Neighbors

They had three boys under the age of seven. Their mini van had New Mexico plates which were never changed to the Grand Canyon state. They arrived in early October, just weeks before Halloween. I first noticed the New Mexico plates as I just moved here a year ago from the Land of Enchantment and missed it terribly. It felt a little more like home to have neighbors who had breathed the same air. The second was definitely the children. There were virtually no children in the apartment complex and it was so wonderful to hear the sounds of small voices again. And a new brother or sister was definitely on the way. I knew when they moved in, I would have to buy Halloween candy this year.

Apartment complexes are a little like airports and train stations. They are not built for permanence. The pulse is one of comings and goings. A bridge between places. And as Marge Percy wrote in the 70's you cannot plant potatoes on a bridge. So in the last sixteen months I have seen many comings and goings and very little planting.

The young African American couple who lived in the apartment prior to the family had dreams of owning a home and moved on. They took with them what little diversity was present and of course, their cat, who used to sit in the window and watch the comings and goings. They also took their beautiful dark-skinned angels that graced their window sill. It was as if we were all blessed by them.

Then the new family arrived and I came to see that we shared more than having lived in the Land of Enchantment. We both loved Halloween -- little children dressed in their fantasy outfits experiencing the moment of magic when candy actually dropped into those little ghost-covered plastic bags. We were the only apartments whose occupants chose to carry heavy real live Christmas trees from tree lot to car, then from the garage -- not necessarily close to our door -- up two flights of stairs and into apartments a wee bit small for anything that stood six feet tall with branches encompassing more than half the dining room.

Tonight, it is silent outside my walkway and I am once again reminded that apartment complexes do not lend themselves to hellos and collective moments. We come and go as if these temporary homes were islands unto themselves. We don't congregate on our patios in hopes of catching sight of a familiar face or hearing a friendly voice. We live behind gates with multiple locks and we feel safer that way. We don't rely on one another for a cup of sugar, let alone a sense of community. It really does not surprise me that the family moved on. One can't put roots down here. There is no fertile ground on which to grow.

I don't know where the family went and I am especially sad that I won't know if it was a little brother or sister who will join them. I am sad to know there will be no more good mornings or Merry Christmas, or hear little voices tentatively saying, " Trick or Treat" at my door.

However, today is the vernal equinox, a time of new beginnings, a time of plantings. My patio garden is in full bloom rich in color -- purples, yellows, and deep reds. I live on the second story and the gray concrete patio floor is warm beneath my feet. The only soil is that which fills the window boxes and my pots. The kind you carry in. I just signed my lease for another year. I wonder who I will call neighbor and if they too, will bring their own soil.