Monkey Girl and Friends

For years Rich has joked that if he ever wanted to kill me it would have to be done on vacation.  

Our first winter in NJ we decided to take an extended weekend trip to the Bahamas (West Coast people, it's closer than you'd think).  At about 4 a.m. Rich was shoving my giant duffle bag into the car when our neighbor called out to him.   Yes, 4 a.m.  Telling him where we were going, Rich asked Mr. B. to keep an eye on the house.  Mr. B. simply replied, "Where's Marilee?"  And then stood outside and waited until I came out before becoming friendly again.  Rich would never be able to sneak a body out of this house.  (Not that he technically couldn't overpower a man in his seventies, but still.)

Mr. B. always has an eye on the place.  We found when we first moved in that you never need to ask to borrow a tool, just go out in the yard with the wrong one and he'll be over with something to help.  Guaranteed.  If we forget to take out the trash, no worries, it will find it's way to the curb along with Mr. B.'s by morning, and usually find it's way back to the side of the house before you get home from work.  

"I was standing next to your house at 2:00 this morning," he announced one afternoon just after I pulled in the driveway, "and noticed the sound of water running.  It's coming out of that hose."  He pointed to what turned out to be the newly installed filtration system's run off drain, but still.  The house hadn't done that in the years the old neighbors were here.  I didn't have to tell Rich, either, because he caught him coming home, too.

About a year ago Mr. B. had a stroke and lost what was possibly most dear to him: his ability to tell stories.  He still communicates with hand signals and, thanks to therapy, has a few words he whispers out, but the man LOVED to talk.  Everything I know about the neighborhood I learned from Mr. B.  The man taught history for 30 or so years; he loved to talk.  And still, three weeks or so ago, I found that my garbage can had faithfully returned to the side of the house, even though we didn't bring it in.

Last night, Becca and I came home just in time to see the EMTs pulling into our neighbor's driveway.  I stood in the garage (Becca was asleep and Rich was in the shower) and watched out the window at his house until the ambulance pulled away.  "He's the only one who can truly appreciate you watching like that," Rich pointed out.

And as I walked his trash can to the curb last night, for the first time, I hoped it wasn't the last time mine would mysteriously reappear on the side of my house.