You got big boobs, that blow my mind. Excuse me, while I kiss this guy
– Misheard lyrics
I’m 19 now, almost 20, and I think my parents are a little worried about me. I finished high school more than a year ago, and I got pretty good grades. I applied to the best schools I could think of for journalism, and between my grades, my writing samples and my SATs I got offered a full ride at each school. I deferred admission against my parent’s better judgement, and said I was going to work a year. I told them I wanted to ‘gain valuable life experience’. Realising that I wasn’t going to change my mind, they supported my choice, believing - as I did at the time - that it was just going to be one year away from school. It’s already two.
I think they pictured me working like a pig for 9 months at a couple of jobs and then backpacking Europe or the Pacific Rim for a couple of months before going to school. Instead, I got a job pumping gas, and I spend a lot of time stoned and reading books. I read a lot. I don’t just read books, I read magazines and the newspapers as well, but for the most part I read books, and I’ll read pretty much anything: trade fiction, paperback pulp, biographies and memoirs, whatever. If someone I trust says it is worth a read, I’ll pick it up. If it was something that was kind of boring, I’d just smoke some grass while I read it, and that usually helped. What started out as my occasional indulgence has become pretty much every afternoon of my life: after my morning shift at the Gas and Sip, I read books and smoke pot.
You know what? It’s a pretty good life. I recommend it.
Of course it has some drawbacks. I read somewhere that smoking pot can decrease your libido. At least, I think I read that. I might have heard it somewhere, or saw something on TV about it, but for some reason when that fact comes to mind, I remember it as being something I read. I think there might be some truth to that, considering I haven’t jerked off in probably three weeks. I wasn’t masturbating much at all since I started smoking up, and was hardly ejaculating except for a brief period of time where I was getting head pretty much every other day from this trailer park mom who couldn’t afford gas. She was, quite frankly, a nightmare, but she gave good head and always made me feel like a stud telling me how huge a cock I have. I wouldn’t describe it as huge, but I admit I like hearing someone say it is. She was nice enough, and generally the five bucks worth of gas I bought her was a fair trade for sloppy head. It was a pretty good routine. One day I noticed she hadn’t been around in awhile as I leaned on a broom smoking my morning joint. I was kind of surprised that I didn’t really care.
* * * * *
I used to ride my bike to and from work, but one day I was a bit fried and I slammed my bike into a guardrail. The wheel got bent to all hell, so I decided to walk. The weirdest thing is I have a car, too. I just decided I liked the walk.
* * * * *
A few of my friends from high school came to see me their first break from university. They were all pretty wired up and excited about being away from home. They spoke of the freedom, and the intellectual stimulation, and the parties, and how once or twice they had even smoked some drugs. It struck me that except for the social aspect of it all, our lives were pretty much the same. I tried to be the good friend and pretend I was interested or happy for them, but I couldn’t really, and I think they felt that they had left me behind as their lives changed at school. Pretty soon the emails and phone calls stopped. Really, it was okay with me; I had developed my own life, and I liked it just like it was.
It all started to change when the house next door went up for sale.
Our neighbours on the east side were the Murray family. Don and Janine had both retired during my sophomore year in high school. Their kids were about halfway between my age and my parents’ age. I was barely in grade school when their youngest went away to college. The Murrays lived on the street longer than anyone else; they were here when my parents moved in, and they saw all three of us kids come home from the hospital. In a lot of ways they were like part of the family. Don played the role of big brother to my dad, helping him get used to being a home owner, etc. They talked a lot about sports and lawns. When we were kids, Janine would baby sit me and my sisters after school until my mother got home from her job, and when we were older, my parents, Janine and Don would go away for weekends. But the four bedroom house was “too much home” for a retired couple, and they sold the house in October. It sat empty until January. We didn’t ever meet the new owners during the transaction, but the Murrays said they were a nice younger couple, and that they thought it was cute that my parents would get to be the new owner’s Don and Janine. My parents seemed to like the idea.
