When the landlady died two years ago Davy and I worried if we’d end up having to move out, after just having moved in to our house. Then we felt horrible thinking about that considering our landlady had just passed away. I’d just gone off the pill, because Davy and I were trying for a baby. I was hormonal and extra-dramatic, and I knew it.
I’d wondered if there was now bad juju next door while I was trying to get my sex on, for baby-making.
We needn’t worry because I actually got pregnant that same month, and the entire property got passed on to our deceased landlord’s brother. Luc. He made renovations to our home, and the house attached to ours. He’s not the shittiest landlord and we’re lucky, and his bright white hair is truly something to behold.
Six months into my pregnancy, and with all the renovations finished to the empty ghost house attached to ours, new neighbors came in. New neighbors with whom we’d share walls of our house with, another couple but older than us. Goodbye loud porn all night and fucking up against any wall we wanted to, anymore. We’d wondered if they knew about the former landlady dying in the house.
It turns out Davy knew the new the guy moving in with his girlfriend, by a few degrees of separation, so he asked him. It turned out they were informed that the former landlord had died in the house, in the toilet, and they moved right in. Right away they fought a lot. They fight a lot now.
We only know they’re ever home because they fight so much. When they go on vacation, in between fighting, they ask us to feed their fish and in return they bring us back a bottle of good wine. They’re not the best neighbors, but they’re not the shittiest. They drink too much and turn up the stereo with old Belgian love songs and sing until they drink enough to fight, and then pass out. Lovely.
We had our Noah the next year and brought him home to this house, and his bedroom turned out just how I’d picture it since the first time I saw it.
Before we moved in, the space had been used for tanning and storage and not the sun and blue sky. I saw the potential in my control freaked brain, and I was very specific, and very Momzilla, about every detail in Noah’s room. His full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows faces Shrek’s house, so we don’t often leave the drapes wide open. We have sheer panels to let the sun in and to keep the Shrek out. And Noah’s room is furthest from the walls through which you can hear our fighting neighbors through.
So I have some shitty neighbors, and not the shittiest neighbors, and not the shittiest landlord. Even Shrek, who was temporarily more of a Fiona when Noah was born, returned to being horrid Shrek once again once. Dramatics aside, I can live with it for now but we’re totally going to move in the next year. I want to be able to have sex in my own garden and roll around in my grass naked if I get really drunk or elated on substances, on any given Saturday night.
I don’t want to share walls anymore!