Son, and I live in an apartment. It’s a huge complex, and in each building there are twelve apartments. Ours is a corner one on the ground floor. Son rented it, and moved to it when his ex filed for a divorce. Alone, he came after me to Charlottesville, and asked me to come, and live with him. He says, “If I hadn’t been there for him, he would have died”. It has been a traumatic experience for him.
We have covered car parking. Son, and mine spaces are side by side. On the left side of my car is our upper story neighbor T’s car. We chat together when we see each other at the car parking. We have never been to each other apartments. We laugh, and exchange a few words, then she goes her way, and I mine.
Same is the case with the neighbors who live directly over us. We exchange pleasantries when we cross each other, they are going out, and I’m coming in, or vice versa. The top floor neighbor is a police officer. He, and his family come and go at hours at which we never really see them. We only come to know that they are there by their cars, and when their cars are not there it means they have left.
Son is on greeting terms with the rest of them, where as I haven’t been face to face with any of them. So this is our neighborhood. We don’t know how much longer we’re staying here. I normally get attached to places where I stay, and I know I will be sad upon leaving.
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.