Neighborhood Watch

by Stuart R. West

  Derek changed the quiet status of the neighborhood. In his youth, late-night beer parties spilling over from bars filled his weekends. If his immature behavior ever bothered his neighbors, they never let on. More than likely, they slumbered through it.

  Derek met his first wife when he was twenty-four, married her at age twenty-seven, divorced and sadly done by age twenty-nine. Too young, too ripe, too incompatible.

  Their neighbors had shown up for the large church wedding a seeming eternity ago. Katherine Wilshire still had enough energy to kick her heels up on the dance floor, joining the younger girls in a line dance.

  Peggy-Mae, Derek’s northern neighbor and quite a delight, spent most of her time at the reception hobbled over her cane, chain smoking. Bawdy, with a mouth that could embarrass a sailor, nothing fazed her. At home, she would usually be found in her backyard, leaning on a garden hoe. Either as hobby or out of anger, she’d chase after snakes, whacking them to death with the hoe.

  George and Dot Carlson had been at the wedding, too. George was a wiry, bowlegged man with a long face and longer jaw. He favored wearing his slacks above his navel, the way Derek’s father used to do. He would constantly stop Derek in the street, eager to chat. Once Derek came home holding two bags of groceries, and George kept him occupied for thirty minutes. Derek’s arm muscles ached for several hours after that ambush. Derek suspected George lurked by the window, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting neighbors. George wore a hearing aid, yet refused—or forgot—to turn it on, thus interminably extending their street-side talks. But he was friendly enough.

  George’s wife Dot was his exact opposite. Short, squat, dour with jowls that flapped when she walked, Dot wasn’t afraid to accost her neighbors with disapproval. Derek attempted to keep off her radar. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t. One night Derek raced about his house, multi-tasking chores (“half-assing,” as Toni later deemed this method). The phone rang several times, and he misguidedly ignored it. After the fifth call, Dot’s raspy voice harangued him from the answering machine. “Derek, it’s Dot from across the street. I know you’re home. I can see you in there. So answer your damn phone!”

  Like a chastised child, and twice as afraid, Derek picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Derek, why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “Um, sorry, I was in the basement. Couldn’t get to it in time.”

  “Well, next time, answer it. Peggy-Mae went to the hospital last night.”

  “Oh…how is she?”

  “Not very good. She’s got pneumonia.”

  Peggy-Mae passed away several nights later. Derek always regretted not visiting her in the hospital and saying good-bye. But back then, mortality seemed like an alien concept.

  Shortly after Peggy-Mae’s funeral, her daughter Sunny moved in. Sunny, ten years younger than Derek, lived up to her namesake. Cheerful and optimistic, she was a nice counter-balance to the increasingly aging neighborhood. Her husband was five years her senior and stubbornly taciturn. Derek secretly nicknamed him Barbeque Bob. On rare occasions, he’d offer Derek a hand with outdoor chores but always looked like he’d rather be in front of his grill.

  Through the years, neighbors came and went, sometimes moving because of job changes but more often than not because death dropped its inevitable calling card. Derek matured along with the neighborhood. One ex-wife, a deck, many household improvements, and a new wife later, Derek found himself slowly becoming one of the elder spokesmen of the block. At age 49, he didn’t feel old. Not like the neighbors were when he first moved in. But the old folks were dying off. Like it or not, Pawnee Lane called for a changing of the guard.

  Over the past twelve months, Pawnee Lane transformed at an accelerated pace, fast-forwarding to revitalization. Derek remained at a standstill, feeling stagnant, watching the world progress around him.

  Last September, new neighbors moved into one of the recently abandoned homes—a young couple, sharply dressed, always on the move. They were friendly at first. Derek introduced himself and extended an open invitation for a beer on his back deck, knowing it would remain a declined offer. Still, it was the neighborly thing to do. Oddly enough, they quit waving after a while.

