ON THE SOUTH SIDE
If you’ll recall from our early reading, this house had an interesting history, at least as far as we were concerned.
Patricia was TREMENDOUSLY pregnant when we moved in. Her sister sent her some baby stuff packed in Styrofoam peanuts. I was at the studio and she decided to throw the box and the peanuts out[1]. The wind came as she was waddling toward the curb and suddenly we had a lawn covered in Styrofoam peanuts. Patricia started to pick them up when she saw the woman next door come out.
She looked at Patricia, then went inside and came out with five little kids to help Patricia pick up the Styrofoam.
“You know,” she said to Patricia, “I run a daycare next door…”
Honest to God. We moved in pregnant next door to a family run daycare. A good one. Run by a great woman names Maya who became not only one of our best friends, but also the children’s Godmother[2].
But things end and eventually Maya’s landlord decided to stop renting and sell the house as the market was climbing. It was okay. Maya wanted to retire anyway, but it sucked to lose a good neighbor.
That was the beginning of the renovations in the neighborhood.
The owner decided not to sell. Or maybe he didn’t really mean to sell and just was trying to get around rent control. But after extensive renovations (which made the interior look like the Vatican Bathroom[3]) he put the “For Rent” sign up.
It was an interesting array moving in and out. No one really stayed more than a year.
First came the couple with the two kids. The man had teardrop tattoos under his left eye[4]. This was okay at first as they had a daughter Lauren’s age. The man of the house built and elaborate tree house out of scrap wood that was anchored between an old oak in the front yard and the garage and looked so great that I told Lauren that if she were ever invited into it, she should run home immediately.
These people didn’t stay in the house too long after, one summer night, I had to close the windows in the bedroom after hearing the man[5] one evening scream, as I’ve said before…
“Do you want me to go back to jail? Is that what you want? Do you want me to go back to jail?”
Which is something that makes you feel comfortable.
So they moved out and the homeowner, when he was looking at the house after the move out came up to me and, pointing at the tree house said:
“Did you see what they did to my house? Did you see what they did to my tree?”
Why, yes I did. And, funny, I thought a homeowner, even one renting his house out would actually LOOK at the place once in awhile. You know, drive by. Wave at it.
I guess I was wrong.
There was a parade moving through. A couple whose house had burned down and needed a place to live. They had two beautiful dogs. One got hit and almost killed in front of our house.
A couple with a son Lauren’s age. He and my kids grew to be great friends, playing almost every day. This was a great year. He moved away.
A young mother and her son. He was a little kid, but she was very, very nice and we enjoyed her. She’d invite us over for an Easter egg hunt every year[6]. Her kid was cute and she had nice people with her, cousins or the like, to help watch the kid.
Somewhere along the line, the first owner sold to the guy who was too busy to help with the fence and we never knew it. But we’d had our first chat and I knew what a pleasant guy HE was going to be.
So I was not happy when I came home as saw a stranger walking around our driveway taking pictures of the house next door.
It went like this. I started with a…
“What are you doing here?”
And he came back with…
“None of your business.”
“You’re in my driveway.”
“I am NOT in your driveway.”
“Yes you are. It’s the thing I just drove my car up.”
“Well, I’m not in it now.”
“But you were and what were you doing?”
“None of your business.”
“Well, it is if you’re on my property.”
“I’m NOT ON YOUR PROPERTY ANYMORE.”
“Okay. Tell you what. I’ll just call the cops and let them know…”
“I own this house.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”
“Because it’s none of your business!”
“Then stay out of my yard.”
“I know my rights! I own five houses.”
“You own five houses?”
“Yes. I own five houses.”
“You own five houses and you didn’t have the money to fix the fence?”
“It’s not my problem if you get greedy and want to sell your house.”
“I’m greedy?”
“You’re greedy! You want to sell your house, you pay to get the fence fixed!”
“Well, I did.”
“Good for you.”
“It cost seventy-five bucks.”
“Good for you.”
“It’s too bad you couldn’t afford part of that.”
“Well, you know, that’s what you do in business.”
“You lie?”
“Yes.”
Okay.
I walked up to him and put my hand out. He took it. I gave him and extra firm grip and then put my hand on his shoulder, also with an extra firm grip and I said:
“I just want you to know that we try to be really good neighbors. Do you understand? We look out for each other. It’s really important to be good neighbors and if you need anything involving our house, you just come talk to us first, okay?”
And then I walked back inside, fairly certain I’d made my point.
Also fairly certain that he was either going to sell the house or the good neighbors were leaving.
They were. We talked to her one night when we all came home at the same time.
“Yeah, it’s time,” she said. “I mean with what goes on across the street and I can get a better school for the kid and, you know, with the earthquake I always thought that I had you guys that I could depend on and right next door if I needed anything. But with you gone…Yeah. It’s just too creepy here.”
So we weren’t alone.
But we soon would be.
Because it hit me that we were a house for sale wedged between another house for sale and a house for rent.
Nice.
[1] Never bother giving advice to a pregnant woman. Especially a REALLY pregnant woman. I came hoe one day to find the furniture rearranged. ALL the furniture. I think she would have moved the stove if she could have figured out the gas attachments.
[2] We baptized the kids Episcopalian. Their godmother was a Persian Jew, their Godfather Catholic. We were trying to find a Moslem so we’d have the religious trifecta, but ran short of time.
[3] I never thought of marble in a ranch house living room. On the floors. And the walls. He’s probably put it in the ceiling if it wasn’t too heavy.
[4] Which has a lot of connotations. None of them good.
[5] I’m not sure they were married. Or even if they knew each other.
[6] And I’m embarrassed to say I don’t think we had her over.
Entire contents copyright 2009 by Shaun McLaughlin
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