Steve and Jackie
In writing the title of this post I was reminded of that song, "Jack and Diane." I hate that song. Almost as much as I hate the harpsichord--which is a lot. I could fill a whole room with my hate for the harpsichord, and at least 7/8 of a room with my hate for that song. Scratch that. A whole room for the song too.
At any rate. Today I was thinking about the golden days of my youth (I'm thinking like age eleven here) when I had this ratty pair of Jack Purcells. Hands down, the best shoes I've ever owned. And this led me to thinking about some of my neighbors that lived diagonally across the street from my house. That may not seem like a logical train of thought, but it is. Explaining would take too long, so just run with me on this.
Steve and Jackie were this middle-aged couple. I think it was a second marriage for both of them and I'm pretty sure Steve had children from a previous marriage. The house they lived in was great. I grew up in an older neighborhood (at least, it was older by the time I was a teenager--it was brand new when we first moved in, but I wasn't even two by that time)and their house looked more or less like all the other houses in the neighborhood, but inside it was much more modern and classy. The living room was big and open, with brick arches and a huge fireplace. I remember there was a wine bottle rack on a ledge leading to the kitchen and floor-to-ceiling glass windows in the front room. They had a beautiful black lab, whose name I can't remember (Kerry or Lucy or Heidi or something). There were a few times when they went on a vacation and they gave me a key to their house. I would walk the dog and feed her, things like that. And, of course, I explored their house. There was a sauna upstairs. And a little room filled with books that had a cut out in the wall so that you could look down and out over the living room. I remember opening their fridge and seeing little more than a few thick steaks and a few bottles of wine.
There was one summer when their dog ran away. Steve had taken her with him when he went fishing somewhere or something and she ran off and that was it. They posted signs, called the police, etc. Then finally, two weeks later, they got a call from someone in Molalla. They found her. We were all so relieved and glad. We had really mourned her loss. As much as a pet can be, she was a part of their family.
I used to go over to their house a lot, or just talk to them in their yard. My next door neighbors, Jacob and Megan, used to go too. All three of us would chatter with Steve as he watered his lawn and we'd badger Jackie as she weeded the flower beds. Looking back now, I think Steve was more comfortable with us than Jackie was. Both of them let us climb the trees in their front yard. Jackie used to bake white chocolate macadamia nut cookies for us. They were warm and big and sometimes pretty salty--but we loved them. I know my mom used to worry about us going over there too much. She was concerned that we were pestering them, and we probably were. But they never made us feel that way. She didn't know Steve or Jackie very well. They were friendly, but that was about it. Steve and Jackie were very different. It didn't occur to me then, but it occurs to me now how very kind they were to us. Three grubby neighborhood kids, coming in their kitchen, asking for glasses of water, getting their dog too hyper, spouting off questions about everything, listening to Steve tell us about his grandfather that wore stiff collars.
I can't remember when it was exactly--I think it was during my last few years of high school--but Steve and Jackie moved away. I can't remember where they went. I think they wanted a bigger house with some land or something for their dog. A new family moved it that I didn't know at all. They had a son who was probably in college and he used to leave and return to their house multiple times a day, driving a different one of their cars every time. They were nice cars, really nice cars. I don't think I ever spoke to him, but I remember staring at him and him staring at me and I remember that he didn't seem real. I couldn't imagine his life--like he didn't have a history and he wasn't going anywhere. I couldn't seem to make myself believe that there was something going on inside him. If I cut open his mind, I wouldn't see anything.
I wonder where Steve and Jackie are--what they're doing, if they still have their black lab. I remember Jackie's thank-you notes that she gave to me after I took care of their dog. They were unusual cards with some kind of ethnic print on the front. And her sophisticated, spidery penmanship inside--written with an inky black pen.
At any rate. Today I was thinking about the golden days of my youth (I'm thinking like age eleven here) when I had this ratty pair of Jack Purcells. Hands down, the best shoes I've ever owned. And this led me to thinking about some of my neighbors that lived diagonally across the street from my house. That may not seem like a logical train of thought, but it is. Explaining would take too long, so just run with me on this.
Steve and Jackie were this middle-aged couple. I think it was a second marriage for both of them and I'm pretty sure Steve had children from a previous marriage. The house they lived in was great. I grew up in an older neighborhood (at least, it was older by the time I was a teenager--it was brand new when we first moved in, but I wasn't even two by that time)and their house looked more or less like all the other houses in the neighborhood, but inside it was much more modern and classy. The living room was big and open, with brick arches and a huge fireplace. I remember there was a wine bottle rack on a ledge leading to the kitchen and floor-to-ceiling glass windows in the front room. They had a beautiful black lab, whose name I can't remember (Kerry or Lucy or Heidi or something). There were a few times when they went on a vacation and they gave me a key to their house. I would walk the dog and feed her, things like that. And, of course, I explored their house. There was a sauna upstairs. And a little room filled with books that had a cut out in the wall so that you could look down and out over the living room. I remember opening their fridge and seeing little more than a few thick steaks and a few bottles of wine.
There was one summer when their dog ran away. Steve had taken her with him when he went fishing somewhere or something and she ran off and that was it. They posted signs, called the police, etc. Then finally, two weeks later, they got a call from someone in Molalla. They found her. We were all so relieved and glad. We had really mourned her loss. As much as a pet can be, she was a part of their family.
I used to go over to their house a lot, or just talk to them in their yard. My next door neighbors, Jacob and Megan, used to go too. All three of us would chatter with Steve as he watered his lawn and we'd badger Jackie as she weeded the flower beds. Looking back now, I think Steve was more comfortable with us than Jackie was. Both of them let us climb the trees in their front yard. Jackie used to bake white chocolate macadamia nut cookies for us. They were warm and big and sometimes pretty salty--but we loved them. I know my mom used to worry about us going over there too much. She was concerned that we were pestering them, and we probably were. But they never made us feel that way. She didn't know Steve or Jackie very well. They were friendly, but that was about it. Steve and Jackie were very different. It didn't occur to me then, but it occurs to me now how very kind they were to us. Three grubby neighborhood kids, coming in their kitchen, asking for glasses of water, getting their dog too hyper, spouting off questions about everything, listening to Steve tell us about his grandfather that wore stiff collars.
I can't remember when it was exactly--I think it was during my last few years of high school--but Steve and Jackie moved away. I can't remember where they went. I think they wanted a bigger house with some land or something for their dog. A new family moved it that I didn't know at all. They had a son who was probably in college and he used to leave and return to their house multiple times a day, driving a different one of their cars every time. They were nice cars, really nice cars. I don't think I ever spoke to him, but I remember staring at him and him staring at me and I remember that he didn't seem real. I couldn't imagine his life--like he didn't have a history and he wasn't going anywhere. I couldn't seem to make myself believe that there was something going on inside him. If I cut open his mind, I wouldn't see anything.
I wonder where Steve and Jackie are--what they're doing, if they still have their black lab. I remember Jackie's thank-you notes that she gave to me after I took care of their dog. They were unusual cards with some kind of ethnic print on the front. And her sophisticated, spidery penmanship inside--written with an inky black pen.
posted by Sylvia Louise at
1:13 PM
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