When I arrived in first grade as a freckled-faced six year old, I was immediately overwhelmed. Back then classes were huge – numbering 40+in desks lined up row after row that to my little eyes seemed to go on forever. While I was used to a lot of people in a small space these were all strangers to me and all I wanted to do every day was stay at home. I never raised my hand and asked a question, never acknowledged that I knew the answer to anything, I never spoke. Everything was scary to me and I have no memories of being outside at recess, laughing with classmates, or going to a single birthday party. The end of every school day when it was time to meet my brothers for the walk home was a relief. When that dreaded first year was coming to a close my mom was told that I needed to be held back to repeat 1st grade because, among many other things, I could not read. Mom would not hear of it which was a gutsy move back in those days.
It took a long while but eventually I figured out the puzzle to reading, found my footing, and learned the art of small talk and making friends. Living on a corner house in my old neighborhood and often working outside, people walking by would stop all the time to talk and I chatted with all of them. First grade me had graduated to befriending strangers. Fast forward a few decades and now I’m living four blocks away with my beau and nobody seems to want to talk to either one of us.
In the early days when Mike had just moved in he introduced himself to the next door neighbor who wanted to know where he was from. “Originally California,” Mike said to which the guy replied, “We don’t care much for their politics around here.” Last spring he moved out which we think was a pity ICE hire or maybe we’re making that up because he was crazy and kept a gun strapped in a holster around his waist to change the oil on his car. His partner is still there and she doesn’t talk to us either which may or may not be traced back to that California thing.
Things changed for the better on our first Halloween here which was packed with young families and their kids. Everyone was chatty and outgoing but to our embarrasment we ran out of candy within an hour. This past year I stocked up and we wrapped ourselves in blankets and sat on chairs in the driveway to a smattering of trick-or-treaters and disappointment.
We talk often about how we need to put ourselves out there to meet our neighbors and I have suggested we do a driveway happy hour. “That’s a great idea,” Mike says but then I think – what if nobody shows up and we look like losers? The idea gets shelved for another six months.
This week I was home on my regular day off when the doorbell rang. This is such a rare occurrence that it startled me. When I went to the door there was a woman about my age standing on the porch and I thought it was someone I had briefly met that first Halloween here. She was taking her granddaughter trick-or-treating and was so friendly as she pointed to her house down the street. When I saw her at my door I thought “oh she’s coming by to do new friend stuff” because isn’t that what we do when we want to make friends? Just go door-to-door and make suggestions.
She was not that woman but someone who used to live in the house before it was rebuilt. “My cat loved to lay out here and look out at everything going on,” she told me and I smiled and said I had a cat, too, and he preferred laying on the back deck. We chatted some more and I told her how I was awakened in the middle of the night a few weeks ago to the sound of high-pitched barking. “I couldn’t figure out what it was and when I turned the porch light on a fox walked by. Can you believe that? The next morning I googled it and it turns out foxes bark when they’re looking for a lady friend,” and then laughed too long as I watched myself flailing wildly at Making A New Friend 101. Then she said she had something awkward to ask and I said “fire away,” because you couldn’t get more awkward than the weirdo talking about barking foxes looking for a one night stand.
Long story short I do not have a new friend but the ashes of her dead cat are now buried beside our front porch.
Do a driveway happy hour and invite your old neighbors. We will show up and teach them how to have fun!
Hilarious!!!
I suspect the woman was our Meghan’s Godmother, Susan. She had a sweet house, and several animals I remember her owning, rescuing or fostering. She also had a very green thumb. xo
Hi Kathy, I read your piece and don’t know whether to laugh or cry! This was definitely a surprise ending. Neighborhoods can be tough. I think of Kansas City as a very friendly place, but we may have lucked out. Do you have any kind of neighborhood board or club? If so, that might be a good place to start. Gerry moved to Rockhill before me and was quickly adopted by neighbors who invited him to dinner. One offered her Mercedes (he was still driving the moving truck because the Dean insisted he needed to review all of his departmental faculty, and he didn’t have time to go buy a car).
I’d come for a driveway happy hour any night!!
A much needed chuckle. Thank you.
For those of us with unsanctioned pet cemeteries in our yards— we get it!
What a weird cat lady.
Kathy, you are so funny and self-conscious about things: this is what makes you a writer. I’ve often thought: how would I make new friends when and if I need to? But think about your friends and how we all came to be. We were in the right place at the right time. And I hope we’ll all be around when you need us and when you don’t!
I didn’t see that ending coming. Made me laugh!
Loved this one Kathy !
A very interesting read . XO