Those are the neighbors who live across the street from Mrs. Landry and me. They don’t live all together but in three houses that are in our little orbit.
Those are not their real names, just what we call them over here on the hill-side. Dr. Fatty, Mama’s Boy and Old Santa Claus live on the swamp–side of the street. They’ve got a lot more property than us, but it’s mostly in the swamp so I don’t know where they think they get their bragging rights from.
Our street is Madison Heights Boulevard and it runs along the edge of the Grand Swamp, our local nature preserve and bird sanctuary. The Boulevard divides this end of town into the hill people – us over here on our side, and the swamp people – them over there. Madison Heights Boulevard is a very busy County Road and even though it’s the last country road in town with a real blueberry-picking farm down a ways, the big construction rigs and grass cutting Latins speed up and down all day long. That makes it hard to have a real conversation with the swamp people. They look alright, when you can get a peek at them. They’re kind of furtive.
Dr. Fatty, and Old Santa Claus moved in after we did. Mama’s Boy and his mother have been here since I don’t know because, well, they were here first. I don’t know if he is an actual mama’s boy, tied to the apron strings. He’s not actually a boy, more a middle aged man. Our neighbor next door, a hill person, named him. He waved at us once when we moved in but our neighbor said, “Oh, don’t wave at him, he’s a Mama’s Boy”. She said it with this certain tone so we just let it alone.
Dr. Fatty moved in a few years back. He bought the old Murder House. The woman who lived there with her elderly parents suffocated them with pillows then sat on the edge of the bed looking out the window. Mama’s Boy’s mama discovered them. She, the murderess, was a middle aged woman living with her elderly parents. And, oddly enough, she was also a doctor, an ophthalmologist. I guess she had a blind spot when it came to those elderly parents. At least she didn’t give Mama’s Boy any ideas.
The new Doctor leveled Murder House and built his own palace. We never saw much of him – he’d leave early and get home late – doctor’s hours – and always used the electric garage door opener to let himself in and out. A private man. Our neighbor next door told us he was “Dr. Fatty” using that tone again. He is obese, which is strange for someone in the health game. He seems to be pretty tight with the Mama’s Boy. He has a few classic cars and he and Mama’s Boy go road tripping in the good weather. They go riding with the top down, the arms of their cable knit sweaters wrapped around their necks against the chill. Sometimes they spend the night. Friends.
Old Santa Claus’s elderly parents moved in across the street a few years back. They were nice folks. In the evenings, when the truck traffic thinned out, we’d exchange pleasantries across the boulevard. The old man died and the son, Old Santa Claus and his wife, Mrs. Claus I guess, moved in to take care of mamma. Old Santa Claus isn’t popular. Big bear of a guy with the full, white whiskers. First thing he did was put up an ugly chain-link fence around his whole property – even in the swamp! We’re split-rail people. Chain-link? – that’s not class. Then he put up those motion controlled flood lights all around the property. If old mamma tries to make a break for it she won’t get very far. His next improvement was a three story addition, two stories of which are underground. Probably keeps mamma down in the dungeon.
The neighbor next door really disapproves of Old Santa Claus. “Steer clear of him”, she says with the tone. I will. Him and the pedophile cop who lives three houses down.
On the swamp side of course.
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