Around 12:30, as I’m relaxing in my bedroom, trying to make the most of my long weekend due to a catholic holiday of some sort that’s celebrated in Denmark for whatever reason - catholics are rare in Denmark, a strange noise suddenly penetrates the silence.

Out of the blue comes a flapping. Like a large pile of paper being swept away sheet by sheet. My brother, who was in my room at that point for some reason, probably something to do with Super Paper Mario coming out later than expected, or maybe about why .Mac sucks or something like that. It’s always pretty much the same.

Usually when a gust of wind moves the blinds, the flapping sound is not as loud. Not even remotely as this. My brother just told me to ignore it, “must be the neighbors.”

“The neighbors doing what?”

He didn’t know. Of course, even if they were rubbing aluminum foil on the door, it wouldn’t be as loud as this, and besides it didn’t sound as if it came from outside at all.

I searched the living room. No metal blinds there. I looked at the dining table, and there it was, on the window sill. A pigeon.

The window consists of three main parts, three panes, the middle being about the size of the two other panes put together. The panes were split into a tiny window on the top and a significantly larger bottom section - altogether six parts each individually re-sealable. This style is extremely common in Denmark.

The bottom right window was open, and the hook was anchored to prevent the wind from closing it. The breeze was pleasant and somewhat cold. It must have flown in through the open window, and since it doesn’t understand the concept of glass, it didn’t realize that the other panes were, sadly, closed - sealed even.

Poor thing, flew in, and bumped against the window. The flapping noises as I soon realized, came from its futile attempts at flying out the sealed window. It’s not going to figure out how to get out any time soon.

My first reaction to this rare sight was of course, running back to my room to get all the cameras I could find. That is, my camera phone and my Canon SLR film camera, which was fortunately already loaded with about 17 frames of good black & white Kodak film.

In the meantime, it kept on trying to fly out the window.

“Come here, you have to see this!” I yelled to my brother, who stayed in my room.

“What is it?”

“A bird.”

At that point I heard the door slide and shut with a loud thud. Unlike me, he wasn’t very happy, and decided that as a precaution, he better lock himself in my room. At least I had my camera with me.

At that point I declared that bird as officially, “cute.” Under its new status, it was protected against cruelty and had to be photographed.

The poor thing had to go though, I just had to do something. Not only because my brother locked himself up in my room in panic insisting I get the damn thing out.

At some point I stopped throwing bread-crumbs at the bird, and decided to take the broom from the kitchen and show it the way out.

Not that I specifically wanted it out, I didn’t mind it being there, not at all. But then again, it saves me a lot of dealing with my brother, who refused to get out and started screaming at the top of his lungs for me to get it out.

After some wrestling with the bird, it was standing outside the window with its back to me. I reached out for my film camera on the table, and took the last few shots of the pigeon. Portraits, I was practically half a meter away from the pigeon, taking photographs.

I was out of film, and so I reached out for my phone, but by the time I turned to look at the table, I heard again, the flapping noise, and the bird was gone.

Tagged as: animals, art, funny, life, neighbor, photography

A rumor found its way to me, that my neighbor is using the house this weekend for a party. Now of course I’m interested in coming. Who wouldn’t mind, when your neighbor is a blond in the earlier years of her life, and a couple of centimeters shorter than you.

In the past I was pretty mean to my neighbors. I had mentioned earlier that I do not regret it, and yet, now I feel as if I might be regretting doing so, and yet, I still don’t regret it.

Why? Well, at the time, it was a perfectly valid judgement. My logic had no apparent, perceivable flaws, no apparent design faults. It was a smooth elegant plan, justified for its purpose and cause. True. It might have been somewhat stirring, and possibly immoral, but it worked. It worked and fulfilled its purpose down to the last goal. It was, in the scope of the problem in itself, reasonable.

