Neighborly Love

"The endless chatter of this journey had wearied me." 

— Peter Ackroyd 

Remember when I complained about a certain elderly neighbor and his loudness?

The noise part is mostly fixed. The new problem may be much, much worse.

It started with the notes. This man likes to type out notes on his computer, and tape them to our door. Never mind the fact that many days, the only time the door is opened is when Sky leaves and returns from work. I'm not sure why knocking was not an option for him, but we happened to find a note one day. It asked if I would be available that day to put some bandages on his back, where he was unable to reach. My first thought was that putting bandages on a stranger would not be my ideal way to spend my time. My second thought was that he's an older man and must not have many people in his life if he's asking a neighbor he doesn't know. (And my third thought, for the record, was that my mom is a nurse, and if she could see much worse, surely I could handle this.)

I can't say I enjoyed it, but I helped him out and thought that was the end of it. A few days later, he had the same request. This time, Sky was not at home, making me a bit uncomfortable. The neighbor was sufficiently bandaged when he proceeded to give me a 2 hour account of how, through a series of mistakes, he was the inventor of Bud Select beer. I smiled and half-listened, while trying to keep Millie occupied as he talked. There seemed to be some cognitive issues during this conversation, but I patiently waited it out until the end.

But it was not the end.

The next day, I walked to the mailbox with Millie. He somehow appeared the second I went outside. A couple days later, I was cleaning out our car. While sweating and moving from seat to seat, I was subjected to a tirade on the dangers of motorcycles. A couple weeks ago, Sky stood in our backyard, watching the clouds swirl into an evening storm. He was immediately joined by you-know-who. After that night, he rang the doorbell and Millie immediately began to cry- I was too worried (i.e., mad) about trying to settle her back to sleep to get around to answering it after that. He happens to fill up his bird feeders at the exact moment I take Millie out to the baby pool. And on my dad and sister's birthdays, which we celebrated at my house, he was knocking at both my front and back doors at least four times that day, including the time he dropped off a case of Bud Select for me to try. Sky and other family members have dubbed him 'my boyfriend'.

I think of myself as a nice person. Sky often tells me I care too much. I have a soft heart, too soft at times.

But Lord, have mercy.

How do you politely tell someone to leave you in peace? I started off having sympathy for this man, but I'm afraid to walk outside or leave the blinds open for fear that I'll be drawn into a never ending conversation. And while Millie is too young to understand it yet, the words he often uses are not things I want said around my daughter. Mostly, though, I starting to be a little creeped out by Mr. Next Door.

Maybe this is why people live in the country.