The Neighbors

Every day I sit alone in the driveway of my house, staring intently at the people who pass through the alley. I never say anything to the people who pass, but I watch. My family doesn’t pay much attention to me, and they treat me like trash most of the time. They say I’m old and worthless, that they should replace me with someone newer, younger. Granted, I’ve been part of this family since they moved into this house twelve years ago. However, they still push me around and use me. I find comfort in my routine of sitting in the driveway by myself. I absorb knowledge and have come to know my neighbors very well. Just yesterday I heard the two men who live in the house behind us talking in their backyard, sharing stories and beer, as they talked about the hooligans vandalizing our neighborhood. The neighbors to our right, an old Chinese couple who lacked a strong English vocabulary and had a multitude of cats, would call their children inside at the beginning of dusk, afraid that the miscreants might bring harm to the younger children, and terrorize them. On the left, a single mother and her three kids always played basketball in the driveway. The steady rhythm of the ball hitting the ground was beautiful music, and entertained me as the children shrieked with laughter when their mother let them win. My favorite neighbor, however, was an older man in his mid-60s. He was ex-military, and always sat in his driveway too, watching for scandal and destruction to our small community. He would sit there quietly, like me, with a baseball bat nearby. I never asked if he had a family, but I never saw anyone else in his driveway.

For days, rain or shine, I would sit, occasionally concealed by the large silver Honda Odyssey van that my family owned and listen. Some may have called it eavesdropping on conversations I was not a part of, but it wasn’t my fault my neighbors shouted with joy when they saw one another and caught each other up on the latest neighborhood scandals.

A trashcan was blown up at a house across town yesterday. I know this because the two men in the house behind us, James and Carl, were talking about it. I also know it wasn’t the only thing happening. Four other trashcans had been blown up in our neighborhood, as well as fences partially burned and even some pets were beaten.

James is older with a face that reminds me of a white Morgan Freeman. His voice isn’t as velvety smooth as Morgan’s though. It’s a thick Texas drawl that sounds as rough as sandpaper. He’s overweight, but not in the “he should try out for The Biggest Loser” way. He has a slight potbelly that hangs over his Wrangler jeans, and I don’t think I’ve seen him without his cowboy boots and hat on. Carl, who looked to be about mid-20s, was short and scrawny. His mousy brown hair hung in his eyes and his smile was a goofy lopsided grin. His voice had a slight drawl, but it was pleasant to listen to.

The two men drank more than I thought was possible, but every week their recycling bins were filled to the brim with Coors bottles and aluminum cans of whatever cheap beer James’ wife decided to bring home when they demanded she go buy some.

“Did ya’ hear what happened to Frank across town?” James asked.

“Nah, we….” The opening of their garage cut off Carl’s voice.

“Some damn criminal children blew up his trashcan with those little red firecrackers and some gun powder.”

James’ voice was laced with irritation.

“How in God’s name did they manage to blow it up with just some gun powder and a little firecracker?” Carl sounded more confused than angry.

“They called the police. I dunno all them details of it but it happened.”

“Well, who are the kids who done it?”

“Dunno. They didn’t catch the lil’ stinkers.”

There was a pause as both men swung back their Coors bottles.

“This is gettin’ out of hand. Too many things are gettin’ destroyed,” Carl said.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna be next. I don’t wanna be next.” James stared into his bottle, genuinely afraid that he could be the next victim.

“I hope they catch whoever did it.”

James silently nodded his head in agreement and took a final swing of his beer and tossed it into the recycling bin. “Dinner and Duck Dynasty?”

“You betcha,” Carl said as he casually tossed his bottle into the recycling bin.

The garage closed again and then there was silence.

Later that night, the Asian couple threw a party for Mr. Chen’s clients. Mr. Chen worked in an insurance company owned by a local woman. The firm was small and focused on property damage. Mr. Chen often held lavish dinner parties and wine tasting parties in his oriental decorated back yard to increase the flow of business. Recently, the company had been losing clients due to the inadequate work of some of the employees that Mr. Chen directed. Mr. Chen struggled to bring in new business. In hopes to retain the current clients and have positive feedback, Mr. Chen threw dinner parties in his backyard. Tonight, traditional Chinese lanterns hung loosely from their cheap wooden fence, casting long shadows onto our driveway.

