A Hopeful Situation

Good fortune, bad fortune, life's a bitch, life is beautiful.

We moved to NH 27 years ago. Never looked back. Sometime in the last 27 years a guy named Dave, I think, moved in next to us in a pre-fab, trailer type maybe type thingy. I don't know. These things are not important to me so they don't burn a memory in my brain.

Carol - the opposite. She can tell you his name -  first, middle and last, the exact date he moved in, his kid's name, where he worked, both of their birthdays and their favorite pies.

If I remember correctly, the lot was empty when we fled Massachusetts, and when we saw activity over there we worried about the caliber of neighbor who would be moving in. Not sure. Check with Carol. We worried because our other neighbors are the lowest scum on the planet. The kind you could kill slowly as you look into their eyes and not feel one nano-second of remorse.

Anyway the guy, I think, was in a hopeful situation. I think he just scored a job up here that he was excited about, he had the kid, maybe just dumped the wife. I think it was a fresh start.

Fast forward to now. The job fell apart. The guy was thrown into a difficult situation. The squeeze. The life ain't fair squeeze. Mortgage payment problems, the bank looking to collect their vig, and acting every bit as callous and cold as your bookie when you picked Denver in Super Bowl XXIV and lost to San Francisco 55 to 10.

He's gone. Worked something out with the bank, I guess. The bank wanted to physically remove his heart, his spleen, his soul and his future. He worked something out apparently that involved only money.

New couple moved in. Young. We know that because of our busy body neighbor who apparently has researched the life history of everybody on the street.

Apparently they bought the place for 19 cents.

Should we hate them? Opportunity resulting from a ruined life.

I can't hate them. If I could buy another house for 19 cents I would not hesitate. Of course I would have to medicate Carol like you do your pets when you fly from Pawtucket to Japan. She wakes up, groggy, I tell her everything is all right, this is our new home.

Three months later I remove the straight jacket and she settles right in to the new routine.

It's just weird to watch the progression. A new start, hope, a future. Failure and defeat at the hands of this foolish world we live in now. Another new start for people who seized an opportunity and are not emotionally invested in the life of the former occupant.

All while we sit here absolutely choke hold handcuffed, paying for our house for the second time, as we watch lives ruined and lives illuminated with hope.

Whose to say this new couple won't be destroyed by the economy? Or wind up divorced and hatred filled.

Maybe it's the goddamn vibe of that lot. Maybe anybody who moves there will drown in tears.

I don't know.

The guy used to snow plow out our mail box. This Dave guy. Nice guy. He'd bop over and plow out the mailbox for Carol. She always shovelled out the mailbox. I was too busy drying out my socks and waxing my shovel so I could go back out and help her shovel out the mailbox.

Should a guy who plows out your mailbox, lose his home and throw his kid's life into turmoil?

Should a new young couple move in and dare to hope?

They probably won't even shovel out our mailbox.

Life is weird. Feather and stinger, poison and wine.

At my age you get, sometimes, to sit back and watch the cruelty interact with the hope.

As long as your arms are not up in your face in a gesture of self defense.