There’s only so much sleep you can lose before something inside you finally says, “Enough!” I reached that point one long night, and what happened afterward was nothing as I expected.
Seven years in the same cul-de-sac had taught me the rhythm of the place by heart. I knew whose sprinklers came on at six, which porch light stayed on all night, and which mailbox always had a wreath, even in July.
I honestly thought we’d found the perfect neighborhood to raise our future kids.
It was the kind of street where my kids could ride their bikes until the streetlights came on, and I never once had to check the window.
I honestly thought we’d found the perfect neighborhood.
My husband, Mike, and I bought the house when our son, Todd, was still in a car seat. His little sister, Claire, hadn’t been born yet.
Back then, I remember standing in the empty living room and thinking we’d finally found it.
“This is the one, isn’t it?” Mike had said.
“This is the one,” I told him.
We’d finally found it.
***
Everyone knew each other.
We had Fourth of July barbecues where every driveway had a folding chair. Cindy, from two houses down, watched our cat every summer. And if a package landed on the wrong porch, it would be back on its owner’s porch before dinner.
***
Then, last spring, the “SOLD” sign went up on the little blue house across the street.
A moving truck arrived on a Monday. Out stepped a young couple, maybe in their late 20s, with matching sunglasses and attitude.
The “SOLD” sign went up.
***
That Saturday, I did what I’d done for every new family on the block.
Trying to be a good neighbor, I baked my homemade apple pie, the one with the lattice top, and walked it across the street wearing oven mitts.
Brittany and Chad. I learned their names from the realtor’s card still stuck in the door’s crevice.
I rang the bell. Brittany opened the door in a silk robe at two in the afternoon.
I did what I’d done for every new family.
My new neighbor looked at the pie the way you’d look at a flyer for gutter cleaning.
“Hi, I’m Helen. This is for you and your husband.”
“Cool… thanks.”
The door shut in my face before I could say anything else.
I stood on her porch holding the empty mitts for a second, then laughed to myself and walked back home. Not everyone likes making friends with their neighbors.
The door shut in my face.
***
That night, I told Mike about it while I was loading the dishwasher.
“She literally shut the door in your face?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wow.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Maybe she’s shy.”
My husband raised an eyebrow.
“Shy people don’t wear silk robes at 2 p.m., Helen.”
“Maybe she’s shy.”
I flicked soap at him, and he laughed, and that was the end of it.
At least that’s what I honestly thought at the time.
***
Around 10 p.m., I went upstairs to tuck Todd and Claire in. Todd was already half asleep, one arm flung over his stuffed dinosaur, the nightlight painting little stars on the ceiling. His sister breathed deeply in the next bed.
I kissed their foreheads and pulled the door almost closed.
I honestly thought at the time.
***
A few days later, Mike and I were fast asleep when it woke me up.
A slow, low thump came from somewhere outside. Then another. Then a full bass-line, rattling faintly through the front window downstairs.
My eyes shot open, and I quickly looked at the illuminated clock: 11:30 p.m.
Mike woke up, too.
“It’s okay, I’ll go check on the kids and see what’s going on,” I told him.
It woke me up.
I shoved my feet into my slippers and walked to Todd’s room.
Luckily, the noise hadn’t woken them, so I stepped to their window and looked across the street. Every light in Brittany’s house was on, and the curtains pulsed to the beat.
I told myself the same thing I’d end up telling myself a hundred more times.
It’s just one night.
The noise hadn’t woken them
The bass didn’t stop that first night. It kept going until 3 a.m.!
The nuisance occurred frequently enough that it started affecting the kids.
***
By morning, I had two exhausted kids and a headache that felt permanent.
I initially told myself it was a housewarming.
New couple, big move, one wild weekend. I could be patient.
The bass didn’t stop.
The bass didn’t stop that first night. It kept going until 3 a.m.!
The nuisance occurred frequently enough that it started affecting the kids.
***
By morning, I had two exhausted kids and a headache that felt permanent.
I initially told myself it was a housewarming.
New couple, big move, one wild weekend. I could be patient.
The bass didn’t stop.
“Hi, Brittany. I’m so sorry to bother you again. Would you mind turning the music down just a little? My kids can’t sleep.”
She’d lean on the doorframe with a glass in her hand, look me up and down, and give me that smile. The one that made me feel as if I were the problem, or the crazy one.
“Relax, Helen. It’s just one night.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Except it was never “just one night.”
There were cars blocking driveways, red plastic cups on our lawn by morning, and strangers screaming with laughter at 2 a.m. as if the street belonged to them.
***
The whole neighborhood started calling the police. I saw Cindy on her porch one night in her robe, her phone pressed to her ear, and I knew we were all doing the same thing at the same time.
There were cars blocking driveways.
Patrol cars came. Officers knocked. The music went down for 20 minutes, then crept back up the moment the officers were far enough away.
Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed.
***
Cindy waved me over one afternoon while I was checking the mail. She looked tired in a way that went beyond lacking sleep.
“You know why nothing’s sticking, right?”
“I have no idea,” I said.
Patrol cars came.
“Her father. He’s one of the richest businessmen in the state. The citations are dismissed. Every time. He’s got a lawyer on retainer who makes them disappear before they ever hit court. Everyone’s already given up trying to fight her.”