Neighbors

I’d lived in Boston for years, after a short stint staying with my parents who’d since passed away. My life was fairly calm that summer and I wasn’t expecting any surprises, new men, or visitors to my abode. My life might have been called “dull,” except that I don’t weigh myself down with a lot of expectations of lively company or love affairs.

It was so warm outside that I could smell the flowers in the window box of the couple who lived upstairs from me. So warm that I took two showers a day. So hot that I was imbibing more alcohol than I should have been – my only vice besides smoking – because it seemed to cool me off, with all that ice in my glass. I’d been snoozing a lot during the afternoons, waking up only to listen to the news on National Public Radio, which was mostly about the war in Gaza.

I have what may be a bad habit – sleeping days, staying up all night writing poetry. I’m only an amateur poet, but have had my work published in a number of literary journals. This makes me feel like a success, after an uneventful and low-paying career as an Administrative Assistant for a local opera company. I love the arts and I dedicated years to working in them. But nowadays I do stay up past midnight.

My friendly neighbors across the street always have their lights on at two or three o’clock in the morning, when I’m awake and smoking on my patio—but I don’t expect them to be! What are they doing up so late? I’m retired, so can afford to stay up until the wee hours of the morning, then sleep in, but them? I just don’t know how it happens.

He’s an accountant, she’s a nurse. I don’t exactly know them – I only see them in passing. Sometimes they drink wine on their balcony together – I watch them at a little wrought-iron table overlooking the yard. They seem to have a good, settled relationship judging by the way they keep company together.

One night, however, the husband—Jed—came by and told me a story. But before he did, he asked if I had seen any creepy characters in their driveway the night before. He must have seen me staying up late, too, across the street.

There had been a Summer Solstice Festival in the neighborhood the previous day. Drunken revelers had crowded the streets and I’d stayed inside more than usual because of the noise. The sound of rap music had blared from speakers a few blocks away. It was very annoying and it had been very steamy outdoors.

I hadn’t seen anyone suspicious, but in truth maybe I wouldn’t have noticed. Jed’s nephew, a cute kid named Jody, lived with him and his wife because the boy was in college nearby.

“Jody was dating three different women,” my neighbor said. “He’s an idiot. He was cheating on each of them. One of them hired someone to smash the windshield of his car.”

We walked over to Jed’s driveway and, sure enough, there was a lot of broken glass lying around and a hammer resting on the ground just outside the car’s front door.

“Did you call the police?” I asked Jed.

“Can’t do that. It was a revenge crime, and Jody deserved it.”

“Maybe it was just some drunk person carousing after the festival yesterday,” I said.

“No way,” Jed replied. He was sure about it.

I shuddered and went home, a little alarmed that a deed like that had been committed in our community. The neighborhood is fairly calm and quiet normally, except for the occasional motorcycle racing down the street with engines gunning. There’s even a houseful of Jesuit priests down the street – men I say hello to when I walk past and they’re outdoors, gardening. This area is really pretty tame.

Anyhow, it was still hot outside, so I took a cold shower and went outside again to the patio with a vodka-and-tonic. I sipped it slowly, thinking about all this mystery.

Over the next two weeks I saw Jody coming home with more women. Was he truly stupid, or just careless? I really wondered. Why would a teenager—practically a baby—be seeing so many girls at a time, during a phase of what I’d call “young love”? I’d have expected him to have one girlfriend—as I’ve said, he’s cute—but half a dozen?

I kept seeing the windows of Jed’s place lit up at two, three o’clock in the morning. Were he and his wife entertaining guests all the time? Were they up late making love? Were they afraid of the dark? Well, none of this was really any of my business. And maybe staying awake late at night gives these neighbors peace of mind. It does me. There’s nothing I love better than being awake until dawn, when almost everyone else is asleep. I feel “safe” on my patio, smoking, with the pitch-black night sky above me, gazing at stars and maybe a slipper moon.

But I do wonder which of Jody’s innumerable girlfriends hired the hit man? Did the guy really get paid for the job? And why hadn’t I seen or heard it? Jody got the window of the car replaced in short order. It must have cost him two week’s salary at his day job at MacDonald’s, serving burgers.

Jed told me a couple of weeks later that he’d asked Jody to move into a dorm at school – Jed and his wife were fed up with this kid staying with them. Jed said Jody didn’t like being asked, but he didn’t put up much of an argument, either, and did move out.

I guess, being a teenager in college, presumably pursuing a degree in Economics or Sociology or something like that, maybe the boy’s not actually stupid, just really, really careless. And I was actually glad not to have been a witness. Some things you just don’t want any part of.

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Martha Patterson

Martha Patterson's 27-story collection "Small Acts of Magic" was published by Finishing Line Press in 2021, and her poetry collection "Luna at Dawn—23 poems" was published by Bottlecap Press in 2025. Her work has also been published in more than 35 anthologies and journals, and her plays have been produced in 21 states and eight countries. She has two degrees in Theatre, from Mount Holyoke College and Emerson College, and lives in Boston, Massachusetts. She loves being surrounded by her books, radio, and laptop.