Life with the Neighbors, Part 1

A long time ago, two sets of neighbors ago, we lived for a long time next door to people with whom we did not get along.  And when I say "people with whom we did not get along," what I really mean is "people who I believe are psychopaths."  I was telling somebody a little bit about it the other day and I realized that it's something I don't have too much trouble talking about anymore.  We moved away from the roiling pit of abuse, stress and drama 10 years ago this month, so this is a story set in the past. It's also a story that taught me many life lessons and these stay with me today.  The story spans about a dozen years.  There is theft.  There is assault (or to be more precise "simple battery").  Numerous public agencies were involved over the years, including the county sheriff, the fire department, the city attorney's office, animal control and the Department of Children and Families. 

It's also a story about my life for a while.  At times it was enormously entertaining in a "what could they possibly come up with to top this" sort of way. 

Back in the spring of 1988, my father had been dead only about six months.  My husband and I had moved back to Florida in the latter part of 1988 to take care of him and also my mother.  We ultimately left a cool little life up in Delaware to take care of family obligations, and it set our course in a way that was much different than what we had planned.  Not worse in most ways, just different.  As a result, we found ourselves rather short of money, underemployed, and in need of a new path.  For us, that ended up being a move to the county next to my parents' home and the purchase of a new home.  We realized fairly early on that we needed to leave my mother's house, where we had been staying, although at the time we didn't realize why.  I did not know until much later that another family member had apparently convinced my mother that we were planning to mooch off her for the rest of our lives.  Being (a) easily influenced anyway; and (b) in a vulnerable spot as a new widow, my mother bought into this idea and let's just say that it became very clear that it was time to leave.  The family member and my mother have since fessed up and apologized and I tell that part of the story only because it helps set the stage.  At this point, we had been married over 3 years.  I was 21 years old.  It was painful to leave Delaware, which we absolutely adored, but it was the right thing to do at the time.  Have I mentioned on this blog how much I hate and despise Florida?  I can't imagine that particular sentiment has escaped comment.  There was a brief interlude from say, late 2000 to around 2004 where I didn't mind it too much, but that's about the best I can say for it.  It is a steaming pit of doom filled with transient meaningless plastic activities suitable for tourists but not much else.  The most interesting thing about it is the hurricanes, and I do miss those.  I also miss some of the people.  I do not miss living there; in fact, I wanted to leave the minute my parents dragged me down there when I was 14 years old. 

Yet we found ourselves living in Florida once again, and as we weighed our options in early 1988, we took a trip to a little community called Deltona about 45 minutes to the east of my parents' home in Longwood.  This community ultimately grew to become the largest unincorporated community in the United States, and then it was made into a city.  At the time we lived there, Deltona had somewhere in the neighborhood of 50,000 people; I believe the population is now over 85,000.  In the late 80s, Deltona was all about cheap new home construction.  It was possible to contract to build a house, including a quarter-acre lot, for under $50,000.  We spent several hours on a Saturday checking out model homes, and then we chose a 3 bedroom 1500 sf model for a total contract price in the mid-50K range.   I still remember the name of the model: The Patriot.  We put down a thousand dollars that we did not have at the time and made arrangements to return the following week to choose a lot for our new home.  We checked out probably around 8 different locations and ultimately settled on a lot next to a corner lot that had a home by the same builder on a quiet street with nothing but woods on the other side of the street.  Even the lot on the other side was nothing but woods and scrub--it is still that way to this day.  We noticed that the people on the corner seemed to be parking their work truck in "our" lot but thought nothing of it at the time.  Not a big deal, right?  In retrospect, it was actually an important warning sign, but I doubt most people would have picked up on it.  We sure didn't. 

I haven't had a home built since then and things have very likely changed in the last couple of decades, but at the time, the tract home builders in Deltona could get a house constructed from the ground up in around 4 months.  We signed the contracts in the winter of 1988, I think in January, and by the end of May our new home was ready for our final inspection.  Along the way, we would drive over and check on it at least once a week.  That was exciting and thrilling, just lots of fun. 