Mr. Chen and his wife, June, often fought at the parties, in the corner of the yard away from the guests. If their children were slacking in school, Mr. Chen would complain. “The house isn’t clean,” he would complain the next time. Mr. Chen was subtly abusive. His body had a small structure and small features. His hair was always perfectly parted to the side, slicked back. June was petite and shorter than him. Her peppered black-grey hair was cut short and often pinned back.

Tonight they spoke in hushed tones. They spoke in Chinese, but thankfully I’d listened enough to pick up on the basics. I strained to hear what they said.

“Do you think that the boys are interacting with these criminals bombing the trashcans?” Mr. Chen spat out.

“They are always home doing their homework like you ask them to,” her voice trembled. I’d heard this before. She was going to start the waterworks. I felt sorry for the poor woman, trapped in her own personal hell of misery.

Mr. Chen turned angrily and brought his hand up. I wanted to cry out but he lowered his hand and clenched it into a firm fist.

“God, June, what did I tell you about talking back? Your sass is uncalled for.”

“I don’t think our boys would associate with the kids who destroy public property. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Fine. But we need to have a neighborhood lookout. I’m not going to have those hooligans destroy our property. We’re already struggling to keep clients.”

A loud crash of glass hitting the patio echoed into the night and Mr. Chen cursed under his breath. Both of them walked off. Another failed attempt at a professional dinner party.

I sat there shivering, soaking in all the information I learned today. Mr. Chen was right though. We did need a neighborhood watch. I would gladly volunteer. I made it my personal mission to learn as much as I could about the criminals. I would have to be sneaky however. I couldn’t afford to get caught eavesdropping. It was hard enough being hated by my family. I don’t think my heart could handle hatred from my neighbors whom I have grown to know and love by remaining silent.

It’s Thursday after school and the kids next door- Jeremy, Alice and Grace- were now home from school. Grace was nine and in elementary school. Jeremy and Alice were 16 and twins in high school. Jeremy and Alice loved to play with Grace. I could hear their screeches of joy as they dribbled the basketball and I heard their mother, Amanda, yell at them to be cautious.

I knew she struggled to take care of them after her husband was killed in combat in Afghanistan. Every day the kids came out and played, usually basketball, for hours. Amanda would come outside with a friend and gossip over a glass of iced tea or cup of coffee.

“Oh my God, Heather. You’ll never believe what’s been happening lately around town,” Amanda said a little louder than normal, so she could be heard over the basketball.

“Oh, what’s been going on?”

“There’s been some vandalism in town. Apparently, some teenage boys are blowing up trashcans, fences and even hurting animals around town and causing problems or something. It’s been on the news.”

I strained my old ears as I listened to the two women talk over the children laughing. It was the same thing going around. Presumably preteen or teenage boys vandalizing people’s property. And for what?

“I haven’t had much time to really pay that much attention or whatever to the story, but like, they’re saying the trashcans and stuff is being blown up by little bombs,” Amanda said. “Like, I don’t know a lot about this. This stuff was more up Nathan’s ally, him being in the army and all that. Blowing stuff up sounds like the kids had to be older or something. It seems too complicated for little ones, you know?”

I remember hearing stories from Amanda about her late husband, Nathan, and how he was one of the men that worked closely with weapons, especially bombs. Amanda wasn’t supposed to know that many details about things like that, but Nathan shared quite a bit with her on how to create small bombs and how to handle a small-concealed weapon. Amanda shared this with Heather, as well as a girl who wasn’t that interested could.

“I think they said they were shoving firecrackers in little water bottles with some gunpowder and setting them off. I don’t know. I don’t really understand,” Heather said.

“Well, you know that man Roger across the street used to be in the army. He probably knows exactly what happened,” Amanda suggested.

“Is it possible he’s the one doing it? He seems like a loner. Maybe he’s just really full of anger or something like that.”

“Yeah, that’s – Hey! Be careful, guys!”

I knew Amanda was about to tell the kids it was time to go in and clean up. She couldn’t stand seeing her children get hurt because she was so overprotective. I knew I wasn’t going to gain anymore valuable information from her today.

