We are all so busy with our own problems.

I have many problems, many events happen during my day and often I claim the right to have a rest because I am tired. What about you? Do you to have many problems, I would assume so simply because you to are human and you to are alive so therefore you too will have problems. While we may not really notice our lives are so full of problems that we amazedly ignore other peoples problems a lot. As is natural these days we find it easy to share our load with other people who are either close friends or professional help.

But what do we do to help others with their problems? Do you help your fellow neighbour when it is plainly obvious that something is wrong ‘over the fence’ or do you turn a blind eye in that direction until the storm is over (if it is not a seemingly permanent problem over the fence) and hope that those particular neighbours will hurry up and sort out the problem soon so you don’t feel uncomfortable when you are near them or you find it uncomfortable when your eyes connect with theirs and you see their troubles in their souls.

What about when they have no fuel for their fire? It does make one uncomfortable to see that their children are not warm on those cold days and nights, of course that is the children’s parents problem so you don’t need to feel guilty, but as is human nature we as neighbours know that society states in its unwritten way that “Its every man, woman and child for themselves” but still it does bothers us deep down inside just the same. Of course you cannot give them wood from your generous stack in the wood shed because you know human nature and it states clearly that your neighbours may just become reliant on you for supplying their firewood each Winter so its obviously better for the neighbours themselves to get their own firewood, when they can. Then they can feel proud (as you do) that they are warming their own little ones from their own means. Who are you to take way their pride?

Oh sure you have noticed that the ‘little ones’ next door often are not well and cough and have runny noses. You feel pity that their parents have not ‘got their act together’ as you have, but you have hope.

Of course nobody really knows what goes on behind closed doors so we can assume that what we see when we glance over the neighbours fence that they have somehow soaked up more troubles than we have due to their own misfortune or lack of motivation. When we arrive home we often look at our own home with pride and can feel good knowing that we have worked hard for our own piece of land brandished with love and carefully planned manicured looks, just the thing to set the street off in a glow as does a bright star in the sky amongst other smaller, duller stars. Oh yes our little dwelling is a delight for sore eyes. Oh sure our middle class dwelling has that touch of clarity that the neighbour does not have, but one could admit (if you cared to) that the neighbours shabby dwelling place that they call home sort of highlights your own home as a dark dangy frame does around a clear crisp painting of the sea shore on a bright sunny day.

We are good neighbours. We are nice and friendly. We say hello over the fence to those very neighbours that are mentioned in the above paragraphs of this dismal text. We don’t venture to much into conversation with them because it is clear that they live on a different mental level than we do. It is good to have high standards.

When you hear those very neighbours argue so loud that you and the other neighbours cannot help but hear the contents of the conversation, you feel ashamed that they live so close and you worry about the dear little ones in that home that have to hear the voices raised in anger. One day you may even call noise control or the Police, but you really don’t want to get involved so you turn the television volume up or play some music to drown out the domestic misery from next door that seeps through the clean polished glass and shiny painted walls of your own humble abode. It is such a shame that some people act this way as it upsets the whole neighbourhood. It takes away the ‘smoothness’ of the street, if you know what I mean. You and your partner in marriage would never allow your disagreements to be ‘aired’ in such a way. You had better parenting than the neighbours obviously did, and it shows.

You of course are very careful where you look the next day when you walk down the path to your letter box and you see the neighbours wife gardening with a clearly shown black eye, closed up in its ugly swelled clamped way. You quickly say “Hello” and look the other way as you make a lurch for your letter box and empty it of its contents and head back inside your house where you don’t have to be submitted to such shame. Your heart sinks “Oh that poor woman” you think. Still it would be so good if ‘he’ would only get a job and lay off the booze. He looks so unkept and foolish as he limps down the road with that twisted leg. He has no pride that man, as you well know and can plainly see. Obviously made a go of married life but has failed and thrown his poor wife and children into poverty, the poor dear things.

