So, I was just going to go on Twitter complaining that every. single. time. I go outside my neighbor to the right sweeps up her blinds--she has to lean over a big stretch of tile, a bathtub and whatnot to do so: That woman must be one of those superhero stretch types that double as wackadoodle paranoids--as if I am not completely aware that she's doing that.
But just as I was getting ready to tweet, or whatever the heck they call it, I realized that this world works out perfectly: Here, I'm complaining that she's staring at me all the time, and yet I've practically worn out the tendons in my neck, what, with me snapping my head to the left to look across the street at my neighbor's house every time I hear a stinking sound.
Oh, the tale I've started. I started it because it is a grand-scale tale, one that could have a movie surrounding it, not unlike Fargo (except there are no dead bodies, just a huge dead tree), and the hero isn't anyone, really, except for the story itself, the one in my head, and the way I've told it just doesn't do it justice.
I've always wanted to write a novel, but shoot, I need some practice on my delivery if I'm ever going to manage that.
To give some background, I saw the wife, back a year or so ago, just after my surgery, at the physical therapists office. She recognized me immediately and announced she was there to rehab her shoulder because she fell down the stairs. I asked, jokingly, "Were you drinking?" And she answered: "Yes, I was really drunk."
So fast forward to a couple months ago and HWWV coming home from a run and asking why all the cop cars are out front. I sprinted up to my room, no--I ran--up to my room and pulled the blinds up. This is what I saw: Three cop cars, and a new German import car parked out front. After awhile, they all left and I didn't see a thing.
This got me going, and I remembered Christmas, how the lights went up just after Halloween and how I thought, like I do every year, that this happens because "someone must be dying in that house and not expected to make it to Christmas." Then, I thought how the axe came out shortly after and that huge tree came down single-handed, roots and all, within a day or two. I knew, as I told you, that something wasn't right.
The next weekend, the cops came again, but I was already there at the window. The rain was coming down, and then the new German import drove up and out hopped the wife, and steady as you go, while the three or four officers looked on under the eaves, she brought out armful and armful of clothing. No boxes, just piles and piles of clothing. She had to run fast and all her clothes got wet anyway.
The next weekend, the same thing. And it was raining then, too.
So the Sunday of that weekend when Girlfriend discovered a new friend to play with I stood out front and met a neighbor who has lived on my side of the street for the past 12 years, just like us. For the first time we talked, and then I said:
"Hey, you know the guy over there that screams at his wife?"
"Oh yes," she said. "Lots of activity these days."
"Why'd he take down that tree?"
"With his own bare hands!" she said. "I have no idea, but boy was he fast. I bet that's the same axe I hear he used one time recently to try to hack down the back door when she locked him out."
So, we stood there for awhile more, exchanging information, and when I asked her why the cop cars, because, you know, I figured she needed the officers there for protection the way she was running in and out of the house, the neighbor I just met said this:
"The cops were there because he got custody of their child and they thought she might commit a kidnapping."
I suppose, sitting up here in my room, looking out the window--as long as it is lighter outside than it is inside--has given me a sense of drama that may or may not be there for sure.
...Except, to tell you the truth, I think what has happened is probably more dire and a little more depressing than I can actually say.
