The Neighbors

Across the street lives a couple and the husband's father, Karl. They're from back East like us so anytime we all get to chatting it's like a hometown gathering. I love Karl. He's an old coot who swears and gets crotchety. I love him! And thankfully he likes us.

Sometimes when I look out the window I ask aloud (to no one in particular) Karl, where are you? It's a nice day out. When I do see him outside I'll announce (again, to no one in particular) Karl's outside. If days, or more than a week go by and I don't see him around I start to wonder what's happened. Is he okay? Should I go over, ring the doorbell and make sure all is well? And then a day or so later he'll be out pulling weeds, or sweeping and I think Oh, there he is!

When I lived at home back in NJ, we had some strange neighbors. The husband was always at home and the wife was always busy working. We could see her coming and going, briefcase in hand.

Then one day we didn't see her anymore. I was convinced the husband killed her and buried her in the backyard. I tried to look for a freshly dug grave from my bedroom window but I couldn't see the entire yard. And then, just as suddenly, she re-appeared and we would see her coming and going again.

I wonder if our neighbors keep tabs on what goes on with us. Or maybe I just have too much time on my hands. And an over-active imagination.