The Ambulance

"Going for a walk, Harold?" I said trimming my garden hedge.

"Trying to," my 86 year-old neighbor said tying his shoelaces.

"It's a good day for a walk."

"If you say so."

"I'll hold down the fort!"

"Nothing's going to happen. Nothing ever happens."

Ah, Harold. He is a sun beam of light and positivity: hardly ever. Unbeknownst to us, back when Mr. Wonderful and I bought The House, into the deal was tossed a lifetime of fixing it up, unending taxes and taxing neighbors. What's that old expression? "You can't pick your neighbors but you can tolerate them to the best of your ability until they push you too far and you say 'No way, Jose. There and no farther!'" Yes, that's how it goes.   

Buying The House we got lucky by getting neighbors who cared about their properties, who cared about the other neighbors and who cared about seeing the glass of the world as half full. 

Then there was Harold. 

He had all the ingredients for a happy life: 1) A loving wife; 2) Kids and grandkids; and 3) A house that was already fixed up. Compared to me he was batting a 1000. When I'm overworked I often wish I had a wife. And not just any wife but a keeper like Norma. But Harold didn't see it that way. He focused on the negative complaining that his grass was dead, his crop of weeds was hearty and nothing ever happened. Personally, I found it hard to believe that nothing ever happened to a man who'd been alive throughout the 20th century. What about the Korean War? WWII? The Beatles playing on the Ed Sullivan show?!

So on this warm evening while I was pruning the dead branches from my front garden, Harold went out for a walk around the neighborhood. Maybe, I thought snipping a dead stalk off the Bird of Paradise, getting some fresh air would change his perspective.

The bad thing about pruning the front garden is that it takes time. The good thing is that it gives me the opportunity to see the world pass by. First Cyrus, a Persian man who lived around the corner, strolled by and we chatted. Next came a couple pushing their infant in a stroller. Then came the ambulance.

Ambulance?!

It rolled up silently but with lights flashing and stopped right before Harold and Norma's house. I dropped my pruning clippers. Two fit EMS guys jumped out and rolled a stretcher up the front walk and entered... Jerry's house. The ambulance lights were still flashing. The tension was thick. Just then Harold came hoofing down the street.

"Is it Norma?!" he hollered huffing and puffing as he passed my house going toward his own. Thinking that his wife of 58 years was in an ambulance, I'm surprised Harold didn't keel over with a heart attack then and there.

"No, they're in Jerry's house."

"He's too young to go." 

"Technically Jerry's middle aged."

"He's 30 years younger than me."

Harold did have a point. But in truth, there wasn't any rhyme or reason to it. Some "young" people went before their time and some "old" people refused to go to the exit despite the fact that nothing ever happened.

Harold bee-lined into his house to check on Norma. Meanwhile I watched the EMS guys roll the stretcher out of Jerry's house. Luckily, Jerry wasn't on it. He had an uncle visiting who'd had chest pains and it was that older man who was loaded into the ambulance and whisked off to the hospital. I sighed with relief: Jerry was okay. I sighed again: Norma was okay. I sighed a third time: Harold was okay.

The next day I saw Harold and Norma outside wearing sweatshirts. 

"Going for a walk, you two?" I said trimming the garden hedge.

"Trying to," Harold said kneeling in front of Norma to tie her shoelaces.

"I'll hold down the fort," I said. "Because you never know what might happen."

Harold nodded, his perspective had changed. Then clasping Norma's hand, something happened to my two 80-something neighbors: they took a walk together.

Watching Eyes

"Your pool is looking good," my 86 year-old neighbor said taking down his U.S. flag for the day.
"Thanks, Harold," I said shuffling toward The House after work. 
"I'm glad you kept the bricks around the pool."
"Thanks--?"
"But what're the extra bricks for?" 
Extra bricks?

I stopped in my tracks. Like most chlorine-loving, fish-wannabe people, our pool was located in our fenced-in, private backyard. So how did Harold know so much about our pool? Our backyard? Our lives? Did he jump the 6-foot fence and poke around when we were gone? Did he have X-ray vision? Was he a superhero in disguise?

I shared my disquiet over Harold's knowledge with Mr. Wonderful. 

"He's bored so he takes an interest in us," my spouse said petting Jackson and sipping a glass of wine. "Plus he used to care for the pool when his parents-in-law lived in our House."

"That was 20 years ago," I said. "And doesn't explain how he knows what's going on with it now--!" Mr. Wonderful told me to relax as he filled my wine glass to the rim. Mr. Wonderful is persuasive. I drank, I relaxed. 

The next day I had a vacation day from work. GLORIOUS! I waved good-bye to Mr. Wonderful as he went to the studio then I spent the morning working at home. In my pajamas. It was UBER GLORIOUS! After working out and showering I finally got dressed after 2 PM. I exited to the backyard to dump the recyclables in the blue bin when--behind me--I heard the worst sound: the door closed with a Click. The door was locked! I tried the doorknob. The lock was solid. I ran to the back door, front door, side door but everything was locked. I rushed to the kitty-door and pushed the flap in. There stood Jackson: my hero!

"Jackson, unlock the door," I pleaded, hope caressing my words. Jackson sat, lifted his leg--for a Bruce Lee karate chop?--then licked his toenails. One by one. Some hero.

I rushed to the guesthouse and tried all its doors, windows and ventilation venty vents. Everything was locked up like Fort Knox. Ugh! Why did we have to be so thorough? 

I needed to get into the House. Maybe I could invite Mr. Wonderful home for a late lunch? I could call him… if I had a phone. Maybe our alarm system could help? I could call them… if I had a phone. Maybe I could call 911?… If I had a #$%^& phone!

That's when genius struck--granted genius avoids me at most points in my life but at this moment it hit me like a ton of bricks. A phone! I could call all these people if I borrowed Harold and Norma's phone!

I bounded over to the neighbors and rang the doorbell. Harold answered.

"We were wondering how long it would take you to come over."

"Excuse me?"

"Norma said two hours. I said one." This was the creepiest thing Harold had said yet. Maybe I would be creeped out if I entered their creepy house?

"Come in, dear," Norma said with a smile appearing next to Harold. "Getting locked out is the worst."

How did he, she, they know? 

Harold handed me the phone, I stepped into their living room and dialed Mr. Wonderful. 

"Come home quick, I'm locked out and our neighbors are spies!" 

"I'm in a meeting," he said explaining he couldn't come home for a late lunch, early dinner or four o'clock teatime. "You'll have to make do until tonight."

Reluctantly I returned to the spies' hangout--their family room. Norma got me a glass of water. I wanted to ask how they knew so much about us instead I sat across from them sipping water and making chitchat about the weather.

I set the empty glass on the kitchen counter and noticed they had a window over the sink. Looking out to see their view, I saw our backyard, our pool, our lives on display. Their house sat on a hillock putting it several feet above ours and those extra feet gave them a grand view over the shared fence into our place.

"So what are you doing without the extra bricks?" Harold asked standing next to me.

"Make the fence between us higher," I said.

"What a great idea," Norma said smiling.

I thought the same thing.