The older man who sat in his driveway was out tonight. It’s the end of the week, and Roger was convinced that someone was going to come out. He hadn’t moved a muscle in hours. I’m not even sure I saw him blink, but my old eyes could hardly see anymore.

I’d grown used to seeing Roger sitting outside recently. He never says anything to anyone. He just sits there, staring intently down the ally. No one suspicious ever comes though.

I’d never seen him with anyone and it made my old heart ache that he didn’t have someone to love him, just like my family didn’t love me anymore. I felt a connection to him. That’s why he’s my favorite.

I remember him briefly telling Carl and James one day about his military experience.

“I used to be a general,” Roger said.

“Golly gee, you sure were important then,” Carl replied.

“Yup. You ever kill somebody, man?” James asked.

“Well of course he did, James. He was in the military.” Carl whispered the last word, as if it would offend Roger.

Roger just sat there quietly staring at the two men in front of him. Finally, he answered.

“Actually, boys, I did kill some people but I’m not proud of it. There was a lot of bombings and I was scared for my life over in Vietnam. Miss Amanda -from next door- well, her husband was killed over in Afghanistan.”

I remember Carl and James shut up for once and listened. It was the most I’d ever heard Roger say.

“I learned how to assemble and disassemble bombs that year. I taught my soldiers how to load guns and throw grenades. It was the worst war zone I’d ever been in.”

Roger hasn’t spoken to anyone about the war since that day. Part of me believes he’s so quiet because he’s gone through so much emotional and physical traumas and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

It was Roger who had the idea to set up a neighborhood watch. I know because my family had thrown away the Homeowner’s Association letter about it. I read the letter stating that Roger wanted to have a meeting to discuss the process of watching the neighborhood for the vandals. His plan was intricate and detailed. People would sit in their driveways in shifts, with baseball bats and flashlights. They would spray the criminals with pepper spray and call the police. Roger was determined to keep our neighborhood safe, and as an older citizen, I respected and admired him. It was a shame that everyone wanted the neighborhood watch, but no one wanted to put in the effort to actually sit and watch. Roger’s plan fell through, leaving him to do it himself.

I stared at Roger, hoping to see him blink or move. He didn’t. Finally, I turned away, feeling safe enough to go to sleep.

I overheard Mr. Chen on the phone earlier as he was setting up the lanterns. His voice was strained and I could tell he was stressed.

“What do you mean this is the last try?” he asked with a hint of desperation.

The woman’s voice on the other end was shouting through the speakerphone. “Mr. Chen, we’ve been over this. You’re not bringing in any new business. This is a problem. We have younger people who are doing much better than you and your people. I’m sorry but if tonight doesn’t bring in new people, we’re going to have to let you go. End of story.”

Mr. Chen sighed and in a surrendered tone replied, “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

Mr. Chen is throwing a party for the neighborhood tonight. It’s a warm night and his backyard is illuminated with his paper lanterns. The children are already making a ruckus playing tag, laughing so intensely they could hardly manage to breathe. All the neighbors were invited, including my family, except for me. No one ever wants to invite me.

It was cloudy out and the sky darkened quicker than usual tonight. The weather didn’t seem to hinder the party though. The adults were talking, but nothing was being said. They were listening, but they weren’t hearing. Understandable. With everything going on, no one really knew how to act. Everyone was standing on their tiptoes on an edge, and one wrong move would push them over. “Who would be the next victim? Will it be one of us?” floated around the backyard in hushed whispers, so quiet that no one was quite sure they were saying. I started to drift off to sleep until I heard Grace, Jeremy and Alice talking.

“Shhhh,” Alice said, placing her index finger softly against her lips. “No one can know about this.”

“When are we going to do this though?” Grace squeaked out. As the youngest, Grace was often left out of plans. This one seems no different and Jeremy and Alice ignored Grace.

“Okay, so tonight, we’ll have to be sneaky and leave the house without Mom knowing.” Jeremy’s voice had a mischievous hint to it.

“Tonight,” Alice said.

“Yeah, tonight,” Grace echoed.

They skipped off back toward the house. I was flabbergasted by what I had overheard. The whole time, all of this vandalism, it was most likely Amanda’s kids. I knew I needed to tell someone, but I had no proof. No one would believe me. I’m just an old beat up piece of shit and no one has cared about me in years.

