Love Thy Neighbor

Somebody just got shot! Somebody just got cut! Somebody just got hit by a car!

I didn't know what exactly had happened. But, the manly screams and moans coming from the driveway of my condominium complex told my wild imagination that something of the like was going on.

I took my usual nosy neighbor position: Standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Florida room, backed to the corner as to remain inconspicuous.

"UGH! AUGH! [MOOOOOAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!]," it continued.

I couldn't quite spot the source of the commotion, but could hear another neighbor shout out, "Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"NO!"

I've now pinpointed the screamer's voice to be coming from behind the large pine tree that stands in front of the neighboring building.

I felt safe enough to move to the Adirondack chair that is placed with its back to the window. Closer to the "danger", but out of sight with my nose peering above the back of the chair.

"Where are you?!" the helpful neighbor hollered out. It was after dark.

I could hear him now shuffling behind the tree. He found him! The source of all the belly-aching!

After some clattering and grunting, I finally saw something. A thirty-something year-old man walking a bike to the other side of the complex, with a late-teen/early-twenty-something male limping slowly behind him.

No one was shot. Someone had fallen off of their bicycle. I was safe from any crossfire.

The Good Samaritan would continuously stop and wait until the injured party could catch up to him again. G.S. (Good Samaritan) walked I.B. (Injured Biker) all the way home.

Mystery solved (although anticlimactic...) I smiled at what a good neighbor G.S. was.

But, what kind of neighbor was I?

I could have just as easily hollered down to see if I.B. was okay. I just didn't want to get involved. I was willing to risk bullets whizzing by the nose I had stuck into his business, but not the inconvenience of getting dressed and going downstairs to actually check on things and offer some assistance.

Let's break down what kind of neighbor I am.

These are the things I like about my neighborhood: 1.) Awesome location. It's walking distance to a small downtown with a city park and decent enough smattering of shops and restaurants. 2.) There are enough neighbors around to not feel isolated. As a single woman, it's assuring to know that if I ever needed to shout for help, someone wouldn't be too far away. 3.) These neighbors seem to keep to themselves. Which, for an introvert like me, is ideal.

No one brought pies to my doorstep when I moved in. No one has tried inviting me to dinner. And, this is fine! I'm not expected to provide dinner in return.

I've been to two board meetings, but only remember one board member's name. (I think I remember what it is, at least.)

I've met three neighbors since moving in two months ago. Only one of them offered a name (after a month-and-a-half.) It's not an American name and begins with an "N" sound. I'm pretty sure with two syllables.

The neighbors I've met are:

1.) "Pitbull". I don't know his real name, but he looks, dresses and acts like the rapper Pitbull. He wears tinted shades like Pitbull. He talks with the Hispanic swag of Pitbull. He rides his bike low, as I imagine Pitbull would, were his Mercedes ever to break down on him. And, I honestly think he would answer to "Pitbull" were he ever to be beckoned by that.

Pitbull has a sweet-natured girlfriend. She is also Hispanic and she always smiles and says "Hi!" if we cross paths. She even smiles and says, "Hi!" when Pitbull's bickering with her in the doorway and not letting her inside. Pitbull was wearing his bathrobe that day. Pitbull thinks he's God's gift. I'm not sure that he is. I once saw his girlfriend bring a plate of food to another neighbor. I'm not sure his girlfriend even lives there. But, she does seem like God's gift. And, a good neighbor. Whatever her name is.

2.) The blonde hermit, next door. I've seen her three times total. She writes lengthy letters to the Homeowners Association but doesn't come to the meetings, even though they take place in the room directly beneath her unit. She left a note on my door one day. How sweet! Oh, she was just inquiring about the paint fumes coming from my unit. I was painting kitchen chairs at the time. She almost rolled me over with her car in the parking garage later that same day. It was just an accident. I'm sure of it.

3.) N-something. She's a Muslim woman. Maybe my age or a bit younger. Her unit is like a clown car, with countless relatives always pouring out of it. She has at least three children, one husband and maybe a mother or mother-in-law who live with her. With the constant stream of visitors, I'm not really sure who goes where. She was the first to offer her name. But, her accent was so thick, I only caught the opening "N". I need to find a better code name for her. She is nice. And, loses alot of little socks in the laundry room.

There are three other units in my building. I have not bumped into any of these neighbors in eight weeks.

There is another building adjoining mine. I share a bedroom wall with a Middle-Eastern family. They have a baby who cries sweetly at night. Only sometimes. And, never a screamer. He's a good neighbor.

His parents fight once every week or two. Sometimes light murmuring. Sometimes shouting matches. Always at night. Sometimes at 2:00 or 3:00 am, jolting me out of my sleep. They're not fighting in English, so I can't really eavesdrop. Which is all I have left to do once I'm awoken and can't go back to sleep. If only I could take sides. If only they didn't wake the baby again.

This leaves me to wonder which neighbor I am. Only one of them knows my name. I'm probably the American girl who starts with a "K" sound.

I'm probably the one who sings too much in the kitchen and who is talking to who-knows-who in the shower*. The lady with the big white SUV. The one who walks upstairs too loudly. The woman with the nosy cat.

I'm the one who made too much noise moving in and will never be forgiven.

The lady who yells at her nephews on Sunday afternoons. Why doesn't she close the windows at least?

The girl whose still in her p.j.s at eleven a.m. on the weekend. What kind of slacker is she?

She hasn't even introduced herself. She watches that TV all night. Blogs about her neighbors. And, I saw her watch that boy who fell off his bike out her window and not even offer him a Band-Aid.

The Bible says, to "...Love your neighbor as yourself. No commandment is greater than these." [Mark 12:31]  I love myself, no doubt. But, for now, I'm at the stage were my neighbors are just a'ight.

I'm glad I.B. is okay. And, I'm glad there's at least one G.S. in the hood... just in case I fall down one of these days.

One day I'll be the G.S., I think.

Maybe. One day...




*Answer: Myself or the cat.