The Bad Neighbour

Leslie is the bad neighbour who wouldn’t call the police for me after the beating-up, pretending to have mislaid his phone and then that it was stolen.  He followed through with a threat if the police, who interviewed him about the crime, bothered him again he’d withdraw his statement.  I told him not to be silly.  He’s self-centred and self-concerned to the extent of considering only his own convenience and believes the world exists to do the like.  My being beaten up was an inconvenience to him and I should not have done it. 

My neighbour on the other side was unexpectedly upset at his bad neighbourliness.  Diana, downstairs of him, also expressed distaste.  She has her own issues with him.  Nevertheless she’s advised talking it out in the interests of making up.  I pointed out no words could get round the fact of the act which she herself had referred to to win a contretemps with him, that he hadn’t helped me in need.  Upstairs of him, another neighbour’s girlfriend, while deploring what he’d done, said he was a good guy.  That I categorically denied.  By analogy with blacks, she sought to excuse his not wanting to contact the police for me on cultural grounds.  He should’ve overcome any such attitude in the circumstances.  She agreed he should. 

I was going out my door to water plants when startled by his coming there.  “Excuse me,” he said.  “No,” popped out.  “Pardon?” he said.  “Go away.  I’m not speaking to you.  I am not engaging in conversation with you,” I made exactly clear to this hail-fellow-well-met.


About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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