Do you know who your neighbours are? I know mine. The one on the left is a radical member of the Temple of Fundamentalism. I know this because he drives a PT Cruiser, which, coincidentally, is also how I know he holds pagan ritual sacrifices in his basement. He wears a red tie on Monday to Wednesday and a blue tie on Thursdays and Fridays. He has suede wingtip dress shoes, which never seem to show any winter salt lines. I imagine him and his family – two girls and a wife – wearing their long, black hooded robes on the weekends. My hot-dog-eating neighbour on the right is operating an illegal holistic candle store out of his basement. I can tell because it always smells like juniper and strawberries from his basement window. He is dating a nurse, but I question if this is the truth. It’s a little too obvious. I’ve never seen her in person, but she has bumper stickers all over her car that read: Give Blood! and Nurses do it better – it all seems just a tad too obvious. I have a feeling she’s really a dentist but too embarrassed to tell anyone. Don’t worry though as I’ve been keeping a pretty close watch on the both of them.
I live in a duplex, which means that I also share drive ways with my neighbour on the left. We have always had a very strict segment of lines. When I would shovel the snow I would make sure that I never touched an inch of snow that might have drifted to his side. And, when we bump into each other coming home from work, I always make sure that I never step across his side of the driveway. Though for a short-lived moment of my life I had been a practicing member of the Temple of Fundamentalism, I had since shucked it off for Zionism last year and Taoism this month; thus, I always tried to be friendly with Left Neighbour but not too friendly. Anyways, it was one winter day when he had parked his PT Cruiser not over the line in the driveway, but certainly closer than he normally would. And I, strong believer in routine, had ever so gently, barely, nicked the side of his back bumper while parking. Now, this all could have been avoided if I hadn’t been so rushed to get away from this pink tassel-riding bicyclist behind me. She had pigtails, which always make me a little nervous from a moralistic point of view.
Anyways, Left Neighbour came flying out of the house like one of my vintage 19th century curling rocks – gracefully flamboyant. Of course, since I had a strong moral background, I was quick to point out the origin of the noise. Compounding the scrutiny of the situation, Right Neighbour was quick to crawl out of his basement for the opportunity to blame me for the noise – his basement, unfortunately, was right next to my Aeolian Wind Harp practicing area; thus, he had developed a bizarre hatred for beautiful music.
“What happened”? Right Neighbour asked.
“Just a bump” I said.
“Doesn’t look too bad” Left Neighbour said.
“yeah” I said.
“I know a guy” Right neighbour said. “Fix that right up.”
“Thanks, Right Neighbour” I said.
I was getting a bit watery in the eyes at this moment of brotherhood between us three neighbours, when I reached out and pulled the three of us together in a hug. I had judged them so harshly. The moral of the story, my friend, is that sometimes the strange ones are a lot more normal than you think – just like me.