* * * * *
It was just after the New Year, and I was walking home from my morning shift. It had been pretty quiet at the station because most people were taking a few extra holiday days, so I spent my shift reading Mike Hammer novel and smoking a fatty. I was still a little stoned as I turned the corner onto our street. There was a big Alliance Moving van parked in the driveway next door to my house. I stopped a couple of houses up the street and leaned on a light post. The movers were carrying the craziest shit into this house, and none of it seemed to go together. Big wood sculptures that looked like something out of the Amazon followed by a stuffed lion, followed by a Scandinavian leather couch, followed by a birdcage big enough for a person. I thought it was something out of a Tim Burton movie.
After I’d been watching for about five minutes (hey, I was stoned, it was entertaining) a BMW pulled up out front of the house. I’m not much of a car guy, but I could read the little thing that said BMW, so I know that’s what it was. It looked expensive. I was impressed. Then the owner got out of the car, and I was amazed. She looked like a movie star as her long leg slide out from inside the car. She was wearing one of those dresses the Indian women wear. I think they’re called saris. But she had pale white skin and thick red hair. Her breasts stretched the fabric of the dress, I’d guess she was a full C cup, and her ass was hugged by the cut of the skirt. I felt what had become an unfamiliar stirring in my boxers.
I watched her walk up to the guy who seemed to be overseeing the move. She tipped her sunglasses back into her hair to make eye contact as she spoke with him. She smiled and laughed at something he said and put one hand on his crossed arms. His chest puffed out with pride and I think he sucked his gut in as she walked past. His head cranked around to watch her ass sway in that dress as she entered the house. The movers were carrying a French chaise and came to a standstill as she walked in. I think I imagined it, but I could hear her heels click on the ceramic tiles of the entryway.
* * * * *
That night at the dinner table, my parents talked about our new neighbours. It was just the three of us at the table, as my eldest sister Robin had moved out this past spring to live in the city, and my other sister Laura was away at third year university.
“…some sort of big bucks executive I think Don was saying. Apparently he travels for months at a time.” My dad was looking at his dinner plate as he spoke.
“Well I met her briefly today. Her name is Sondra. Not Sandra. She corrected me.” My mom laughed as she reached for her wine glass. “She’s a professor at the university. Literature I think.”
Dad reached for his wine glass. “Yeah I think Don told me that too. Quite the jet setters, apparently. Something tells me our quiet little street might not appeal to them.”
Mom sipped her wine thoughtfully. “Well, we were pretty wild when we first got here too, don’t forget. Perhaps they came looking for a change.”
“Did you see their furniture?” Neither of my parents seemed to notice my interjection. “It was some of the craziest shit.”
“Daniel, that’s no way to talk at the dinner.” My mother cut into her meat as she spoke. “But yes, I did see it, and it was rather eclectic. It looks like it cost a fortune.”
“I’ll bet it did. Don says his agent told them they paid cash for the house. No mortgage at all. Can you believe it?”
My mother raised an eyebrow. “Well, good for them.”
My father nodded, and we ate the rest of the meal in silence. I think they had decided they weren’t going to have anything to do with our new neighbours.
* * * * *
I didn’t see much of Sondra the next few weeks, and I didn’t see her husband at all. With my parents making no effort to get to know our new neighbours, I didn’t even know the guy’s name. I blamed it mostly on working the morning shift. I was at work by 7am, and home by 2pm. Not much of anyone kept the same hours as me. As January turned into February, we had a stretch of unseasonably warm weather, and I took to sitting in the yard and reading. I was reading Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist for the second time. I think I fancied myself a sort of Stephen Dedalus. I, too, wanted to escape my people. I just finished my second smoke of the day when I heard the sound of an electric hedge trimmer and turned over to look. It was Sondra. She was standing on a step ladder trimming the top of the Murray’s privacy hedge. Her hair was in a pony tail and she was wearing a tight white t-shirt with a black bra. She saw me looking, and turned off the trimmer.
“Hello, you must be Daniel.” She smiled.
