I don’t recall if I decided this after watching Harriet the Spy for the sixteenth time or after the one time that I heard a scream in my neighbor’s house and then a collective “Shhhhh!”, but surely enough—I decided that my neighborhood was far too interesting to simply go home on a regular day and lock myself inside all day until I had to leave the next day. So, at around six-thirty or seven last night, right when the sun set and it was starting to get dark outside, I sat in my backyard to listen in on my neighbors, as they always let their backyard sliding doors open. It got too dark outside, and there was no noise coming from their homes except loud TVs (#421 lets their kids watch Disney Channel), so I decided to sit on my front porch, and take my camera.
At first, I was mesmerized by the moon and the purple light of the sky, but then I heard teenagers in a garage, laughing and singing along to music, and I was suddenly so happy for humanity. I don’t know how, I just get so happy for humans so easily—when the kids on my street go ride their bikes or play catch outside (you know, when you truly truly think about it, catch is so much fun), I just get so happy to see them having fun on their own, outside. Anyway, they were playing music, doing such a teenage-movie thing, I stealthily had to take pictures of them.
I apologize for the blurry pictures, it was really dark outside, and I didn’t want to use the flash to seem like the ultimate creeper.
I tried to hide behind these bushes, but those trees were too thick. Also, I was beginning to question my morals, so I stopped with their pictures.
This is the house right in front of mine, and that is their classic Volkswagen bug, and it looks like new and they don’t like to drive it outside much, but when they do, I watch the car pull out of their driveway while a single manly tear runs down my face.
I was loving the weather so much, that I decided to stay outside, turn on my porch light, and write in my journal. I wrote for an hour and a half and filled up ten pages, a personal record. Here I will add a couple of excerpts of the things I wrote in my dreamy daze:
“It’s January. Process this, it is January, right, and I’m currently sitting outside on our porch (is it porch? the step in front of our front door?) and I’m sitting outside in a wool sweater, jeans, and my boots—but I’m heating up. I don’t know who January thinks she is, but this weather is unacceptable.”
“Sitting outside is so nice. I love hearing the bunnies. I love looking at people coming home from work. In the house right in the middle of our cul-de-sac, there are some teenagers listening to music in their garage. There’s a couple of girls and a few guys, I believe. They just finished listening to Rolling in the Deep and now they’re listening to Moves Like Jagger.”
“Before I had taken out my journal to write, I had my camera out and I had taken pictures of the sky between trees. Then, a dog ran by our house and boy ran after it. He saw the light of my camera (I had all the outside lights turned off so nobody could see me.) He stopped and kneeled to pet his dog and re-attach his leash, and he turned his head toward me. Embarrassed, I quickly turned off my camera, yet slowly made my way inside. I kneeled and crawled to our front window and spied on him spying on me.”
That was one of the most beautiful nights I had spent. I love nights. Don’t you just love nights? I love being awake at night. One of these days, I’m going to take a walk at midnight. (And probably be armed with a switchblade?)