  Most jarring had been the sudden demise of the Carlsons, shortly after the new neighbors had moved in. Katherine caught Toni one morning and told her Dot had passed away in the night. The day before Dot’s funeral, George dropped dead of a heart attack. The neighborhood story was George died of a broken heart, unable to live without the love of his life. They were happy together in a better place.

  While it was a romantic thought, Derek didn’t buy it. He didn’t then, and he still didn’t now. Science was the obvious culprit. But he wondered how often occurrences of death through heartbreak happened. Were they commonplace, and he was just uninformed?

  But what was it Katherine had said this morning about the Carlsons? They got George and Dot. Who are they? As unsettling as the thought was, he did have to consider the possibility of Katherine losing her mind.

  Her words echoed in Derek’s mind, hooked and anchored there. Another memory crashed the party of his thoughts. Two weeks before the Carlsons passed away, he had run into them at the grocery store.

  Appearing jovial as ever, George had approached him. “Well, hey there, Derek.” His back a little more hunched than before, he still looked healthy enough to work a farm. “How’re you doing? We don’t see too much of you and Toni anymore.”

  “Hi, George. Yeah, we keep pretty busy. I’m usually holed up in the house on the computer while Toni’s at school.”

  Dot wandered up, glowering. She lifted her hand slowly, thrusting her finger into Derek’s face. “Who are you?”

  Looking uncomfortable, George intervened. “Dot, it’s Derek from across the street. Remember? Our neighbor?”

  “Who are you? What’s your name? Are you one of them?”

  Other shoppers stared as Dot repeated her questions, raising her voice to a rattle. At a loss for words, Derek made an excuse to leave. He quickly fled the store, forgetting what he had gone there for.

  Over the last year, Derek pondered Dot’s final words. Before, he’d blamed her behavior on senility. Yet there had been something in her tone, a fire alive in her gaze, that made Derek believe she was as lucid as ever.

  And now Katherine’s words were strangely similar.

  The neighborhood isn’t what it used to be. It especially started to suck when the new neighbors across the street moved in.

  Chapter Two

  They arrived at the end of last winter, blowing in like a blustery storm. Over several days, a moving truck sat parked in front of the brick house, a flock of young people usually gathered in front. Whenever Derek ventured outside, he tried to grab their attention with a wave. He always met with blank stares.

  Friday night after a grocery store run, Derek pulled up to the curb. A young couple was sprawled on their stoop surrounded by empty beer cartons.

  Derek hopped out of his car and called out, “Hey, are you the new neighbors?” Stupid question, but it would suffice as an opening.

  The couple exchanged glances; then the man rose. His shaved head slid directly into his thick girth, God having skimped on his neck. Not fat by any means, he carried himself like an ambulatory six foot tall slab of muscle. He strolled toward Derek, his short-sleeved shirt flapping over his shorts, unusual attire for the current cold front. “Yeah, I’m Carl.” He shook Derek’s hand with an iron grip. “That’s my wife, Kendra.” He pointed toward his wife, a slender woman tightly packed into a red hoodie. She wore her dark hair tied back in a ponytail, pulling her already intense features tighter. She lifted her hand, her face exhibiting little warmth.

  “I’m Derek. I live here with my wife, Toni. She’s a college professor, and I’m a graphic artist.” Derek waited for reciprocal information. None appeared to be forthcoming. Carl glared at Derek with ice-cold eyes and a chillier smirk. “Well, I’ve lived in the house for twenty-six yea
rs now. Nice neighborhood.”

  “What I understand.”

  Feeling a cold front of a different sort, Derek prepared his verbal retreat. “Okay, nice to have met you both.” He waved to Kendra. This time she didn’t bother gesturing. Derek turned back to Carl. “If you ever want a beer, I’ve usually got some in the garage. So feel free.”

  “Cool. Might take you up on that.”

  Derek nodded and jogged for the door. Behind him, he heard laughter rising over Pawnee Lane.

  * * * *

  Last year’s winter decided to leave Barton, Kansas with one final forget-me-not. On that cold March morning, Derek and Toni woke to two feet of snow dumped from the skies. The university canceled classes, so they donned their layers of clothes, grabbed shovels and ventured out into the brittle morning.

