When I lived in Washington and New York, my neighbors were close indeed. In New York, my (perpetually broken) bathroom window was arm's length from the corresponding bathroom window of the building next door. Perilously, the other bathroom was always occupied; disturbingly, its occupants (plural) were always in conversation; unfortunately, the conversation was always in an impenetrably foreign tongue. More positively, before our Wi-Fi was installed, we benefited from the unprotected network named "Denize", and over dinner discussed how to best repay the unknowing altruist we nicknamed Denise (sadly, we never found her).
Last month I moved to denser Cambridge, MA. A selling-point when I saw our future apartment is that it is on the top (fourth) floor - no creaking floorboards, heavy steps, or moving furniture from above. Typical city sounds aside, the apartment is blissfully quiet.
My neighbors are still there, however, just in other ways. Where I live is actually a group of buildings under the same landlord, which are close enough that I can easily peer into the rooms opposite mine. Here's what I've experienced so far:
- The male neighbor whose door faces mine, Apartment 44 is passionately arguing politics when I leave for work at 7:15am. The topic is the shooting massacre at The Dark Knight Rises premier in Colorado. He gets the New York Times delivered daily. I only have Sunday delivery.
- The female neighbor who I share a kitchen wall with I've heard while exiting the kitchen back entrance to take out the trash. She consoles her female friend to accept the lack of quality, dateable men their ages.
- The neighbors I most often see live in the apartment across from our kitchen window and two floor downs. There is a pretty young wife constantly in their kitchen. She is always cooking. Presumably its for the middle-aged man who occasionally joins her. From my vantage point he is much below her league - overweight and hairy, which I know because he most often appears shirtless.
- Directly across from our kitchen window is a young lady. She cooks dinner 7-8pm (as do we), and then eats in her kitchen, alone in a chair.
- An occupant of the corner apartment opposite our bedroom's - it would belong to the apartment of the women who eats alone - I saw once when I sat up in bed at night. She walked away (I could not see her face) from her half drawn blinds, in her underwear. I immediately laid down again to give her privacy. Her body type was heavier than the young lady I see eating dinner.
- Not directly across the way from our living room but the room to the right lives a blonde young lady. There is a perfect line of sight between her on her couch and me at my desk. We haven't made eye contact yet. I'm sure it will be awkward when we do. I try to avoid looking out that window an unavoidably into hers.
- The aprtment directly across from our living room, one floor down, is filled with plants and furniture, is always lit, and is always empty. I fear a year from now an elderly resident will be found mummified.
- The other rooms are fainter to see into. A couple apartments have large-screen TVs. I've only seen ESPN.
- Many of the current or former residents were physics and finance majors. Their textbooks fill the shelves of the lending library bookcase in the basement by the washing machines. The lending library is more accurately a textbook graveyard, for materials easier disgarded than packed on moving day. There is also a copy of Perfectly Normal: Living and Loving with Low Libido, by Sandra Pertot, PhD.
- Although I can't see it, in the afternoons you can hear someone in the building block across the street practicing scales on a piano.
- Directly across from me, but one floor down, lives a cat. It likes to look at me from over a double window fan in the apartment's kitchen. We've engaged in brief staring contests. It's so-far the only neighbor I've yet to make eye-contact with, the only neighbor who knows I'm also looking out.
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