Neighbors

Every few years, I drive down a familiar tree-lined street admiring the brick and stone houses. When I reach my childhood home on Raleigh Street, I slow down. Sometimes, I pull over and park in front of what used to be old Miss Stapleton's Victorian home, now painted tastefully in pastel periwinkle, magenta and lemon colors. I roll down my window, close my eyes and listen. If I listen long enough, I hear the melody of an ice-cream truck and the sounds of children calling for moms to come with coins. Listening longer, I eventually hear the sounds of the roller coaster at nearby Elitch Gardens clattering uphill followed by the joyful screams of people anticipating their ride down. And if I concentrate, I see all those wonderful neighbors outside in their yards and the children who used to be a part of that busy, happy time in my life. For you see, nobody moved back then. We all grew up together.

Our family, the Doerings, was the biggest family. There were seven of us, nine with mom and dad, and eleven with our grandmas.

The next biggest family was the Flynns. They lived three houses down on our side of the block. We played with them and fought with them and got in trouble with them. There were five to play with for a long time. But I remember the day when dad came home and looked at mom in his funny, fatherly way.

"Shocking," he said. "At her age?"

And mom looked at him and shook her head and said, "Poor Betty!"

So when Stephen was born, much younger than the rest, I looked at him but really couldn't find anything so shocking, except maybe the white tuft of hair that stood straight up in the middle of his head. And those first few weeks when Betty came home, I observed her from afar to see if she'd become poor, but all I ever really noticed was that she seemed much busier than before.

Across the street from the Flynn's lived Mrs. Farney. Mom said she had owned a farm until her husband died and she had to move to the city. We thought she was a farmer, for she always wore overalls and a sunbonnet and her back yard looked like we imagined a farm would look. It had straight rows of corn and radishes and carrots and every kind of vegetable you could name. It even had a pretty border of marigolds around the outside, which Mrs. Farney said was to keep us out. We would play in her yard, but never in her garden, and chase her cats, for she must have had a hundred. Mom said the cats kept her company. We always thought we were company enough for the whole block.

If we played long enough in her back yard, she'd eventually come out and ask, "Any of you young'uns hungry? I'm pickin what's ripe. If I put it in the basket, it's fair game to eat." We'd eat big, juicy tomatoes, crunchy, cool, cucumbers and the yummiest strawberries ever. In the fall, we'd eat apples and pears and always got to choose a nice fat pumpkin for Halloween.

Down the block from Mrs. Farney and across the street from us lived old Miss Stapleton. Mom said she had never married and had "inherited" the house, whatever that meant. She lived upstairs and rented out the main floor of the old, beautiful Victorian to a couple named Mr. and Mrs. McNulty. We called them the Nutley's. Miss Stapleton loved her garden. She loved beautiful flowers. She had flowers most every color in the rainbow. In fact, when it rained, and we looked out our front window, one or the other of us could always see a rainbow above her old house. We figured that was why it was so important for her to be out in that garden.

During the summer, we would go out and watch her and snicker, trying to hide our giggles behind our hands. For she always wore what looked to us like an old bra. She wore short pants and her skin hung in folds all over and jiggled and wiggled while she worked. She never seemed to notice or care we were there.

Next door to us was another house with a full house upstairs and another on the main floor. Two sisters lived there, as different as the night was from the day. The sister that lived upstairs was named Rinna. She always wore her hair up on top of her head like the lady at Smiley library. And she always wore dresses. Her part of the house was always neat and orderly and smelled of roses and fresh gingerbread. She was responsible for the front yard, which dad always said looked just like a picture in a magazine he once saw.

The sister that lived downstairs was named Mert. She had dyed black hair. We knew it was dyed because she had a white strip up the middle of her head. She was always smoking and coughing and reminded me of a train. Dad said she drank and talked and reminded him of a sailor. Her part of the house smelled like car grease because she always had one car or another in parts in the back yard. I remember dad saying, "It's a darn good thing she's responsible for the backyard and not the front." I guess he never saw her back yard in a magazine.

