We Are The People In Your Neighborhood

Freedom definitely comes with a price, and J-Fed is learning that the hard way. He’s been in his humble abode for a few weeks now and living had been easy… up until tonight. It was about quarter to eight when the phone rang. I knew by the sound of Beethoven’s 5th, my designated J-Fed ring, that it was him.

“Yes…” I answered.

“Um, I think you better come get daughter,” he told me. His statement took me by complete surprise. While J-Fed might be a louse as a husband, he cherished the time he had with his girls. In fact, he’d spent more quality time with daughter since he moved out than ever before. I smelled a rat, and for once, the stench wasn’t coming from J-Fed. He continued.

“It’s the people across the hall. I started hearing this slamming and then I realized it was the one old lady beating up the other old lady. It sounded like bam, bam, bam. I think she was slamming her head into something,” he told me.

Oh… My… God… My first thought was to demand that he move all of his stuff out of the apartment and come home immediately with daughter in tow. But then I remembered I was his estranged wife – not his mother. He was a big boy and there were viable reasons why he’d moved out.

What was most surprising was that it wasn’t like these apartments were cheap. We had picked this place out together, to ensure that it was somewhere I wouldn’t mind daughter going.

So much for a “security” deposit… Somebody obviously needed to take out the trash, and if J-Fed didn’t talk to the management, I would. After all, this wasn’t his first run in with the nuisance neighbors. I quickly recalled him telling me about some random guy that had strolled out of that very apartment on Saturday night.

“He asked me for a cigarette and tried to sell me a gift card to the Cheesecake Factory,” J-Fed had revealed.

“What did you tell him?” I exclaimed.

“I told him I don’t eat cheesecake,” he said matter-of-factly.

That alone had left a bad taste in my mouth. Forget the fact I wanted these creepy people nowhere near my daughter. I didn’t particularly care for the fact they lived about five feet away from the father of my children. The only person allowed to inflict any harm upon J-Fed was me.

After realizing he had me all fired up, J-Fed acknowledged the err of his ways and promised me it would be okay and that nothing would happen to him or daughter. He could definitely protect himself from two old bats and their rail-thin weirdo son.

Forty five minutes went by and J-Fed called again. Apparently, old bat #1 tried to involve J-Fed and he refused to have any part of it. He wanted to let me know he had sent her back to where she came from – the apartment across the way. He also informed me that someone had indeed called the police, who had arrived at the premises and given the broads a big fat warning.

Just when I thought I could relax, the phone rang at 10:30. J-Fed? You got it. Johnny law was back again, and this time he brought back-up.

“Well, all hell broke loose. There are now six cops in the apartment. It’s getting ugly,” he gave me the play by play as if he were watching his own live version of Cops. I pictured J-Fed standing by as the whole scene unfolded Frappuccino and cigarette in hand. He assured me that daughter had not witnessed one iota of this Jerry Springer episode and I silently thanked God. I couldn’t image the kind of explaining we’d have to do.

“Mommy, why is that old lady kicking the crap out of the other old lady?” I could hear it now.

Sigh. And here I thought J-Fed had been movin’ on up when he moved on out. Although J-Fed and I didn’t agree on much, we concurred with the fact that he’d definitely be down at the front office first thing in the morning, giving them a piece of his mind.

Secretly, I giggled as I realized that when J-Fed’s head hit the pillow he might actually long for Basketcaseville.