The Conversations I Wish I Could Have With My Neighbor

Life isn’t about headlines or clicks, it’s about people and connections.

I moved into my neighborhood ten years ago with a husband, a dog, and two cords of firewood. We unpacked our bags and settled into a world that is aggressively middle class. It’s the type of neighborhood where fall is marked by the sounds of backpack leaf blowers, summer is the soft hushing sound of the sprinkler systems turning on and springtime brings a parade of landscaping trucks to ‘freshen up’ the mulch.

There are about thirty houses in my neighborhood, tied together with streets that are all named after different types of trees. Over the years, I’ve walked the loop from Laurel Hill to Hemlock to Oak Ridge hundreds of times.

On one edge of our neighborhood is a private beach that we all share. There are a handful of canoes and kayaks, two picnic tables, and about fifty feet of sandy beach where the neighborhood kids squabble over sand toys and gummy snacks. It’s the modern version of the town commons. We don’t bring our livestock there to graze, but it’s where we go to catch up on the local gossip.

When we first moved here, we met our neighbor Derek at the beach. He had a big smile, a dark tan and he loved to fish. When our daughter was born, he bought a pink pool noodle and stashed it under his canoe for her so she would always have something to float on. He was the type of guy that always had something positive to say. Spreading his arms wide, he’d gesture towards the puffy clouds and water and say, “Can’t beat it…nope, can’t beat it.”

Derek hated winter. In the summer, we’d see him every other day, but in the wintertime, we’d go months without a glimpse of him. Once we saw him shoveling snow off his car and he was a shell of the person we saw at the beach in the summer.

“I fucking hate winter,” he said, kicking snow off his boots and pulling his fur-lined hat farther down over his head.

We didn’t see him again until the snowbanks were gone and we were all back at the beach together. While I spread sunscreen across my kids’ faces, he slathered himself with baby oil, making sure to point out the sheen that spread from his body when he went swimming.

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