A couple of years ago, before I moved to this house, I had a neighbor, Sharon, who was raised about 20 miles from me. Us both being Cajuns would knock on each others doors when we damn well felt like it and end up spending the day together.
I’d known her about five years that time she knocked at my door and didn’t seem quite like herself. Somehow she’d put on a few pounds in a matter of days. Still, she was missing something. I asked her to come inside. Usually, she just came inside without my asking. But not this time. She seemed a little panicked, confused. So we’re just standing there looking at each other awkwardly and another Sharon jumps out of my hedges!
Turns out Sharon has an identical twin I’d never met and they were pranking me. What was really wicked was when they stood there laughing about it. They had the same exact laugh but it wasn’t quite sync’d up, so it sounded like I had my head in a tunnel listening to lunatic laughter.
That’s one of the best pranks anyone (or two) ever pulled on me.
I miss that about my old neighborhood, popping in and out of houses whenever we wanted. Although now we’re about a mile away with a six lane road dividing us, this place is quite different. No one is ever out in their yard chatting, people don’t even seem to know each other. They drive home from work, click the garage door opener and you don’t see them again until they drive home the next day and do the same thing all over again. I walk this neighborhood with my dogs every single day and I rarely see anyone outside. It is bizarre.
Sometimes I’m okay with this, especially since I’m writing again and need every moment of peace and quiet I can get. Other times, it seems wrong.
Spanky and Scrappy having fun with Photobooth.