July 26, 2019 - News Post

For a generally quiet place, my neighborhood is extremely active. There are random kids running around, people walking dogs, elderly people watching the sunset. It’s probably louder than I let on, but the fan next to me in the summertime drowns all that out.

The point is: Despite not interacting with the neighbors all the time, they’re always there.

Almost always there.

Last night, for whatever reason, every apartment and condo in my complex was vacant. Several people moved recently, more went on vacation, people went out for dinner... No one was there. On one side of me was an empty place for sale, on the other is a time share condo that is between visitors. To top it off, even my wife was out for a work thing.

When I walk my dogs after work, I’ll typically see anywhere from 3-4 people I know and another half dozen strangers. Not last night. Last night was a freakin’ ghost town. At 5:30pm, I didn’t see a human, a dog, a car, a light, or any other sign of life. I wasn’t unhappy to have a little privacy, it was simply unusual.

It was nice... at first.

I walked my dogs for 10 minutes, listening to the sound of the breeze and nothing else. I didn’t notice the emptiness when I started. Yet as the walk became 20 minutes, then 30 minutes, I began to get creeped out.

Where WAS everyone?

Had I missed a tsumani warning? Was there a radioactive disaster no one bothered to tell me about? Did I smell?

As I checked on that last theory, I noticed a car driving up the path toward the front of my place. A dusty, white car that I had not seen before. They stopped just past my walking path, but left enough of their bumper in the way that I had to walk around.

I watched as a sun bleached couple in their seventies stepped out, barely an arm's length away. Were they looking for me?

No. I could tell from the rental car decals that it was for the timeshare next door. These were guests. Temporary neighbors that I had yet to meet.

As I approached the back of their car, I could see the couple was exhausted. They had gone through a long day. The last thing they wanted was to talk to someone like me. But because I was craving any sort of attention, I gave them a big, boisterous wave.

The man, who was in the driver's seat, whipped his eyes right past mine, avoiding any chance of eye contact.

The woman looked right at me, and let out the following words:

"I TOLD you not to get the teriyaki sauce."

I was a bit confused. Until behind me, I heard a voice.

"But I didn't know. I told you I didn’t know." The man replied. He sounded both defeated and scared.

Without another word, they marched up the stairs to their intermittent home and disappeared for the night. From behind the closed door, there was one more muffled whimper.

"I swear I didn't know."

Those were the only humans I saw all night. I had no idea what that conversation meant. I don’t think I want to know.

It felt so good to get back to normal.

-Jeff