I shut my eyes and told myself that I would do the right thing and tell my family tomorrow when they brought me food.

My family came back.

They had leftovers from the party. I heard them laughing still and they brought me dinner scraps from next door and walked away, closing the garage door and shutting me out once again. I stared at the food before me and looked at it disgusted that they thought I only deserved their leftovers. I turned away in anger and I watched the ally as usual.

A shadow passed by quickly. Startled, I squinted. A short, dark figure was approaching my general direction. Behind the short figure, I spotted three others- two taller figures sandwiching a smaller child’s shadow. I started to panic. I was frozen in my spot unable to move. I couldn’t believe it.

No. This wasn’t the way it was suppose to end. Mr. Chen was carrying a small cylindrical object. He pulled out a lighter and then suddenly, without warning, I heard a loud POP. Then an eerie silence. Smoke surrounded my burning plastic flesh. I was missing pieces because they had disintegrated under the intense pressure and heat from the small bomb. My body had slammed violently into the side of the house and the family car.

Everything about me ached and burned as my family rushed outside. The neighbors slowly flocked out toward our driveway. Eyes went wide and many of them shouted out at each other “Are you okay?” or “What in God’s name was that?”

Soft sirens of a police car increasingly got louder as a bright light shone on my broken body, Mr. Chen and Amanda’s children.

“Did anyone see what happened?” the officer asked, shining the light around the area.

“No, officer. We just heard a sound like a transformer exploding and we came rushing out,” my family explained, as angst filled their voices. “I just don’t understand how someone could blow up our trash can or why they’d do it.”

Mr. Chen gave Amanda’s children a glare that could kill, startling them.

“Hmm.”

The officer walked around and crouched near the major chunk of my body to examine it. He picks up a piece and turns it over and eventually sniffs it.

“Gunpowder,” he concludes. “Did anyone here hear anything before this happened?”

The neighbors all looked around at each other and shook their heads. The officer nodded his head and looked down.

“Okay, well. I’m just going to call for back up and get statements from everyone.” He turns toward my family. “You’ll need to call the city to get a replacement. Unfortunately, you’ll need to pay for it yourself.”

He calls for backup on his walkie-talkie radio and then begins to question everyone. It happened so fast and I struggled to keep up with everything. Soon there were five cops taking statements from each family and informing them to keep an eye out for other problems.

No. No, no. NO. How could they not know that the culprit was standing right in front of them? I tried to scream at them that it was Mr. Chen. He was the one going out bombing. He was the one that was so upset that his business was failing and was convinced it was the children in the neighborhood that kept his party attendance down.

Finally, Grace spoke up.

“Excuse me, Mr. Officer, sir,” she smiled sweetly.

“Yes ma’am?” he replied, turning all his attention on Grace.

“I know who did it. He’s standing right there.” Grace leaned back and pointed at Mr. Chen.

Mr. Chen shook his head and gave out a little laugh. “Oh kids. They make up the craziest stuff.”

The officer ignored Mr. Chen and asked Grace, “How do you know, sweetie?”

Amanda walked toward her children and placed her hands on Grace’s shoulders. Grace smiled. “My brother and sister took a picture of Mr. Chen but he was being scary and that’s why we didn’t say something at first. Mr. Chen is a mean person. He kicked his cat, too.”

Jeremy and Alice pulled out their phones and pulled up photos as the officer looked in their direction and waved his hand to show that he wanted to see the pictures. He looked at the photos for a few moments before turning away.

“They’re too dark. You can’t really see who it is.”

A cough came from Roger’s driveway. “I’ve been sitting here all night up in my room, looking down through the window. I can testify that it was Mr. Chen.”

The police looked at Roger skeptically.

“The least you can do is take him in for questioning,” Roger stated. “The kids have pictures and I said I can testify.”

“Jeff, grab the cuffs,” the officer called out to his partner.

Jeff approached Mr. Chen, who stared at the ground, not responding to the accusations. June stared at him in disbelief, yet her eyes hinted joy as he was shoved into the cop car. Justice for both of us had been served.

The last thing I remember seeing were my neighbors condensing my mess of litter, rotting food and my plastic body to a small pile near the garage. They gave each other hugs and said good night.

Happy, I closed my eyes and was enveloped in a peaceful silence.