You heard through the raised voices that ‘she’ the woman next door is unhappy because of lack of funds. He said that he was doing the best that he can but nobody wanted to hire a man with a bad back and twisted leg, even with his experience. You could tell by the tone of his voice that he was trying to defend himself but it was obviously pointless, a mute point. She was crying tears of despair, the children were crying the tears of the heartbroken, loud banging and crashing noises could be heard for a short while, and then he just got up and walked out of the house leaving them in their misery, down the path he bobs slamming the old picket fence gate with its broken hinge wailing, slammed shut with a loud clatter. There he goes his face twisted in anger while his inadequate body hobbles down the street wearing those rags (he has no shame) to you know where, the local drinking house – the only place he fells welcome and happy these days. It has become a familiar sight for the neighbours woman to see this man head in that direction after a loud display of domestic dispute with his wife.

You wring your hands together tightly as you watch that ugly unkept twisted man limping down the road and you are thankful that your man is not so weak and hopeless. Your man was brought up in a good middle class family and endured a good education as well. Top of the class he was, and a good sportsman as well. Arrives home in a suit, his trusty polished black briefcase at his side and driving his new car, the envy of all the neighbourhood woman. Sure you have both had your moments but you can be sure he would always be at your side while you would always be at his. Sometimes he has commented that you take a more than healthy interest in the happenings of the neighbourhood but you know that he does not mean it. You must tell him about that broken picket fence railing on the front fence so he can get somebody in to fix it, it may need to be painted as well because the broken nail chipped the paint work on the paling and after a new nail has been inserted the head of the nail would show. So you must find a painter to come and cover it all up with new paint.

The crying has subsided next door and finally you can get some rest, the loud cries of the children were grating on your nerves and you had trouble thinking. You look out of the window and see the neighbours children filter slowly out of the house into the front yard, rubbing away the tears from their dirty little faces. They sit in a huddle on the grass talking quietly while their Mother cries inside the house, their shoeless feet touching as they sit in a tight circle offering each other comfort in their own little dismal world. You wish that you could do something for those little ones, but that would be interfering in areas where you ‘know’ that you are not welcome. Neighbours domestic problems can be so tiring for you and so very unwelcome to your otherwise busy day. You think that its such a pity that all people are not equal and that society has seen fit to put some above others. Such is suburban life though, you take the good with the bad.

You sit and ponder about what went wrong next door, not that its any of your business, but you do have to live next door to them. He had a good full time job working for a big time company. They repaired large earth moving equipment, huge steel dinosaurs that crushed everything in their path. He drove a nice car, wore good clothes and the family was the picture of suburban bliss. She, his wife, was young, pretty, youthful and full of joy. The children started to arrive and they, the parents, would play with the children in the back yard, a knot had fallen out of a plank in the fence and you sometimes would see the joy as you passed by while doing your chores or relaxing in the sun. You then remember with a shudder the day you looked through the knot hole to see an eye looking back at you, you quickly walked away trying to hide from the children’s laughter next door. “Had they no pride” you wonder. That very next day you couldn’t bear not to have just a small peek through again and to your total and amazed surprise you got soaked from the neighbours hose which was poked through the knot hole and again young children’s laughter filled the air. Your face soaking wet you stormed off wondering when these people would teach their children to respect their elders. This event only confirmed to you why you decided not to have children. Oh sure your husband wasn’t happy with this decision at first but he has had time to realise that your wishes should be taken heed of, after all he loves you and that’s what counts – your relationship with or without children. For better or worse.

You never became friends with the neighbours because you could ‘feel’ that you and they, were not matched. Then one day he disappeared, the husband, you thought that he had run off with another woman, in fact that was the general view of the entire neighbourhood. Nobody seemed to know where he was. You dare not ask her, his wife, where he was. And with his disappearance the rumors grew. But after a month or so he appeared again, but in a wheelchair then after a while he used crutches. Something was wrong with his leg. This was when the trouble started.

