The House Across the Street-Life on Argon III

The House Across the Street-Life on Argon III

Current mood: cranky



Cue Music.



Screech...Screech...Screech...Screech... (Psycho theme music)


Day two of our life on Argon Street unfolded. We were still unpacking, finding a place to put everything. Morning rituals were being played out as people drank their coffee, threw on their biz-casual and hopped into their minivans and headed to work. The house across the street was no exception...until after the adults were gone.

Soon, the clear beautiful morning was shattered by an ear splitting scream; followed by desperate pleas of "Oh God! Oh God! Help Me! Help Me PLEASE!!!" emanating from the Bates Motel across the way.

It sounded like a young girl in peril. Cat and I were torn. We were still young and concerned about getting involved with something that might not be any of our business. Should we call 911? Should we just ignore it? Thoughts of Kitty Genovese floated through my mind.

We quickly learned from the neighborhood "Oracle" that this was pretty much standard practice for the family that dwelled within the house across the street.

Sidenote: Neighborhood Oracle; every neighborhood has one. Y'know...that one person that knows just about everything about everybody...and LOVES to share. Ours was a delightful mother of three that had the (mis)fortune to live right next door to the Bates Motel. The stories that she would tell...they all went to the same church, their kids grew up together, some of her kids made trips to the hospital as a result of the kids next door. It was an interesting relationship. The things we put up with, in the interest of maintaining the peace. Or perhaps as was pointed out to me recently; some families really do partake in ritual torture among the siblings as a regular thing. That may be; but it doesn't make it any less twisted.

Now, Michael & Connie were a blended family. They were raising 7 kids, and would soon add one more to the mix. Connie was a sweetheart, but obviously way in over her head. Michael...well, let's just say he drove a BMW to work every day, dressed impeccably, and his kids ate a lot of lima beans.


I suspected that there were priority issues at play.


My parents had their share of "interesting" neighbors over the years, so I figured every neighborhood had "one". This was obviously going to be one of ours. We would just cope like they did and everything would be just fine.


Insert those warning bells in the back of my brain, telling me once again to start that journal of events that would eventually come back to bite me on the backside. If I knew then what I know now about the family across the street and the impact they would have on our lives, we would have moved right back out to Tempe while we were ahead.

to be continued...