Asshole

We ain't The Odd Couple, but I'm still feeling suicidal. I live next to a neighbor who is disabled. That's the politically correct way to say it: “I live next to a neighbor who is suffering from a disability”. The real way to say it is my neighbor is a Down Syndrome pain in the ass. Due to his disability he speaks non-stop. Oh, and not only does he speak, he says the exact same phrases over and over and over again. For example, “I farted. I upchucked. It's stinky. It's pungent. I farted,” over and over again and he says it at the top of his lungs. Everyone can hear it down the street, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I've called the police on him several times for disturbing the peace in addition to damage to private property and assault with a deadly weapon, but the court keeps finding that, due to his fucking disability and the Fair Housing Act, which prevents discrimination on housing due to disability, he's allowed to stay here in this house (that his legal guardians paid for) and do whatever the fuck he wants since he has Down Syndrome: indecent exposure, grand-theft auto, kidnapping. He didn't know any better. He didn't mean it. It was an accident. I'd like to make a few accidents happen around him. 

*

We have an HOA meeting. HOA is Home Owners Association and we discuss what we can do about this young man. We've tried calling the cops, suing him for damages. We've tried everything except a hitman. There were a few chuckles when I said this, but they soon stopped. After a pause, someone asked me, “You serious?” 

           There were a few murmurs, but we, being sane people, agreed. We couldn't evict him because of the FHA, the police couldn't do anything, but if he entered one of our homes, we had the right to defend it, including murder. But, which home? Who? This was like the story of the mice who want to put a bell around the cat's neck. Everyone wants it, but no one wants to do it. 

           So, we did like they used to in Looney Tunes, we drew straws and I wound up with the longest straw. It would be easier. He does tend to do more to me than the other neighbors since I'm next door. There will need to be a stimulant in order for the neighbor to get pissed. Something like a toy on his lawn or loud background noise, or someone yelling at him for something he's broken. Something like that. But what? Then, it occurs to me. He's always talking about laundry and he says he has dirty laundry, even if he doesn't. Again, everyone can hear this man. So, after he washes the laundry in the washing machine (he doesn't use a washboard, although he has one), he dries certain clothes and hangs up other clothes. If I move his hung clothes, he'll have a fit and attack me and I'll have the legal right to defend myself and we'll be rid of him. 

           But I thought about it. Imagine if the shoe was on the other foot. Imagine if I were the one with Down Syndrome, violent, unaware, stupid, forgetful. No, I have to stay focused. Remember every day how loud and annoying he is. The Down Syndrome idiot still has his laundry hanging from last week, since he's forgotten about it. So, I go over, unhook the wooden fence, take the laundry off the hook, and throw the clothes on the grass. I then exit his backyard and go home. All of a sudden, though, he speaking the same phrases over and over stops. Maybe he's noticed his clothes on the grass. I go in the kitchen and get a carving knife out and wait. Then, there's silence. His saying the same thing over and over stops. Good. He's noticed his clothes are on the grass and is about to be angry, but I don't hear any shouting the way he always shouts when he's pissed. In fact, for once in years, I hear nothing. I look in his back yard and the clothes are where I left them. What the hell's going on? I look at the knife in my hand and there's silence. The thing I've been craving: silence. I wait an hour and the next door neighbor doesn't come, so I put the knife back in the drawer and head over to his front door. Ding, dong, ditch. I ring the doorbell and run, but he doesn't come out. After ten minutes, I ring the doorbell and stay. Nothing happens. There's just quiet. I look inside and use my cell phone as a flash light and I see he's on the floor, but there's no blood. So, after a bit of hesitation, I call 911 and after five minutes, the police break in the door and take his vitals, but pronounce him dead. The ambulance and EMTs come and confirm. Hallellujah!!! He's dead and I didn't even have to do anything. They contact his mother who's number is on the refridgerator and she comes in crying. She makes some calls and the long black limo comes and takes him away. I see her leave, crying and I can't believe I almost made this happen. There's serene silence, though. 

           Everyone leaves the house and the mother locks it, so other people won't disturb his property and I look at the back yard and the clothes on the grass and I go over and pick them up and rehang them after checking for grass stains. None of them have grass stains. And I call up the HOA to meet about this asshole who died, but I don't bring champaign, the way I thought I would. I tell them what happened and ask that we start a collection to help the mother pay for the expenses of his funeral and each member puts in some money and everyone is silent. After ten minutes, someone inquires about an autopsy and I say, “You're guess is as good as mine”. 

*

About a week later, the mother comes back and I do my best to offer my condolences. I try to think of something nice to say about my neighbor, but nothing comes to me. She says he didn't have a lot of friends. He lived in an ALF, nursing home, independent living, and this was her last hope. I asked if she knew what caused his demise and she said, “I think he took his own life”. She invited me and everyone in the neighborhood to his funeral/memorial service. We all came and let his mother speak while keeping silent. We knew there was nothing we could say or do, but at least we hadn't made this happen. 

           Several people hugged her and suggested she see a grievance counselor, which she did. She hired muscular men in moving trucks to unload all of his stuff and bring it to wherever she lives. There was a dreary silence in the neighborhood from that day on. Some of us loved it. Some of us hated it. But, we knew it was change and most people hate change.