Why might I be regretting it? Possibly due to, first of all, ruining the fun. She probably had a good talk with her mother, evidently - no parties in months. Every now and then, some friends might come over, but there was no more smoking in the hallway, no more yelling and no more doors opening and closing for every group of four noisy teens wanting to get a few puffs of their cigarettes. But then again, she was now being restricted. Who am I to tell her what to do, that’s one thing, but I don’t want to chop her wings off.

I was informed at around 6:00 PM that day, the party had started about three hours afterwards. During those three hours, I went around the house in a daze considering whether I should go or not.

She sure didn’t like me, I thought. After what I’ve done to her, putting the gag on her parties. Trying would be superfluous, unneeded, and unwelcome

My social transformation. I can’t stop it, just yet. I’m filling out the percentages slowly, but with great certainty, and might just reach the (mostly undefinable) goal of gaining a “place within the social structure.” Stopping now would be pointless. It was just the beginning. It’s like a pet. Even if you do feel like killing it, you’re not going to be able to get yourself to, instead, you’ll just wait for it to die on its own, so you don’t have to feel guilty for terminating the poor creature. Not making an attempt was in fact, not an option.

Just to be sure, I put about eight Bacardi Breezer, my favorite “alcohol soft-drink” (I guess you could put it that way) as of today, inside a supermarket bag. It would be harder to refuse when you’re brining something over.

I put on my newly baught cologne which I’d realized after a while that I simply put too much of, since my eyes began to sore slightly, but I sure did smell good. I got out o the house, and went towards the next door.

For a minute, I was just standing in front of the door, considering, until I heard, all of a sudden, the bell ringing.

Similarly to apartment where I live, you can’t tell the front door from the apartment’s door. It’s the same ring. Same sound. No difference.

She heard the doorbell. So did I, which meant that I could do one of two things, either I’ll just get a sudden burst of sheepishness and run away, or, just use it as a sort of a way to combat that problem - a catalyst analogous to someone putting a hand on your shoulder when you’re about to do something stupid enough to get you in prison. I chose the latter.

She ran to the door in heavy steps in those loud shoes that she wore, and opened the door. I didn’t recognize her, mostly because I never had a good look at her face.. There I was, standing in front of her.

“Hi. Would it be alright if I joined, I’m your next door neighbor,” I started, “I brought some drinks too, and got some more at home, I mean..”

She wore a black dress of some interesting semi-formal design, of some material resambling velvet, and at the same time simple cotton. Smooth hair, unnatural blond as far as I could tell, perfectly combed with a little white line, revealing her scalp, on the left side of her head. Interestingly revealing the dress was, and more interesting was why she wore it, but it sure wasn’t because her breast was exceptionally interesting - below average, nothing interesting enough to show in a display case. Not a work of art, but she just had it. Imperfect in a good old human way.

“Well, you see. It’s only for close friends.” Her accent was unmistakably foreign, but she was exceptionally good for a second language. It was that common universal American-like accent.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just for my close friends…”

She knew how to come up with excuses on the fly. But she was good at it, good enough to make me understand that she just won’t let me join, and pressure won’t help. The least I could do, was be nice to her. “By the way, happy birthday. October 23rd, right?”

“Right. You too,” she smiled, “I heard you had yours not so long ago too.” And indeed, my birthday was two weeks ago, four days before hers. She didn’t hate me.

“The next time you’re having a party or something don’t hesitate to invite me over, I’m really bored out of my mind on weekends, usually, and I’d be happy if you had invited me to one of your parties, you know.” Squeezing the last couple of drops before you throw something in the bin is always a good idea.

She gave me a general interjection, as if to agree, substituting a nod.

“Goodbye, then.” I said and started going towards my door, keys in one hand, supermarket bag in the other.

“Bye.” She said and slammed the door, exactly the way I was used to hear in my bedroom.

Rejection.

I believed her, and at the same time didn’t want to believe her. I’d much rather to think of her as a bitch than to think of myself as a loser.

Even if she did do it on purpose, I can’t blame her, you know what.

The only question is what excuse to use next.

Tagged as: analysis, life, neighbor, party, story