You know Rob.

He's the guy with all the stories.

The door of my townhouse fronts other units, with a nice green (or snowy) courtyard for us to share, and all our flowerbeds which may or may not have flowers in them. The back of my place faces the alley with a small parking area, and building-to-building pavement. I have tried to make it less awful by putting full-sun, heat-loving flowers out there and planting sunflowers in places that need a little beauty. In the alley is a Siberian elm and some knapweed flourishing in the pavement cracks. Also in the alley is Rob.

Rob lives in the house-turned-multiplex across the way, where ambulances used to haul away an old man from the rear apartment from time to time. Someone with a deranged Corgi lives on the main floor.¹ And Rob resides in the basement apartment.

Alleyside flowers, not dead yet.

You’ve met Rob. He’s the guy with an endless story for every occasion, who may or may not notice you aren’t interested in that particular story. One time I saw him with a weedeater and asked him to cut aforementioned knapweed for me. He did it, then knocked on my front door and regaled me with a diatribe about how he believes people should do good things for their neighbors. I don’t disagree, but I was more cautious after that about my contact with Rob.

Rob is thoughtful, one day explaining to me how if we didn’t do something about the electrical attachment on our building, a squirrel might get in there and die.² Except only kind of thoughtful, because the day he initially tried to engage me I was late for work and cut him off before he reached the squirrel. A few days later I got a pass-ag “I’m sorry you had to leave in such a hurry the other day. What I wanted to tell you was…”

One evening while I was out back trying to prevent my poppies from expiring in the heat, I got a “DID YOU HEAR ME?” No Rob, I didn’t. But I hear you now. Rob needed to know about my cat. Then he needed to tell me about his own childhood cat. It had nine lives! And I heard how it lost all of them! Another day he saw me watering the sunflowers around the shit cage and asked what I was doing, and what flowers they were, and whether I thought they’d actually bloom before winter? Rob almost got the side-eye for that.

Recently Rob sneaked up and trapped me in Dirty Corner while I was watering over there. It’s a one-way when you have the hose, which I did. I was chatting with the folks from #7 and Rob decided to join our conversation. Instead of carrying on with everyone, I busted through the blockade (Rob), looped my hose back through the passageway and hurried to get back inside before he abandoned them and followed me. Not my best moment.

More alley flowers, continuing to not die yet.

I cannot avoid Rob. My carport is alleyside, my storage unit is in the carport, flowers are barely holding on back there. Rob is a part of my townhouse existence.

Early in the morning while I’m out front with my coffee, I hear Rob hacking in the alley while he vapes. 

Afternoons when I’m working in my alleyside office/guest room, I unwillingly eavesdrop while Rob talks at the UPS guy. 

One evening, Rob helped the lady who owns #4 move a stove out of her townhouse, unlit cigarette bobbing from his lower lip as he told her his personal apartment history while wheeling the appliance along on a dolly.

But in the spirit of trying to be better and do better, I’m actively attempting to be kinder to Rob. One night while I was painting my windowsills, he was out detailing to a friend how to repair his car, and I prepared myself for the certain onslaught once the friend departed. I thought, maybe I can ask him where he grew up and then participate in a conversation. There might be more to Rob if I can get him in some back-and-forth? I was borderline disappointed when he went back to his apartment without a hello. Next time though, I’ll try to listen to him if I have a minute, smile at him if it seems appropriate, show interest if there’s not a reason to run off. Because you know…Rob is right: people should do good things for their neighbors, and I could certainly be a better one.

1. I tried for weeks while this newsletter was still in draft form to photograph the deranged Corgi for you, to no avail. Just imagine unhinged barking at the end of a shortish leash.

2. Rob has not had to deal with the HOA in our complex. Another newsletter for another day.