Neighbors

When we purchased our current house, we asked the previous owner a bit about the neighbors.

"Anyone we need to watch out for?" I asked in a broadly comical tone, yet expecting a very serious answer.

"Oh, no, this neighborhood is great. Just keep an eye out for the old woman at the end of the block."

"Why? Is she a bad neighbor?"

"No, she just likes to walk down the block naked."

***

In my previous neighborhood, my wife and I would frequently see a young paraplegic woman zip down our block in her wheelchair. I say "zip" because this wheelchair moved at a troubling speed, faster even than some of the cars.

This recurrence led me to my current position on wheelchairs, which is that they should only move as fast as people can walk.

***

A few months ago, while reluctantly shopping at the local Wal-Mart for caulk, I saw the man who lives across the street pushing a cart full of assorted canned goods. We stopped to talk for a bit, and the conversation turned towards my son.

"I saw him standing on your wife's lap the other day," the neighbor beamed. "He's getting so big."

When I returned home, I asked my wife how often she sits outside with the baby, and if he ever stands on her lap. She informed me that she only ever does this in our living room.

A few months later, we found the same gent standing in the street in front of our house, waving at us through our living room window.

***

I've developed an odd relationship with the older woman who lives next door. She clearly has some issues with her children, all fully grown, and seems a bit lost, lonely and out-of-sorts most of the time.

She really likes to talk to me. This is problematic, though, as the combination of her raspy voice and Greek accent ensures that I never understand a word she's saying. Whenever I get caught in a conversation with her, I tend to rotate the following phrases:

"Really?"
"Oh, wow."
"Interesting!"
"You don't say."

That usually gets me through.

Last Spring, when she saw me outside with my son for the first time, she insisted that I walk him over to her property. She played with Nathan a bit - goo-goo-ed at him with her old smoker's rasp, violently pinched his cheeks - and then insisted upon stuffing a $20 bill and a few quarters into his diaper.

She instantly began talking to me after doing this, and between struggling to fake a conversation and wondering if skin contact with currency was fatal for newborns, I nearly passed out.