A lady in the crowd
2015-08-05 17:43:41 (UTC)

The Neighbor Next Door.

Your typical rental homes are known for being hideouts for the trashier part of society. It's the average one-story home located to the right side of my own residence. Our fellow neighbors have consisted of: a single lesbian with three children, a solitary man of many mystery's (this guy is hardly ever home), lets not forget about the almighty rocket high stoners. It's rare when we met neighbors who have morals of courtesy. Whether they're ruthless or kind, an open book or a sealed story, all rental homes have similar types of folks. They're all temporary people who travel from one state to the next. One moment there's a U-haul truck unloading mattresses, furniture, and personal belongings. Then a few months pass and the neighbors disappear into thin air. On to the next purchaser of the rental home, the next one afterwards, and so on. These passing faces never last in Calexico and I hope it stays this way.

When I returned from San Diego, one of the first things that came to mind is our new neighbor. A nameless man in his late-forties who waved at me subsequently two weeks of his arrival. He gave me a smile that appeared more like a widened sneer. The look in his eyes are of someone whose mentally ill. The gaze of insanity is impossible to dismiss. I have personally done volunteer hours at the Valley Convalescent's elderly home. I've met a large variety of people with Post-traumatic stress, Alzheimer's, depersonalization, bi-polar, and panic disorder's. Not only that but I've lived with my schizophrenic Uncle since I was a toddler. So I know crazy when I see it. Some mental illnesses are well hidden but others stick out like a sore thumb. Sometimes the expression in their eyes gives it away. For those reasons, I nicknamed our new neighbor as Mental.

It was a boiling Thursday morning of cross country practice. We finished running several miles and I walked back home. Just as I was about to open my door I heard a petrifying scream. The same voice loudly shouted, "HELP! AYUDA! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" I instantly bolted in the direction of the shrieking voice. I found myself outside the front window of Mental's home. His windows entirely open and his curtains nowhere to be seen. Mental stood at the center of his window as he held a kitchen knife close to his chest.
"Ayudame senora! Help me!"
"Is there something wrong?"
"How can I help out?"
"C-c-all the p-police."
I stared into his enraged eyes that read an expression of hatred. I studied his sharpened knife for a long time.
"I'll be on my way and I'll call the police from my house."
"NO! Call from over here. Come here."
"No... I'm calling from my house." I didn't give Mental a chance to reply as I sped back into my home. I immediately called 911. Ten minutes afterward two policeman knocked on Mental's door. Mental's mood swung in a new direction, and he held a strong grip on his sanity. He claimed that nothing is wrong. He also refused to let the two policeman inside of his home. Then, the policemen came to my house and knocked on my door to interrogate me.

"Well Ma'm, he refused to let us in; and we can't search his residence unless if we have a warrant. Why did you feel a need to call us in?", policeman number one questioned.
"He was screaming for help. I went to him and he told me to call the police. I noticed he had a knife in his hands he was ac-,"
"Was he allegedly pointing the knife at you?", police man number two questioned.
"No bu-."
They both gave me an odd look. Then policeman number one said,"That's enough for today Ma'm, have a good day."

I swiftly shut my door and blushed in embarrassment because Mental made it seem as if I were the crazy one. It's inevitable to despise Mental. One moment he's completely out of his mind, next he's perfectly stable. It outrightly explains how a mental illness works; but I'm not crazy, believe me he's the crazy one here!

~Yours Truly,