Things You Need To Hide

A Story by Corisica

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear new neighbors,

        I want to thank you for thanking me into the neighborhood. It's quite quaint, I think I will like it here. At least for a little while. I would much rather introduce myself in person, but I tend to do things with first impressions that are... regrettable. Thank you, and I'm sorry I did not answer the door when you were on my porch with a plate of what looked like delicious cookies. I would have loved to open my door and kindled a bond that can only be found between neighbors, but it cannot be. At least not yet. I've found this medium of introduction is less shocking than an up-front confession. Sometimes it helps the first few months, most times it doesn't...
        All neighbors whisper to one another. This is suburbia, where gossip reigns all. Sadly, these whispers will not be entirely untrue. The fault of which will be mine, no less. And it will eventually close me off from the rest of you, and all your neighborly love. There are a few good things I want to throw into that mix of whispers though, because I'm not all bad. I make a mean sweet potato pie, and love to host cheese and wine tastings. I like yard work (or any outdoor work really), so you don't have to worry about weeds or other flim-flam making my yard the eyesore of the community. I do enjoy coming to block-party events and cookouts, I genuinely listen to the latest bit of news. Maybe little Suzy lost her first tooth? Or Jeremy just made the football team? Or old man Dean got his '67 Mustang up and running again? I do so hope those, the cookouts, will be the last events I become shunned from.
        Now for the hardest part: my confession. I am a kleptomaniac. I steal things. Little things. Big things. Things. I don't know why, I just am compelled to do so. I can't stop, I've tried... It just made me a liar, and that made things worse. Here's the thing though, I don't lie about stealing. Say I take your garden hose. If you come up knocking on my door with info from a a witness neighbor saying they saw me take your hose, they're right. And I'll admit they're right. And I WILL give it back. It's my nature. Once It's been found out that the item was taken by me, it loses it's luster. Again, I don't understand why I'm compelled to take things, I just do. I don't understand why they lose all value to me when they are found out.
        In truth, my last neighborhood made a sort of game out of it. "What Did Joel Take Today?" And it worked out for a while, even when things of better value came up missing. I took a former neighbor's ring before. She left it on the sink when she was slicing potatoes for a stew we were preparing. I was invited over to help, against a few neighbor's warnings. She invited me over from the goodness of her heart, and a seasoned career in some science of psychology. I pocketed her unprotected ring. But here's the thing; when Mrs. Tyndall came to my door later that evening, she came alone. Sure, she could have brought an officer (as I had written a letter similar to this one for my previous neighborhood). Or even her hulking fire-fighter husband. But she didn't. She brought herself, and a Tupperware container full of the stew we fixed earlier. And she asked for her ring back as conversationally as you'd ask about the weather. Of course I gave it back, and she never said a foul word against me. She even invited me over several times more before I got kicked out of the neighborhood.
         I took something that misconstrued my intent. I took a family portrait from another neighbor's mantle. Poor Mrs. Tyndall tried to explain to them my dilemma didn't have gateway features to pedophilia, but they did not understand. They did not want to understand that the photo had no 'special' meaning to me, it was just a thing. A thing that became a grey waste of space in my possession the moment they found out about it. I gave it back when they came for it, but it didn't stop the whispers. It was no longer a game. To them I transformed into a lecherous neighbor. "All the signs are there!" They'd whisper. "No kids, no wife, always alone, no visitors. Who is he anyway?" To them I had outgrown the nuisance of a neighbor, into someone dark and to be feared. Needless to say, one of the neighbors on the HOA board remembered my introductory note and used the copy as evidence of breaking their rules of conduct. It was to justify it really. I mean, I had already been living there half the year before this had happened, and I delivered my welcome letter the first week I moved in. "Why, he admits he's a thief! That breaks at least one of the com- rules!" I can still hear Mrs. Paddy squealing at the board meeting. I swear she almost said 'commandments'. It might as well have been the commandments. The revised edition.

Anyhow, I'd like to avoid such a fiasco here. Most of the neighbors will shun me after reading this, or at least from personal events. I understand not everyone can be as welcoming as the Tyndall's. But if you do find it another way, and would like to come over for a second introduction, I would be more than delighted to put on some tea, usher you inside with open doors, and bid you sit down and make comfortable. and I'd thank you for the cookies.

Your new neighbor,

Joel Peetey

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

© 2014 Corisica

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register

Reviews

Cascara (aka Sprint Goe..

Great little write! I was actually fooled for a moment, believeing that this was actually a sad part of your life. Kudos to you for including such intricate, realistic characters and events.