Changing Views

“Changing Views”



Bob can’t say that he never saw it coming. The neighborhood had been slowly changing over the last twenty years, and as far as he was concerned, it was definitely not for the better. The man stood in his front yard glaring at the noisy traffic. His mind, consumed with negative thoughts about his neighbors, had reached its boiling point. He wasn't sure that what he was about to do would make a difference, but at this point he really didn't care.

The neighbors to his right had moved in three weeks prior, and Bob hated them already. It wasn’t just because they spoke broken English. The language barrier was annoying, and he found it difficult to understand anything they said, but he could deal with it. He had little desire to talk to them anyway. What really was driving him crazy was the noise. In his opinion, they were much too loud.

Rap music, or crap music, as Bob referred to it, seemed to always blare out of the cars that frequently visited the neighbors to the right. Loud arguing, mostly in Spanish, was also very common, and it often went on through all hours of the night. By the second week, he had already called the cops on the family three times - each time producing the same result. Bob would make the complaint about the noise, and the police would talk to the family. Within the next day, and sometimes that very same day, the noise would start up again.

The neighbors to the left side of his old house were not really neighbors in the sense that they lived in one single house; these neighbors were scattered within a small condominium complex of twenty units. The complex was constructed two years ago, and from the start Bob considered it an eyesore. To him the condos looked like a bunch of identical models sitting on a sea of asphalt. As bad as that seemed, the man felt the worst sight in the complex happened to be the last thing that was added. At the front entrance, off to one side,was placed a life size plastic cow with a huge sign hanging from its neck. The sign read “YOU OTTA MOOOVE HERE,” in bold black letters.

Bob couldn't decide what he hated more – the loud neighbors to his right or the complex with the ugly plastic cow to his left. As he stood on his front lawn, he thought of how he must look to the traffic passing by. The thought gave the man subtle amusement. Slowly he started his march with long deliberate steps that resembled the goose march of the Nazis during World War II. On his feet, he wore spit-shined, black leather boots that ended just below his knees. Diagonally strung across his chest was an old army bandoleer sporting a number of empty ammo pouches. His right arm was extended forward with his hand grasping the butt of an old, bolt action rifle. The body of the rifle rested over his right shoulder. On his head he wore a chrome, military style helmet with a black strap that was securely fastened under his chin. The helmet glistened in the hot midday sun. As far as dress, he had none. Other than the items previously mentioned, Bob was completely naked.

His march spanned the front edge of his property, which bordered the busy street. It took approximately twenty-five of the goose steps to complete one length. Once a length was finished, Bob executed a precise about-face while simultaneously switching the rifle to his opposite shoulder. Passing cars slowed. Some vehicles even pulled off to the side of the street to get a better look at the naked sixty five-year-old. None of this fazed him. He continued his high step march with eyes glaring straight ahead. Some members of the family that lived on the right gathered on their front lawn. They stood staring, both in amusement and disbelief. A mix of jokes and insults filled the air from the small gathering audience.

Bob wasn't sure how much time had passed before the police cruiser arrived. He guessed that he had marched for twenty minutes before the police officer grabbed his arm.

“You know you can’t be doing this, Mr. Keogh,” the young officer said, as he gently slowed the man to a stop. “Is the rifle loaded?”

He looked at the officer and slowly shook his head. “It’s not even real…it’s an old toy rifle.” Bob, swung the rifle from his shoulder and promptly handed it to the young man.

“This is indecent exposure,” said the officer, as he grabbed the rifle. “Are you aware of that?”

“This is my property!” Bob yelled. “I’m not hurting anyone!”

The young officer looked over at his partner and shook his head. “We’re going to have to get you dressed and then bring you down to the station, Mr. Keogh.”

Beeping horns, shouts and laughter filled the air, as the two officers led, the now dressed and disheartened man out of the old house and into the backseat of the cruiser. The car pulled away from the curb, as the volume of the shouts and laughter seemed to heighten. The somber man watched their faces through the backseat window. The sounds of their laughter gradually faded with distance.

“Where did the old neighborhood go?” Bob softly asked, while he stared off at the passing scenery. Run down houses and scattered small businesses sat staggered along the dirty street.

“It’s pretty much the same one that I’ve always known,” said the young officer. “The times have changed, Mr. Keogh.”

Bob looked at the officer and then slowly looked back to the street. “Yes, yes they have.”



Word Count: 960