  The snow had stopped. The sun came out, a blinding mirror of reflected light across the ice. They set to work on the driveway.

  A soccer-mom van crunched down the street and popped into the snow covered driveway across the street. Carl jumped out, affording them a fleeting glance. Still wearing shorts.

  Derek whipped off his stocking cap and called out, “Hey Carl! How’re the streets out there?”

  Stopping at his doorstep, he seemed to consider before answering. “Hey, folks.” The few times Carl spoke to them, he referred to them collectively as “folks.” Obviously, he didn’t remember their names. “Not bad. The street crews have been working all night.” Without waiting for a reply, he entered his house.

  “Derek, let’s help ‘em out.” Toni pointed her shovel across the street. Kendra’s car sat buried in a mound of plowed snow on the street.

  Derek’s back screamed in protest, but it was a lesser evil than facing Toni’s inevitable remonstrations. “Okay.”

  They kicked their way through the snow and began to excavate Kendra’s car. Several moments later, Carl exited, hurrying toward his van.

  On the off-chance Carl hadn’t noticed, Derek stated the obvious. “Thought we’d give you a hand.”

  Toni chuckled good-naturedly.

  Carl jumped into the van and gave them a curt wave through the windshield before chugging back down the street.

  “Yeah, real nice. See what I mean about them, Ton?”

  “Oh, whatever, he looked like he was in a hurry. Maybe he needs to get back to work or something.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Derek lowered his shovel and watched the disappearing trail of smoke as the van drove away. “That new ride of his must have set ‘em back a pretty penny.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “How do you think they can afford it? I thought Carl had a job with the Kansas parks department. I’m sure they don’t pay much.”

  Toni sighed, twin streams of cold air shooting from her nose. “Who cares?”

  “Well, I don’t think Kendra works.” He shrugged, his shoulders constricted by the many layers of clothing. “And they don’t have any kids. Why would they even need that van?”

  Toni slammed the shovel into the snow. “Will you just let it go? Quit being so damn nosy. Just because you work from home doesn’t make the neighbor’s business yours.”

  Derek knew Toni was right. Without even realizing it, he had become the local busybody, a vigilant one man neighborhood watch. When did he turn into one of the nosy old women he used to make light of? Laughing at his own ridiculousness, he yielded. “Okay.”

  “Besides, maybe they’re planning on starting a family soon. They’re young enough.” With a sagging heart, Derek watched Toni as she continued her labor. He often wondered if he’d deprived her of being a parent. Two years younger than he, she may’ve had the opportunity with a younger man. Years ago, he had told her he wasn’t interested in children. Not at this age. She’d agreed. She had never expressed any more interest in the topic, but Derek couldn’t help but think what a wonderful mother she would’ve been.

  Thoughts of children jarred Derek in another direction. “Toni?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You think it’s weird there have never been any kids around here?”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes! Shut up and shovel, already.”

  “Okay. Just think it’s weird, that’s all.”

  The work seemed endless. Once the red paint of the car became visible, Derek yanked off his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow. His gaze was drawn toward the neighbor’s front door.

  Kendra stood behind the storm door, watching them. Slowly, she closed the door on her neighbors and their good deed.

  * * * *

  That winter had stuck around like an unwanted houseguest, stubbornly refusing to leave. Finally, in April, spring had slowly spread across Barton. Birdsongs announced the warming weather. As if by magic, practically overnight, colorful foliage appeared.

  And new life moved into Pawnee Lane as well.

  Mid-April, a flurry of activity swirled around the house caddy corner to them. Carl and Kendra having soured him somewhat, Derek thought keeping a low profile might be best. Toni labeled Derek a curmudgeon for his antisocial behavior. He, on the other hand, preferred to think of himself as a smart battle strategist. He reminded her of the old adage about battlefield conditions—don’t get too attached to your fellow soldiers. That way, it wouldn’t hurt as much when they died. Of course it was all nonsense. Derek simply wanted to avoid any more uncomfortable confrontations.

