Savage Neighbors

I have always, since a very young age, been a creature of the night. I wish there were better things, darker things, deeper things to say about the creature of the night statement. I have often been called a vampire, but being awake in the night and being uncomfortable in the daytime is where my similarity with vampires end. After all, I am not a blood sucker and oftentimes lean to vegetarianism.

I suppose what I like about the night is the quietness that generally comes with it. Even in the nightclub districts and the bar scenes of my youth, there was a certain bustling activity and sound associated with it. But, a few paces off the nightclub entrances, the city was always fairly quiet, less cars, less people, less noise at night.

At a young age, I was safely tucked away in a suburban area. I would find my way out of doors all summer long, all night, every night. I was a meandering miscreant who never really found any trouble. Only very occasionally would I find another young traveler of the night. Sometimes, I had a planned excursion with a friend. And then, we would wander the streets until very late and postulate on the existence of man.

On nights with a bright moon, I would search the recesses of the sky for low clouds, or the occasional jet contrail. These were the things, at least in the dome of the sky that gave the infinite a little depth. There were generally very few stars because there were still so many lights, street lights, parking lot lights, porch lights, artificial globes emulating day.

On the sidewalks of town, I would look though any open windows. I am now,and have always been, a casual peeking Tom. I mean, after all, when a person decides to become a writer, then there is nothing more that person can do than to take the act of peeking Tommery and transform that into words and stories or at the very least the quips of observation.

Occasionally, and I mean very occasionally, did I find anything interesting in a window as I walked by. Sometimes there were parties, social gatherings of adults who under the guise of a good time held drinks or joints. Sometimes there was a quietly lit scene inside a window frame like a tableau of modern life, but devoid of human activity. I once saw a naked couple, from neck to knees, standing in a strange geometry apparently already finished with lovemaking.

But more often than any other scenario there was something more deeply disturbing and commonplace inside the windows of darkened houses on my nightly excursions. It was that ghastly flickering blue glow of a human mind that has clicked off. Not parties. Not simple living. Not lovemaking. No, the ghastly blue glow of a television and mental control.

I still see this today, and even now it seems passe or dated, outmoded. After all, aren't all screens smaller now?

Just a few nights back, late night, I was home, reading a book. It was the small hours where everyone in my house was asleep and I was underneath the dim floor lamp in the living room reading. Late at night, my house becomes the tableau of modern life, only I keep my blinds and curtains drawn. Late at night I can listen to the sounds of my own body, the occasional snores or sighs from my sleeping family. I hear the way the house sounds, the settling and the creaking, the compressor's hum, the filament inside the lamp. I hear the sounds of my grooved fingerprints score the rough pulp right before and right after I flip a page.

But on this night I kept hearing the faint concussion of what seemed like the bass booms of a car stereo. This was not an uncommon thing for me to hear. I live in a tightly packed community and the neighbors are very close. Just as I noticed the booms, they would stop. At first, it seemed like it was just my imagination. I was alone in the quiet night, alone in my dimly lit living room.

I looked out my window. Just the darkness in the forefront. Just beyond that, I could see directly into my neighbor's house. Unlike me, they had not drawn their blinds. They have a very big television, it takes up most the wall inside their small house. I looked at the scene for a moment. Then there was a loud action scene, and it became very sadly obvious to me that the muted sonic booming was from their tv, through their room, through their walls and windows and across the small yard between us and into my room. Boom-boom-boom.

I dropped the curtain. I faced into my room. I saw the book, a book that was not particularly easy for me to read, resting on the sofa just outside of the direct glow of the lamp. Boom-boom-boom, again, boom-boom-boom. I felt a level of comfort in knowing where the sounds was coming from, and I wondered if it was going to affect my ability to read.

What happened was this: I was able to read until the booms came. Then I just focused into the depths of my room and waited for the sound to pass. It was beginning to bring back the memories of childhood. My childhood was spent in much the same way, I was somewhere in the quiet of myself and elsewhere the sounds of tinny television echoed into my periphery thoughts.

I have never been able to decide if I am very fortunate or sadly left out because I have never fallen victim to the tv. Sure, I've seen tv, but I've never owned one. I was once on a four day bender in Lake Tahoe with two Brits and we binged on Jerry Springer for what seemed like years. It was a tremendous time, but like the locale and my company, I was more of a tourist in the whole thing than a participant.

I feel like I am fortunate to be have been free for my entire life from tv because I can make up my own thoughts, ideas and imagination. I am fortunate because my time has always been my own and that's good. I am sadly left out because when the conversation of tv shows inevitably arises, I first wonder if the people talking all know someone I don't know but should. When I realize it's a tv thing I cannot add anything to the conversation and I become very bored as everyone becomes very bored with me.

My neighbors have other thoughts, I mean, they have to. They have that comforting glow and the ability to turn off their minds, for worse or for better, who knows? And then the boom-boom-booms come. Then I wonder how my memories will affect me. I wonder in the boom-boom-booms if I should make it out to the streets for a nocturnal walk. What might I see?