the neighbors

I only recognize a few of the neighbors in my building. There's the old man who's back is so bent that he's forced to always look at the ground. There are the next door neighbors: a husband with a deeply lined face like a basset hound and a short, plump wife and their balding, 30-something year old son. (There is also a 20- or 30-something year old woman who either lives there or is just over there a lot, but I wouldn't be able to pick her out in a crowd.) And finally a round, bald man who must be in his 40's and lives on the 3rd floor.

The old man I recognize for his profound stoop and his tendency to chatter at you even as you excuse yourself and walk away, but the other neighbors I started to recognize because of their dogs. The next door neighbors have an 8 year old English bulldog named Jo-Jo. He is one of those flat-faced dogs with a severe underbite and who snorts a lot, always looks grumpy and is incapable of changing his facial expression. But Jo-Jo and I are good friends. I can hear him snoring at night when all else is quiet. The round, bald neighbor has a Yorkshire terrier named Pipo. Pipo's dad also has a wife and two kids who live with him, but I don't have a clue what they look like 'cause I'm always looking at Pipo and not them.

Notice please that the only neighbors whose names I know are the dogs.

The person or people who live directly below us like to put on heavy metal music (usually the Metallica Black album) at full volume in the middle of the day so that we can hear it as perfectly as if we had put in on ourselves. One day this week, however, they switched to Enya.

The next door neighbors are very kind to us; the husband always tries to have a chat with me when we pass each other outside or in the elevator, but he speaks so quickly that I end up catching very little of it. They always advise us when we've neglected to shut the door all the way or when one of us has left our keys in the lock or lost a bracelet in the hallway. Once they let me come into their apartment to look at Jo-Jo sleeping in the living room, his head on a pillow and his body covered with a little pink blanket. As I tip-toed out of their apartment the husband said, "We are here to help you," and I said, "Likewise."

Pipo's dad is also very nice to me. I always wave and say, "Hello, neighbor!" (in Spanish of course) when I see him, and he chats to me when we pass in the hall, asking me how I am and where I'm from and whether I'm studying here.

One of the old women who lives in the building wears garrish orangey-red lipstick and is always surprised to see guiris in her building. She stares at us open-mouthed and wide-eyed with a look of slight fear or horror. At first I was afraid she'd start screaming or hitting me with her handbag, but she hasn't snapped yet so I just say hello and walk on.