O P E N L E T T E R S
T O P E O P L E O R E N T I T I E S
W H O A R E U N L I K E L Y
T O R E S P O N D .
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[Send your open letters to openletters@mcsweeneys.net.]
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AN OPEN LETTER
TO MY NEIGHBOR WHO
FREQUENTLY SITS ALONE
INSIDE HIS TRUCK.
May 31, 2006
Dear Neighbor,
Ever since last spring, when my girlfriend and I moved into the house next to yours, we've often wondered why you sit alone inside your pickup. I've witnessed you sitting inside your truck on several occasions, most recently when I pulled into my driveway tonight at 9:30 p.m. You always sit in a similar fashion to how I imagine undercover police officers sit: patient, content, yet searching for something. Sometimes you rest a hand on the steering wheel, lean an arm on the open window frame, and look as though you are about to drive away. Except you never do. You don't even start the truck. You just sit there. Alone.
You've made cordial small talk with me on occasion from the cab of your truck. There were a few times when I was out for a walk and saw you sitting in the truck. This is going to be awkward, I thought. And, sure enough, it was. As I pretended to fumble with my keys and hoped we'd avoid eye contact, you asked, "How are you doing?" On a cloudy day, you said, "Might rain." My two favorites were "Funny seeing you here" and "This truck, it sure is good." You see, it's not funny that you see me here—I live next door. And I certainly don't doubt that it's a good truck. Though I've never driven a late-'80s-model Chevy truck, especially one painted fire-engine red, I can say that I've certainly heard good things about them.
There have been days when you've spent more time in your truck than in your home. Sometimes your wife is home when you do this, sometimes not. When she is, I often wonder if she looks out the window and wonders why her husband is sitting alone in the cab of his truck. Most perplexing is when you sit in the truck during the hot summer months. You're a large man who has apparently had some medical problems—remember last summer when paramedics came to your house twice in one week? It gets very hot here, and I wouldn't leave a dog in the car, let alone a 50-something man who open-mouth-breathes loud enough for me to hear it from my balcony, 20 feet away.
Perhaps the radio reception in the truck is better than the reception in your house. I know that I can only listen to ESPN radio in my car, and I've sometimes left the engine running a few minutes after pulling into my driveway in order to hear a conversation finish up before a commercial break. But I've never listened to an entire show in the car. That would be silly. Or perhaps you simply enjoy the faux-leather upholstery of the bench seat in your cab. I would think that your legs would get stiff, but, hey, maybe that's just me. Maybe your favorite old recliner in the living room finally broke, and you simply enjoy the comfort of that seat. But I suspect you're avoiding something at home, some melancholy or despair that only sets in after you pass through that doorway. I have reached this conclusion for three reasons: (1) you sit inside your truck alone; (2) empty Budweiser cans are scattered in the bed of said truck; and (3) a handful of times, after you've sat in your truck for hours, you go into the house with a bouquet of tulips, presumably for your wife.
If you're doing this as part of a neighborhood-watch program, then let me thank you for attempting to keep our street safe. If you are doing this for any reason other than a neighborhood-watch program, it's kind of creepy. The other neighbors all wonder what the hell you're doing in there, and sometimes dogs, as they pass by your truck with their owners, bark at you. Still, it's your truck, and you are certainly free to sit inside of it alone whenever and wherever you see fit.
However, can you please not be shirtless? It just makes it all the more awkward when I have to walk past you when you're sitting alone inside your truck.
Sincerely,
Jay Varner
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