“You better hold that ladder.”
I say it out loud, as if I’m out there with them not standing over my kitchen sink, watching them as I scarf down my lunch. The workmen climb up and down from the ground to the second-floor balcony, and it’s gripping. I’m more invested in this scene than in any of the shows I’m binging online.
But that’s normal for me. Spying on the neighbors across the street was always a favorite family pastime. We’d all participate, making the occasional comment: “Huh, Mark must have the day off” and “That kid needs to be smacked.” Like we were taking turns narrating a docuseries.
It was our favorite series. The thing that brought us all together, the story that we all shared and cared about equally. Most families get this from a show they watch together, gathered around the tv. My family gathered around the living room window.
We’d even let it interrupt our dinners some nights. Jim would notice something from the kitchen table and hop up, watch for a beat, then give us an update. If it was really good, Dad would get up and join him. The rest of us listened to their commentary, happily munching on our chicken.
Not like the chicken I’m eating now, which tastes like balsa wood flavored with poultry seasoning.
Now, I’m watching my neighbors alone. I’m familiarizing myself with characters that my family doesn’t even know about, all the while wondering “What’s going on back on Washington Ave?”
Now, I’m missing the commentary from my brothers. I’m missing the unity, the connectedness. I’m missing what it feels like to share a moment with my family.
In reality, these things are missing because I flew the coop three years ago.
But right now, I blame the quarantine.
–Thomas Bragg