. Somebody told me he and his wife had been killed when a truck t-boned their sports car and cut it in half.
My house was one in from the corner. On the other side of me was a vacant lot where I eventually saw how they build houses in Florida: one day for laying pipe and pouring the cement pad, one day for stacking half the cinderblocks used for the walls, and another day for the second half. Then a day off, followed by the roof being installed and covered, then a day for doors and windows, and then a different crew to do the interior. I've forgotten just how many days it took from start to finish but it was just a week or so start to finish. As I walked my dogs through the neighborhood each day I saw the process repeated over and over.
In the corner house lived an older lady and her husband. They kept a giant RV in back, parked just off their concrete porch, and it was just about as big as their house. My yard was fenced in and I'd spend time in the postage stamp back yard throwing tennis balls for the one dog and filling in the holes dug by the other. This is when I'd see the neighbor lady. For some reason I never saw her in her front yard, just the back. And man, could she talk. She'd go on and on, not interested in hearing anything from me, but intent on getting out whatever it was she wanted to say. The sight of me was a catalyst for her to come over, stand by the chain link fence, and start going.
She seemed nice enough, and harmless, but once she started she couldn't break it off. I don't think she ever paused for breath, threw up a hand and said, "Okay, I'll see you later." She'd carry on to the point of making me feel rude as I backed slowly toward the house, a forced happy held on my face, finally escaping through my sliding glass doors into the kitchen. When she saw this a few times, she'd take the hint after a fashion and walk away on her own, turning her back to me and going to her own sliding door, but still talking the entire way as though we were still face to face over the fence.
I used to see her husband in town at the Publix supermarket. I don't think I ever heard him utter a syllable and perversely I would try to engage him in conversation as he sat on the bench just outside the automatic doors. Some days he looked asleep, or worse, his eyes closed, his body slumped to the side. The first time I saw him like this I was alarmed, and stopped in front of him, waiting at least for a reaction from any other shopper or bag boy or store manager. But no one was alarmed and somehow the man would make his way back home eventually, parking his pickup truck in his driveway and shuffling inside his house. He always wore the same faded set of suspenders. I tried to ask his wife once about his health and how ill he often looked while sitting on that bench at the grocery store but I don't think she heard me.
One day I noticed that the chatty lady didn't come out to the backyard so much anymore, and that when she did she sometimes didn't bother to crank up her engine and let loose whatever pent up small talk she'd manage to hold on to. This was a welcome relief from me until after a few weeks, when I noticed that I hadn't seen her husband for a while, that I finally realized what had happened: her husband had gone. I don't know what the cause was, or what may have instigated it, or anything about it at all. It's just that one day he was gone, and his widow grew gradually quiet.
One day she was gone, too. A car of strangers pulled into her driveway and was there for a week or so. First the RV disappeared. Then furniture and boxes of things were loaded onto a rental truck. And then, just like that, my neighbors were gone. There were no goodbyes, no regrets, no reminiscences, no personal contact of any kind. One day we were neighbors, the next day we were not. I don't recall that I ever knew her name.
My house was one in from the corner. On the other side of me was a vacant lot where I eventually saw how they build houses in Florida: one day for laying pipe and pouring the cement pad, one day for stacking half the cinderblocks used for the walls, and another day for the second half. Then a day off, followed by the roof being installed and covered, then a day for doors and windows, and then a different crew to do the interior. I've forgotten just how many days it took from start to finish but it was just a week or so start to finish. As I walked my dogs through the neighborhood each day I saw the process repeated over and over.
In the corner house lived an older lady and her husband. They kept a giant RV in back, parked just off their concrete porch, and it was just about as big as their house. My yard was fenced in and I'd spend time in the postage stamp back yard throwing tennis balls for the one dog and filling in the holes dug by the other. This is when I'd see the neighbor lady. For some reason I never saw her in her front yard, just the back. And man, could she talk. She'd go on and on, not interested in hearing anything from me, but intent on getting out whatever it was she wanted to say. The sight of me was a catalyst for her to come over, stand by the chain link fence, and start going.
She seemed nice enough, and harmless, but once she started she couldn't break it off. I don't think she ever paused for breath, threw up a hand and said, "Okay, I'll see you later." She'd carry on to the point of making me feel rude as I backed slowly toward the house, a forced happy held on my face, finally escaping through my sliding glass doors into the kitchen. When she saw this a few times, she'd take the hint after a fashion and walk away on her own, turning her back to me and going to her own sliding door, but still talking the entire way as though we were still face to face over the fence.
I used to see her husband in town at the Publix supermarket. I don't think I ever heard him utter a syllable and perversely I would try to engage him in conversation as he sat on the bench just outside the automatic doors. Some days he looked asleep, or worse, his eyes closed, his body slumped to the side. The first time I saw him like this I was alarmed, and stopped in front of him, waiting at least for a reaction from any other shopper or bag boy or store manager. But no one was alarmed and somehow the man would make his way back home eventually, parking his pickup truck in his driveway and shuffling inside his house. He always wore the same faded set of suspenders. I tried to ask his wife once about his health and how ill he often looked while sitting on that bench at the grocery store but I don't think she heard me.
One day I noticed that the chatty lady didn't come out to the backyard so much anymore, and that when she did she sometimes didn't bother to crank up her engine and let loose whatever pent up small talk she'd manage to hold on to. This was a welcome relief from me until after a few weeks, when I noticed that I hadn't seen her husband for a while, that I finally realized what had happened: her husband had gone. I don't know what the cause was, or what may have instigated it, or anything about it at all. It's just that one day he was gone, and his widow grew gradually quiet.
One day she was gone, too. A car of strangers pulled into her driveway and was there for a week or so. First the RV disappeared. Then furniture and boxes of things were loaded onto a rental truck. And then, just like that, my neighbors were gone. There were no goodbyes, no regrets, no reminiscences, no personal contact of any kind. One day we were neighbors, the next day we were not. I don't recall that I ever knew her name.
posted by Rick Ollerman at 7:18 AM
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