my neighbor fell in love with me
The title of this story not strictly true, nor is it strictly false. What is love anyway, and who is to interpret the concept of “truth?” Let me start with the facts.
The Scottish man lived across the street on the ground floor of a two story house with a swimming pool. The house was owned by a woman who rented out the upper floor to groups of international students. Every year there was a new group: Dutch, Chinese, Malaysian. The house wasn’t really convenient to public transport, so no one ever stayed very long. There was always some kind of drama to mediate: breakups, cultural issues, homesickness - that house was never boring.
G was formerly a boat captain, and he was in New Zealand when a storm capsized a ferry carrying over 700 passengers. He took his yacht out in the rough seas to rescue people who had been forced to abandon ship - a true hero.
He had also served in the military, but was discharged after a bad parachute landing. He worked three days a week as a marshal at the nearby golf course. He drove himself to work, hauling himself into his old Subaru. When he wasn’t working, he spent a lot of time watching television, playing solitaire on the computer or chatting over a whisky (Isle of Islay, two fingers, splash of water, no ice) with a friend who would stop by once a week to bring him groceries.
I was the mother of two small children, an expat in Australia. When I first moved in, I brought chocolate chip cookies around to all the neighbors. G was the friendliest, and also the only other expat, so I continued to stop by once in awhile to drop off some soup or banana bread - he never cooked. He’d ask me to fix his computer or write an email for him. Sometimes on the weekends, I’d bring the kids over for a swim. Being rather ungrateful by nature, they were required to express their thanks before leaving. I’d wrap them up in their towels, and they would stand shivering and dripping in the living room, with the most sarcastic intonation: “Thank you, G, for letting us use your pool!”
G had a younger girlfriend at the time - she was in her late 70s. It was a bit on-off, and he would often complain about how annoying she was. She lived 100km away and would drive over every other week. They would sit in front of the TV, chain smoking and bickering. Sometimes he would break up with her after a fight, but then would call her in desperation some weeks later. This was mainly because he wasn’t able to manage cutting his toenails, and she was the only person who would agree to do it.
One day I stopped over with some curry, and G, a bit upset, asked me to sit down for a chat. He told me that his girlfriend accused him of having an affair with me. Apparently she found my occasional visits upsetting and forbade him to see me anymore. What’s worse, the argument escalated until she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and started chasing him around the house. He managed to get to his bedroom and block the door with his wheelchair. His phone was in the other room, so he started shouting for the students upstairs to help. Finally he got the mop out of the closet and started banging on the ceiling, and was able to summon the cavalry.
I wasn’t really sure how to react to this story. At the mention of an affair, I almost laughed (I mean, he could have been my grandfather!), but by the end, it seemed there was a real risk of homicide, so it was impossible to make light of it. I tut-tutted and urged him to look after himself. What more could I say?
They broke up again, and the house was quiet for some weeks. But inevitably, in the meantime his toenails continued to grow. I saw her car in the driveway and stayed away. I got the message through one of the students that I was not to contact G for any reason, not even by email.
Eventually I moved away and I never heard from him again. I wonder sometimes if he is still alive. I imagine him sitting in his lounge chair with a stiff whisky, smoking a cigarette in front of the telly with his legs out in front of him, toenails neatly trimmed. Was he in love with me? I guess I will never know.