RASH HOUSES

By R.J. Godlewski

© October 21, 2008, All Rights Reserved

    You’re throwing a party at your house and you invite your new neighbor to join in the festivities. He mentions that he has some out of town guests, but still would very much like to attend your gala. You look at your wife, shrug your shoulders, and then say, “Sure, bring them along. The more the merrier!�?So off you go, tending to matters more important than who’s coming to dinner. There’s so much to plan.

    The day arrives and everyone sits down to enjoy their dinner and your neighbor’s wife looks over at you, the host, and blurts out, “I’ve never been happy to be your neighbor until you invited my husband to the party.�?You shrug your shoulders again, hoping that your wife was too distracted to hear the rude remark.

    Your neighbor then introduces you to their other friends. The first one represents an association of twenty years and you think to yourself “Now, here’s someone who can really tell me about my neighbor!�?The neighbor’s longtime friend looks across the table at you and replies, “Goddamn you for having a bigger house than my friend here!�?Now you hoped that you didn’t hear what he said, so you just mentally blot out the words. After all, you worked and struggled hard for your home. It didn’t come easy.

    Hoping to change the conversation, you turn to a man towards your left, another friend of your neighbor’s. “So what do you do?�?you ask with all sincerity.

    “I’m a teacher.�?the man replies proudly. “I used to be a murderer, but I’ve retired from that.�?/SPAN>

    Your heart seems to stop. You fumble around for a drink to settle your nerves and glancing around the table you notice that nobody else seems to have heard the remark. You question your sanity, “I heard this man talk of killing people and everyone else is discussing how much money they don’t make?�?/SPAN>

    The best friend of your neighbor leans over to you and speaks his mind, “You know, I’ve always had a bad feeling about this guy. I never trusted him and neither should you. Just give him half a chance and in six months, he’ll turn this whole neighborhood of yours into complete chaos. I mean, he’s really going to screw the pooch. Still, he’s my best friend �?at the moment �?and so I stand by him 100%. I advise that you do too�?

    Now, you’re really confused and no amount of liquor is going to settle your mind. After briefly being distracted, you notice your neighbor going around helping himself to your fine silverware. You overhear him telling his friends “You know, the Jones’s don’t have any of these. Let’s give them these and see what happens!�?/SPAN>

    You’re dumbfounded; the silverware has been in your family for generations and now this ‘guest�?wants to take your hard-earned heirlooms and “spread them around�?the neighborhood! When you bring this up to your neighbor, his friends start calling you a racist for, as it would turn out, your neighbor is black. Until then, you merely thought that he was incredibly rude. However, because your friends include some black people, you back off. You don’t want to cause any more trouble so you try desperately to distract yourself from any insinuation that you are a bigot. You glance up at the ceiling. You glance out the window. Finally, you glance down at your shoelaces and instead spy a bunch of postcards that apparently had dropped out of your neighbor’s coat.

    Casually, you bend down to retrieve them. Most of them come from Europe and bear inscriptions detailing what your neighbor thinks of you. Through his own words and the remarks of those he visited, you find that you are not very well liked around the planet. You begin to suspect some deceit and want to question your neighbor, but he’s nowhere around to be found.

    You question an older, white-haired companion of his, but he grumbles, “Aw, you’re all a bunch of rednecks!�?Next, you come across a heavyset black woman bawling like mad, “I’m so happy to see this! I can’t believe it!�?After a few minutes of shaking your head, you move into the living room where a bunch of college students are strutting around carrying replications of castles and the like droning out the name of your neighbor.

    Finally, after searching all around, you find your neighbor comfortably sitting inside your office next to the open safe with all of your savings bonds, stock certificates, and cash lying all about him. He looks at you didactically, and then quips “I merely wanted some change, but these will do.�?/SPAN>

    The White House is your house. Beware of your guests.