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MidReal Story
The Neighbor
Scenario:Wendy has just moved into my apartment complex with her 16yo daughter Anne,
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Wendy Thompson
protective, and introspective. After a tumultuous relationship with her exhusband, she strives to provide stability for Anne. She struggles with loneliness and the challenges of being a single parent. Despite her efforts to shield Anne from the harsh realities of life, she faces the complexities of raising a teenager while navigating her own emotional needs.
Anne Thompson
independent, and sensitive. As she navigates adolescence, she grapples with feelings of isolation and longing for connection. Her relationship with her mother is close but strained by the challenges of their situation. She often feels like an outsider in her new environment but finds solace in her friendship with Jake and her desire for romance.
Jake Anderson
outgoing, and supportive. Jake becomes Anne's confidant and helps her adjust to the new environment by introducing her to his friends and showing interest in her life. His presence provides Anne with a sense of belonging and comfort in an unfamiliar place.
I am sitting in the living room of my new apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, staring out the window and waiting for my daughter to get home from her first day at a new high school.
I don’t know what I’m expecting to see, or how I’m passing the time, but I’m suddenly aware that I’ve been waiting for Wendy and Anne to come home since I finished putting together my new bookshelves this morning.
It isn’t as if I haven’t been busy all day.
Between unpacking, exploring my new kitchen, and doing a load of laundry, I should be exhausted.
But the truth is, I don’t know what to do with myself now that I’ve left Tom.
Getting up with a purpose every morning. Having enough money to buy whatever I want. Being alone.
It’s all so unfamiliar that I’m having a hard time adjusting.
I have lived in this apartment for two weeks now and my life has been consumed with the logistics of moving.
During the day, when I have tasks to complete and boxes to unpack, everything seems fine.
I am busy and I am purposeful.
I have things to do and goals to accomplish.
But once it starts to get dark and the work of the day is done, something inside of me begins to stir and I am forced to confront a very unpleasant truth: being alone can be boring.
But when the sun starts to set and I have nothing to distract me, I find myself pacing back and forth in my living room.
I walk from the front door to the kitchen and back again, glancing at the door every time I pass it.
I look at my watch every few minutes, willing the hands to move faster.
I am waiting for my daughter to come home from school.
I am waiting for dinner to be ready.
I am waiting for bedtime so I can sleep through the loneliness.
It’s not that I don’t like my new apartment.
It’s a lovely place, with big windows and a large kitchen and a comfortable living room.
The rent is reasonable, especially considering it’s in a nice neighborhood with good schools.
And the location is perfect, just a short walk from my new job at the library. But there is one problem with this apartment: it’s too quiet.
I can hear everything that goes on in the apartment next door.
The walls are thin and poorly insulated, so every step and every voice carries through easily.
I’ve been listening all day as my new neighbors moved into their apartment, but they haven’t made any effort to introduce themselves yet.
They moved in last week, but so far I’ve only caught glimpses of them out of the corner of my eye as they’ve moved boxes up and down the stairs.
I’ve heard them talking, but they speak in hushed tones and I can’t make out what they’re saying.
I know there is a mother and a teenage daughter, but that’s about it. As I pace back and forth in my living room, I hear movement next door.
Footsteps cross the room, followed by the scraping of a chair being pulled across the floor.
The sound is muffled, but it’s clear that someone is moving around in there.
I stop pacing and stand still in the middle of my living room, listening intently to what’s going on next door.
The sounds are faint, but unmistakable: someone is sitting in their living room reading a book or watching television or doing something else quiet.
I stand there for a few minutes, listening as they move around their apartment.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore and I walk over to my front door and look out the peephole into the hallway. The coast is clear: there’s no one in sight as far as I can see.
I turn away from the door and walk across my living room three times before turning back again.
Another hour passes, and I’m still pacing back and forth in my living room.
I’ve been at it for so long that my feet are sore and I’m starting to feel a little bit silly.
But I can’t stop.
I am drawn to my front door like a magnet, and I can’t resist the urge to go out into the hallway.
Finally, after another hour of pacing back and forth, I go into the kitchen and grab the plate of chocolate chip cookies I baked this morning.
It’s not a very original idea, but it seems like a good way to break the ice with my new neighbors.
I stand in front of their door for a minute before I knock.
I can hear them moving around inside the apartment, laughing and clinking dishes together.
They sound like they’re having a nice evening, but they haven’t made an effort to introduce themselves yet. My hand hovers over the door handle as I stand there listening.
The sounds inside are so different from my own life right now that I am suddenly aware of how lonely I am.
I miss the clinking of dishes, the sound of laughter.
I miss having someone else in the house with me at night.
My hand is hovering over the doorknob when I suddenly hear footsteps approaching from inside the apartment.
I take a deep breath and clutch the plate of cookies against my chest as I hear the doorknob turn from inside.
I straighten my wrinkled shirt and try to smooth my hair down as best I can.
My ponytail is messy from all my pacing earlier, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.
The door opens and a teenage boy stands in front of me.
He has sandy blonde hair and is probably around Anne’s age.
He looks surprised to see me standing there, but he smiles and wipes his hands on his jeans as he steps back from the door.
Behind him, I can see into their kitchen where a woman stands at the sink washing dishes.
The kitchen is warm and cozy, with a big wooden table in the center of the room.
There are dirty dishes stacked up in the sink and a few pots sitting on the stove.
It’s a normal domestic scene, but it makes my chest tighten.
I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other as I realize that I’ve got it all backwards: they’re not the new ones here, I am.