Next door to the sisters, lived Mr.and Mrs. Fisher. We never saw one without the other. In fact, sometimes we would get them mixed up because they looked alike to us. We always had to look close to see who it was we were talking to at the time. They were short and kindly and liked us to visit. They had a big old swing just like ours on their front porch. Every night during the summer, they'd be out there in that swing, watching us playing and running up and down the street. Some nights they'd invite us over for watermelon or ice cream or homemade pie. Mom said they didn't have any children of their own, so she didn't mind our hanging out on their porch, spitting seeds in the flowerbed, just two doors down.

Mom says she remembers the time Mrs. Fisher called her on the phone and said, "I just thought you might like to know that your daughter is asleep on our couch."

"Which one?" Mom asked.

"Louise," replied Mrs. Fisher.

"Ah hah, so that's where she got to. She's supposed to be doin the dishes."

"I'll send her home when she wakes up, if it's okay with you. She looks so peaceful, laying there on our couch."

And directly across the street from us and next to Miss Stapleton lived Roger and his two sons. Mom said his wife had up and left him with those two little boys. We always wondered why she had been in such a hurry that she couldn't have picked up the house or done the laundry before she left. The house was always a mess with piles of laundry in every corner. No one ever yelled at us for jumping on the furniture or tracking in dirt in Roger's house. If the boys were around at dinnertime, mom would ask them if they were hungry. I don't ever remember a time when they weren't. And mom never made them run across the street to ask Roger if it was okay for them to stay for dinner even though we always had to come ask if we wanted to eat dinner at one of our friends' homes.

Next door to us, on the other side, opposite the two sisters, lived the Fotinos. Their yard also took up one quarter of a city block. Mr. Fotinos always said that in the olden days, their house had been where the landowners had lived and ours had been where the servants had lived. We always thought they got it backwards because our house was the better. They were Russian Greek Orthodox and owned a bar and Mexican restaurant downtown.

As I grew older, I babysat their four children while they ran the bar and Mexican restaurant. It was fun because we'd all watch TV and pop popcorn and eat snacks until we had stomachaches. But after the children went to bed, I'd get scared because I heard weird sounds, different sounds from the sounds we had at home. Sometimes, I'd call dad, next door and he'd come over and check things out with his flashlight and leave saying, "Things look okay to me, but you owe me a dollar from your babysitting money." I don't remember him ever collecting, but it was a comfort to know he was just next door.

Summers were the best. We never wore shoes and the boys never wore shirts. If one of the neighbors had their sprinklers on, we thought it was an invitation for us to run through it. No one ever yelled at us for trampling on the lawn. In fact, sometimes Mrs. Farney or Mr. and Mrs. Fisher would set their sprinklers out just for us. And at night, we'd run all over the block, playing hide and seek, riding our bikes and roller-skating, or visiting this neighbor or the other.

When we'd go home, we'd find dad in the backyard laying in his chaise lounge looking up at the sky. Dad could lie there for hours looking up at that dark, night sky and all those stars. My brother would ask him, "How many stars did you count tonight?" He'd call us over and have us sit on the grass and we'd look up in the sky. He would point to pictures in the sky he saw. He was always trying to show us something called Ryan's Belt or Free Sisters or the Big Dipper. I can hear him say; "Now, you see that one? It's called the North Star? If you ever get lost at night, look for it because it'll help you find you way home." We always said we saw what he was talking about because we never wanted to disappoint him.

Now, when I drive down that street, it looks much different. Our house has a big, wooden fence around the yard with two very large, barking dogs inside. The elegant weeping willow tree and two stately pines are gone. The trim is painted a color that just doesn't seem to go with the bricks. I don't see anyone out and moving. I don't see adults out watering their yards or visiting and I don't see children playing in the yards, or riding their bikes up and down the sidewalk. All I hear are dogs barking and the sound of a not too faraway siren from a police car or fire truck. But I'm smiling anyway.