Nebulous Mooch

There is something about the Florida countryside that I find a bit unnerving. I went to a party at my husband’s friend’s house. It was out in the country. It took us an hour to get there. They were nice people; I had never met them before. They had a nice house. They had a lot of land out in the middle of nowhere.

The trailers on cement blocks and practically falling down houses we passed to get to their house disturbed me. I wondered were my husband was taking me and if I would survive. Because I’m a black woman, I try to stay out of redneck neighborhoods. I don’t have anything against rednecks. We run in different circles. I leave them alone and they leave me alone.

When we turned down the small dirt trail in the woods that led to the house, I felt unsettled. Maybe I saw “Deliverance” too many times. (Okay, I only say it once but that was once too many for me.) “I’m not going to get killed here, am I?” I asked my husband.

“You’ll be fine,” he responded. To the left of the narrow dirt trail was a chain link fence that hopefully held in their neighbor’s seventeen dogs.

The party was good. The people were friendly. The food was good. There was a bonfire and live music. There was the sound of a chainsaw in the distance that lasted late into the night. Who saws wood in the dark? That sound reminded me not to get too comfortable.

Last month, my husband went to England for ten days. While he was away, our noisy upstairs neighbors moved out. They moved out in the middle of the night. There was lots of banging around and dropping things. They left a pile of glass from a mirror they broke in the bushes next to the sidewalk. That’s typical of them.

After they were gone, there was a lot of speculation–not that I’m nosy and have nothing better to do than wonder about the neighbors. I’m just curious and interested in learning more about the things that go on around me. I was happy they were gone, but I was also concerned. Today I learned that my speculation and concern may have been warranted.

This evening a stranger knocked on our door and of course my husband answered it. If I were home alone, I would’ve just pretended that I wasn’t home, but my husband always answers the door. I don’t think that’s a good thing. I mean, what if it’s a crazy killer. It was a good thing he was home tonight because if he wasn’t home I would’ve missed out on some interesting information.

This stranger was a woman who was asking a lot of questions about the upstairs neighbors. “Did a Barbara Jones live upstairs?” she asked. (The names have been changed.)

“Yeah, Barbie,” I answered.

“We don’t know her last name,” my husband added.

“Was she living with Doug?” the woman asked.

“I thought his name was Ken,” my husband responded.

The woman laughed knowingly. “Were they driving a green Honda Civic?” (The car has also been changed.)

“Yeah,” my husband responded.

“How long ago did they move out?”

“I don’t know maybe three weeks ago,” my husband said. “May I ask what this is all about?”

“It’s personal. I’m a private investigator. Thanks for your help.”

“I wonder if her name was Magnum,” my husband joked after she left.

I wonder what’s going on.

I’m not a big dog fan. I’m sorry to all you dog lovers out there. I’m sure your dog is the best dog ever, especially when it’s not trying to bite someone’s hand off. I’m sure I would love playing fetch in the yard with your dog and let it eat Milk Bones out of my bare, trembling hand. Your dog is different from all those other dogs. It’s special.

Some people are afraid of dogs. Dog lovers don’t seem to understand this. When I lived in Vermont, it seemed that most stores had a dog in them. Usually it was a large fuzzy retriever type that would try to sniff my butt while I browsed the CD’s or jump on me while I picked out a bag of chips. “Don’t worry. He’s friendly.” Dog owners always say that. What they mean is, “He won’t take a chunk out of your leg as long a you don’t look him in the eye.”

Once, I went to the video rental store in Montpelier and in the section that contained the video I wanted to rent was a woman and her rottweiler. I walked around the store for a bit waiting for them to leave that aisle so that I could get the video I wanted, but they just wouldn’t leave. She stood there carefully picking up and examining every video in the section.

Finally she noticed me glancing in her direction. “You can come over here and look.” She motioned to me with her hand. “Don’t be afraid of him. He’s harmless. Anyway he’d never bite you. He’s a vegetarian.”

“That’s okay, I’ll wait,” I said as a started another lap around the store.

A vegetarian, it’s a dog. His forced vegetarian diet probably made him even more volatile. My leg was probably looking pretty delicious to him.

My husband and stepson make no bones about being afraid of dogs. I, on the other hand, am slightly ashamed of my fear and try to conceal it, but the dogs know. The dogs always know, so I keep my distance.