f r e s h s t a r t
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
The neighbors
The building that Lindsay and I each have an apartment in is populated mostly by Spanish-speaking folks. My next door neighbors and I chat a little in a combination of Spanish and English, but I haven’t really gotten to know most of the other adults who live there, partly due to the language barrier. Anyway, everyone is polite and we say hello in passing, but my primary interactions are with the children who live there.
On a recent weekend afternoon:
I’m chatting on the phone, doing a few dishes, and have my kitchen door open so the dog can come in and out. Three boys, all who look to be about 7 or 8 come up to my door and step into the kitchen holding huge water guns.
“Can we please get some water?” one of them asks.
“Okay, sure, come on in.” I take the gun out of his hands, fill it and give it back.
“It isn’t full, look, there’s an air bubble.”
I sigh, take it back and say to my friend on the phone, “I’m running the neighborhood water gun filling station. I’ve got a line of three kids in my kitchen.”
On a weekday evening
I unlock the back gate and walk into the courtyard with my bike. Two of the boys are hanging out in the courtyard.
“Can I ride your bike?”
“I think it’s a little big for you, but you can give it a try.”
"It's not too big, I can do it!"
He climbs onto a step and gets on the bike, and rides it wobbily down the sidewalk for a few feet. His friend asks for a try, but I have places to go, so I tell him maybe later.
An hour later I’m heading out to meet a friend for dinner and I carry the bike down the stairs, and see my young friends still playing in the courtyard.
“Are you going to work again?”
“No, I’m going to get dinner with a friend.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
I tell them.
“Is that your boy?” one of them asks. (This is a 7 year old, mind you)
“He’s a friend, and that’s not really any of your business.” I say, laughing.
“Can I ride your bike now?”
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Pleeeaase.”
“Okay, fine, just for a second.”
I’m a sucker.
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