Obviously he had made some mistake at work and now was paying the price for his negligence. Sadly his family may have to pay the price – on welfare. You hoped that it was only a broken leg and that all would be well. Your sister Becky who lives four houses up the street said her husband Wilfred had told her that he met a man who knows a man and this mans uncle told him that the man next door was knocked down by a crane and then had his leg run over by a big earth moving machine as he fell in front of it. He had his leg run over, what a careless thing to do. A tragedy to be sure. The bones were broken so badly that they could not be set properly. You have noticed that over the last year or so that the man next door has become bitter and enraged with his own self pity, and she and the children sadly have to bare the brunt of his shame and weakness. Oh how you pity them. First they lost their car, it was reposessed, then the house became run down, they were obviously on welfare. He can now hobble without his crutches which is some sort of blessing you suppose.

You know that misfortune sometimes has a tragic way of creeping up on some families and twisting joy into painful fate and hardship. Oh how you can count your blessings. You have your own car, a nice modern home that you and your husband built to your specifications. The only gray area in your life is the plight of the neighbours next door. A week ago to make matters worse you saw an ambulance in the neighbours driveway. Obviously you were deeply worried and you ran to your window, ensuring that your carefully chosen net curtains could hide your worried peering eyes from the neighbours. And you wondered with pain in your heart, who was to be taken to hospital. “Was it one of those poor unfortunate children chilled through the night or was it the dear Mother, had he taken to her again?” you wonder as your peeking eyes dart around the home next door hoping for some glimpse of the latest misery to be had there. But to your genuine surprise ‘he’ was being brought home from hospital. Oh, and to your total dismay, his leg was missing, the twisted one. You consider this fact and realise that the twisted leg was useless anyway so the best thing was done.

“Oh that poor dear” you involuntarily cry with a suddenness that surprises you. As you are quick to work out she, his wife would have no chance of a decent life now if she were to stay with this torn shell of a man. A tear runs down your cheek leaving a trail of mascara like that of a snail having traveled through black coal dust on its lonesome way to find some greenary, as you consider her new life, and the children’s plight while he gets looked after day after day not working for his living and willfully taking the hard earned tax money ‘your’ husband is decent enough to earn for your government and society. You turn away from the window with a sigh of despair and wipe away the solitary tear of pity. While repairing your mascara you realise that it is time to start to prepare your husbands dinner as he is due home soon from work. Your husband rings and tells you that he has to work late. You to tell him of the latest happenings over at the neighbours house. He says that he is sorry about the neighbours leg, but as you try to tell him more he states that he is due back to work and hasn’t the time to chatter, which is a pity but you know that he has to climb the ladder of success as you expect him to. You have never complained about his late nights because you know what your duty is to him and society. You try not to compare your husband with the man next door but sometimes you cannot help yourself. Oh how they differ.

Last night was when all the real excitement came to your humble street. All was quiet and blissful in your neighbourhood of ‘near’ perfection. Your husband was asleep in his bed, you thought that it proper that you both had single beds in the same room as your Mother advised. He was snoring as he delved into sleepy wonderland after a tiresome day toiling with government matters, every now and then you could here him mumble in his sleep and you turn your back to him so that you can get some well earned rest.

Then you hear a loud boom, it sounded like a gunshot. It shattered the silence like thunder crackling across the sky. Your eyes are open wide in an instant at the close proximity of the sound so loud and clear to your tender unaccustomed ears. Both you and your husband get out of bed with speed, you both put on your matching red Michael Schumacher dressing gowns (your husbands choice, they match new his car. You drive a BMW.), you run to his side and then you both run to the bedroom window which faces the front section, he puts his arm around your shoulders to comfort you. You look next door because that’s where you expect the trouble to be and you see people gathering in the street in their dressing gowns at the front of your home. “Has he finally put her out of her misery or has she finally had enough” you wonder silently.