  But, as Derek wheeled the recycling bin down to the end of the driveway, he felt trapped. No way out. The new neighbor stood proudly next to his giant pickup truck, the kind automobile manufacturers breed bigger every year.

  “Hey, there.” Derek waved.

  “Hi, neighhhbor.” He punched the word like a boxer.

  Derek walked across the street, his hand out. “I’m Derek.”

  “Scott.” A ball cap crowned his head, the long bill flipped up. His T-shirt hung loosely over his prominent beer belly, giving birth to thin long legs. “‘Bout time I got to meet you…neighhhbor.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Just been busy.”

  Scott lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? You’re busy? What do you do?”

  “I work at home. Graphic artist.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, we moved in a couple weeks ago. My wife, Bettany, and me.”

  “I live with my wife, Toni. She’s a college history professor.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The men stood staring at each other. Time for another hasty retreat. “Well, hey, it was awesome meeting you.” Derek considered inviting him for a beer, quickly scuttled the idea. His invites had fallen on deaf ears thus far.

  “Likewise.”

  Derek strolled back up the driveway.

  “Hope to see you around…neighhhbor. Don’t be a stranger, neighhhbor.”

  The way he said, neighhhbor, sounded more like a taunt than a neighborly salutation, almost a veiled threat.

  * * * *

  Two weeks after Scott and Bettany had moved in, Derek heard a commotion outside. He pulled back the curtains. The three new neighbor men stood in Carl’s driveway, beers in hand, admiring Carl’s tricked out van.

  It didn’t take long for the mutual admiration society to establish itself. The three acted like long-time friends, laughing loudly and bumping fists. Scott had lived there for two weeks and appeared fully indoctrinated into the new blood on the street, whereas Derek had gone out of his way to be friendly for months. Yet he remained virtually invisible to them.

  Sure, Derek was older than they, and they were probably uncomfortable with his age. But, damn it, it wasn’t too long ago when he was the king of the street, the cock of the walk. He wasn’t that old yet. Resigning himself to the inevitable passing of time, he closed the window.

  A loud, metallic thump made him look again. They had taken a football to the street, passing it back and forth, and his car sat unprotected in the street between them. Carl heaved the ball into the air. It landed sharply on Derek’s hood, prompting guffaws.

  Derek went outside wearing a forced smile. />
  “Hey, guys.” Silence. Derek walked toward his car. “It’s cool you’re having fun and everything, but can you watch hitting my car?” He ran his hand across the hood, felt a slight indentation.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, neighhhbor.” More derisive laughter.

  “I saw the ball hit my car. I can feel the dent.”

  “What? You spyin’ on us?” Carl packed the football in his hand as if preparing to lob it again.

  “No, I’m not spying on you. I just heard—”

  “Look, man, I don’t know what you thought you heard—or saw—but we didn’t hit your car.” Carl grinned. “Maybe you’re hearing things.” The two others agreed with Carl, the obvious ringleader of Pawnee Lane’s new brat pack.

  Derek stared at them in turn. “All I’m asking is that you be careful. Okay?”

  “Whatever. Neighhhbor.”

  Derek stormed back inside, fuming. The men continued where they left off, yelling and running through the street. Another clump sounded outside. Derek wrenched open the front door and stood impotently on the stoop, no clear or safe plan of action coming to mind. Carl waved his stubby fingers at him and let out a chortle.

  Derek slammed the door and stomped upstairs. “Toni!”

  “What? I’m not deaf.”

  “Those jackasses are tossing their football onto my car!”

  “Well? What do you want me to do about it? Call the cops.”

  The idea had crossed Derek’s mind. But he didn’t want to start a full-blown battle, having heard how small annoyances could sometimes balloon into epic wars. Best to let it be.

  He slumped onto the futon and pouted, probably the best course of action for an aging man such as himself. “I’m not gonna call the cops.”

  * * * *

  The next several months remained relatively quiet. No incidences occurred, but the new faction across the street stayed aloof. Particularly Kendra. Not once had Derek heard her utter a single word.