Monday, August 09, 2004
neighbors
My neighbors are screaming at each other again.
This happens sometimes. For a while, about a year ago, it was happening a lot—like, nearly every day. Tonight is the first time I've heard them screaming at each other in several months. That doesn't mean they don't still do it, they just don't do it while I'm home.
The first time I recall hearing them scream, I was upstairs in bed with B., and the wife started absolutely going bananas. I could barely hear the husband, but every now and then he'd say something loudly enough for me at least know he was still in the room. Finally, I heard her scream, "Get out! Get out!" and then I heard a door slam, and then I heard their back gate slam, and then I heard his car drive off. Then we listened to her sob, heart-wrenchingly, for several minutes. It was morning, and I remember being glad I had to get out of bed and shower for work. I couldn't have stayed in bed listening to her any longer.
Other times I've heard the yelling have also been in the morning, usually when I'm downstairs fixing breakfast. She often yells at their child, for various things that kids do that they shouldn't or that kids don't do that they should. The most disturbing part of being downstairs while she's yelling is that, when I am outside on my patio, I can still hear her yelling in her kitchen. As can the people who live across the parking lot. One morning, when I did NOT hear the yelling, I walked out to my car to leave for work and the man who lived directly across the lot from us came out of his door to ask if I was OK. I thought it was odd, and said I was fine, and wished him a nice day, and left. Only later did I realize he must have heard some yelling next door and thought it was coming from our home.
Tonight, the yelling is particularly bad. I don't like listening to people's arguments in any situation—perhaps it's a little too painful a reminder of some the fights I overheard when I was a kid—but our neighbors voices in particular really get to me. She starts to sound panicky, and a little wild, and I can hear the crying in her voice. And then I hear doors slam and the gate slam and a car drive away.
I know they live with an elderly parent—I don't know if he's her father or the husband's father. The daughter is young—maybe seven at the oldest, but I'm not a great judge of kids' ages. I worry less for the husband and wife than I do for the grandfather and the daughter. I hear the arguments and I wish I could do something or say something. The codependent child that still lives somewhere inside of me wants to make things better for that poor little girl. The angry child inside me wants to beat some sense into that mother. But most of all, I want the yelling to stop. It makes me sad.
This happens sometimes. For a while, about a year ago, it was happening a lot—like, nearly every day. Tonight is the first time I've heard them screaming at each other in several months. That doesn't mean they don't still do it, they just don't do it while I'm home.
The first time I recall hearing them scream, I was upstairs in bed with B., and the wife started absolutely going bananas. I could barely hear the husband, but every now and then he'd say something loudly enough for me at least know he was still in the room. Finally, I heard her scream, "Get out! Get out!" and then I heard a door slam, and then I heard their back gate slam, and then I heard his car drive off. Then we listened to her sob, heart-wrenchingly, for several minutes. It was morning, and I remember being glad I had to get out of bed and shower for work. I couldn't have stayed in bed listening to her any longer.
Other times I've heard the yelling have also been in the morning, usually when I'm downstairs fixing breakfast. She often yells at their child, for various things that kids do that they shouldn't or that kids don't do that they should. The most disturbing part of being downstairs while she's yelling is that, when I am outside on my patio, I can still hear her yelling in her kitchen. As can the people who live across the parking lot. One morning, when I did NOT hear the yelling, I walked out to my car to leave for work and the man who lived directly across the lot from us came out of his door to ask if I was OK. I thought it was odd, and said I was fine, and wished him a nice day, and left. Only later did I realize he must have heard some yelling next door and thought it was coming from our home.
Tonight, the yelling is particularly bad. I don't like listening to people's arguments in any situation—perhaps it's a little too painful a reminder of some the fights I overheard when I was a kid—but our neighbors voices in particular really get to me. She starts to sound panicky, and a little wild, and I can hear the crying in her voice. And then I hear doors slam and the gate slam and a car drive away.
I know they live with an elderly parent—I don't know if he's her father or the husband's father. The daughter is young—maybe seven at the oldest, but I'm not a great judge of kids' ages. I worry less for the husband and wife than I do for the grandfather and the daughter. I hear the arguments and I wish I could do something or say something. The codependent child that still lives somewhere inside of me wants to make things better for that poor little girl. The angry child inside me wants to beat some sense into that mother. But most of all, I want the yelling to stop. It makes me sad.