One day early on in our weekly inspection tours, the cement slab had been poured and they had started working on the frame.  We stopped by on a late Florida spring afternoon  and were happily surprised by the progress.  As we walked around, discussing what we needed here and what we would put there, our new neighbors strolled over.  By this point we had often seen two little boys running around by themselves in nothing but diapers, but as I mentioned, it was truly a very quiet street and I didn't think much of it.  I don't remember all the details of the conversation but I do remember the wife asking me "what are you going to do with all that room" and my husband putting his arm around me and squeezing, either protectively or because he had sensed I was getting irritated.  It was just an "off" sort of encounter. The husband mentioned that he had been using the lot for his work truck and possibly some other things and made it very clear that he was not happy about our encroachment upon his territory.  Other than seeing the almost-naked tiny kids roaming around, usually filthy and very quiet with big wide eyes, that was about all we saw or heard from them until shortly before we moved in.  The carpets had been laid, we had windows and doors and kitchen cabinets and it was just a matter of days to a few weeks before we would be moving our things into our new home. We were there to check on the progress again and were thrilled to see that we had a sliding glass door and that the house was fully carpeted with vinyl floors in the bathrooms and the kitchen.  It was clear that we were almost there.  As we were getting ready to leave, the new neighbor popped over.  Let's name her.  I don't want to use their real names for obvious reasons.  Let's call her Wanda.  And let's call her husband Darryl.  Yeah, Wanda and Darryl.  Anyway, so Wanda trots on over and says that she came over after they laid the carpet. Then she said in her gravelly smoker's voice, "Yeah, I wanted to bring my little boys over after they got all wet and muddy and let them track all through it because they left the door unlocked.  But I didn't." 

Ahhh.  The vague warning that was trying to rouse itself from the back of my head finally sat straight up.  Hello.  What had we gotten ourselves into? 

And that's probably a good stopping point.  The background has been laid, I've named two of the main characters, and it's clear the future is full of muddy footprints and a whole lot of mess.

In part 2 of Life with the Neighbors, we'll move into our first home and life will be good for a while. We will meet the other (normal) neighbors and settle into a routine.  Until...

Comments

[Occupant]

Yeah! A Miller Lite routine!

[Occupant]

.....and the first family members, Mickey and Buddy (where did those names come from?....hmmmm), join the team!

[kathy holliker]

I think I know this story, yet I can't wait for the next post. ;)

[Em]

Wanda and Daryll. lol. You're funny mom. And the little boys. Seriously what a jerk.

[Occupant]

This was one of the "good" neighbors who moved to New Zealand after he lost a "quarters" contest to me...

Trapped drunk driver opens another beer as awaits rescue
AUCKLAND
Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:01pm EDT

AUCKLAND (Reuters) - A drunk driver trapped after overturning his car cracked open another can of beer while he waited for emergency crews to rescue him, a New Zealand court was told.

Oddly Enough

Paul Nigel Sneddon, 47, pleaded guilty to careless driving and drunken driving after being nearly three times over the legal alcohol limit in a district court in the city of Palmerston North, the Dominion Post newspaper reported on Wednesday.

Police found Sneddon, a former baker, trapped in his overturned Ford Laser on June 1, drinking a can of beer after he failed to take a corner properly and crashed through a wooden barrier, flipping his vehicle.

Defense lawyer Peter Young said that when Sneddon found he could not open the doors, "he had nothing else to do at that point, so he had another beer."

When asked by police how much he had consumed, Sneddon replied: "Plenty, I've been drinking for four days straight."

Sneddon, who is estranged from his wife, told the Wellington- based newspaper that he went on a drinking binge after losing his job at a bakery on the same day that he heard his father was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

Judge Gregory Ross fined him NZ$1,100 (US$780) and disqualified him from driving for 10 months. It was his first offence.

[The almost 21 year old]

Oh my god, oh my god. SO weird to read about how you and Dad started out. And oh my god i for SURE know this whole story and can't wait for part 2. No dawdling!