Across the road from me lives a nice lesbian couple. They bought their old farmhouse six months before my wife and I bought ours. Some nights when I lay awake in bed I can see them walking around their yard with flashlights and their heads down, doing only God knows what. Maybe they’re just looking for worms. They spend hours several nights a week in their garage sometimes until 2 or 3 AM. It’s the go-to place where they entertain their guests, though I can’t imagine why they prefer to drink and laugh there and not in the house. I often wonder too how they keep all the mosquitoes away during the summer and don’t freeze their butts off in the winter.
Recently they had a Halloween party as they do every year. Their front lawn looked like those ancient, abandoned cemeteries with very old, crumbling tombstones. Each one with morbid writings on it, like: “I’m A Goner.” Ghosts and goblins showed up in their little cars and old trucks, all heading for the garage. Some stood outside around a raging fire pit looking like witches with a caldron. It was spooky.
One Halloween a few years back, my wife and I were invited. I stayed home and watched TV, but my wife went out of curiosity. She wanted to know what this fascination is with their garage. We were conjuring up images of all kinds of illicit things. So she got dressed up as a hillbilly dude with a fake beard, flannel shirt and camouflage hunting cap. She intended to be incognito and spy out the place. It worked for 2 minutes until she opened her mouth. That Tennessee accent gave her away. An hour and a half later she returned home smelling of cigarettes and without the beard. I asked her if she checked out the place. She said she was having so much fun that she forgot all about it. She also told me that the furniture we tossed at the curb were in their garage and for a moment she thought she was standing in our living room. Can I have my favorite blue recliner back?
I admit my neighbors are fun to watch. But they are strange. They never seem to to go to bed and prefer the shroud of darkness when the neighborhood is asleep. They even waited until midnight to scrape and paint their porch. Sometimes when the street lamp is out and it is pitch black, I can see the glowing embers of their cigarettes. Yet, there’s something comforting in all of this. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.
I recently heard they will be selling their house soon. I’ll miss their nocturnal shenanigans, but this will give me the perfect opportunity to spy out their garage.