The people are looking and pointing toward your place, the mumble of many excited raised voices can be heard as the neighbours all gather together in the crisp cold air of the night, some jumping up and down to keep the blood flowing in their chilled limbs. You look in their direction and see that they are pointing toward your back yard, not at your neighbours. You and your husband exchange amazed glances. This is totally unexpected. You hear a fire engine with its siren screaming. In the darkness you can see the flickering of flames on your side fence, it has a mesmerizing effect in the dark of the night, the flames licking the air in their dance of delight. Both you and your husband put on your matching Ferrari slippers and run down the hall being careful not to trip on the lush white carpet and your husband unlocks and opens the back door with speed. The terrific glow of the fire invades your eyes and you squint to look into the flames. The heat hits you hard and can easily be felt fifteen feet away, you involantarily step backwards. And then your eyes begin to focus on the gruesome picture that unfolds in front of you. A picture that nobody could forget in their entire lifetime.

You both stare in total shocked horror at the grisly sight that appears to you. You feel faint, your legs begin to give away. Foreign unfamiliar smells enter your nostrils, you gasp as you try to breath. You feel the strong able arms of your husband clasping your waist to steady your weakening body while you both stare….

You cannot take your eyes away from the sight that has torn its way into your cosy life and shattered your bliss. He is obviously dead, the neighbour. But the confusing part is why he is dead in your back yard, going up in a huge ball of flames in your wood shed, your Winter stock of wood burning with him, sparks raising into the sky whisking around with the wind. The wood shed door is open to reveal the sorry sight of what was once a proud hard working man, the man next door. You feel faint as the sight dissolves in front of you and your body goes limp and collapses from the strain and welcome darkness envelopes your strained mind giving you peace.

The doctor arrives and gives you a sedative to calm your nerves, finally you fall to sleep on the sofa. As the night progresses you know that your husband will deal with the situation in a professional manner as is his way. You didn’t marry him because of any weakness, he was carefully chosen with the help of your dear Mother. You shudder at the thought of the neighbour in your burning shed as you drift off into blissful sleep. As the night wears on you wake drowsily and you see your husband talking to a lady on the couch across the room, she looks familiar to you, someone you can trust, you hear the word suicide mentioned and you feel sorry for the man next door because its obvious to you that he took his own life. You ponder at this new event that fate has put on that poor family next door. You sigh and drift off to peaceful, relaxing sleep. Content in the knowledge that you are in safe hands. Fate would never treat you in this way.

You wake again in your own bed to see the woman who you now recognize as your doctor standing over you with a clear smile through those perfect teeth, she is holding an injection and you sigh, another one? She enters it into your arm and you feel the soft prick and your doctor smiles at you. She looks confident and sure of herself in every way, this comforts you. Your husband walks up behind her and puts his arms around her, she turns and they kiss with longing passion. You smile at the sight in your drowsiness, you would never let him kiss you in such a way, it was shocking really.

Then you realise that something is wrong, they are both smiling at you and talking about suicide again. She, the doctor says that the Police are finally gone. The doctor then points to you and then something next to you, talking as she does this, explaining things to your husband. He looks on and nods his head, he has his arm around her waist and is holding her firmly.

He has a pleased satisfied look on his face, a look that you have never seen before. You follow the direction that she is pointing to and you see the side table next to your bed and see the needle and medical bottle on it next to a piece of paper with words written on it. You understand now. The doctor is wearing gloves to hide her fingerprints. You watch as she lifts up your sleepy limp hand and places your fingers around the syringe and applies your fingerprints to the apparatus, you faintly feel the movement of your hand and fingers. You stare at ‘them’ and the happy picture they make together, they are both smiling at you. You are drifting now, drifting away… never to return. All the while wondering why you deserve this…

Written by James M Sandbrook.
‎Thursday, ‎26 ‎August ‎2004, ‏‎11:35:38 PM.