Kristen Lindquist
Neighborhood
Our divorcee neighbor, Mrs. Jones, was having an affair. I was nine or ten, and she had three daughters around my age whom I often played with because they were next-door. I went over to their house after lunch one summer afternoon, and Charlie Rich’s “Behind Closed Doors” was blasting on the stereo. The girls told me that meant they couldn’t go upstairs, because their mother’s boss was visiting. But later they got into an argument they needed their mom to settle, so we all tromped upstairs and barged into the bedroom. The couple were in bed, flushed and undressed, blankets pulled up to their necks. Mrs. Jones smiled indulgently at the girls, who rushed to her with their grievances while I waited in the doorway. I wondered why they were in bed on a summer afternoon, why she wasn’t yelling at the bickering girls like she usually did. Some instinct kept me from telling my parents what I’d seen. It was years before it dawned on me what had been going on.
after school
another child in danger
on Emergency
Though we moved to a different town in a year or two, the Jones sisters and I still went to the same high school, but we were no longer friends. Our senior year I heard a rumor that the sister in my class, the one I’d been closest to back then, was having an affair with the husband of the couple who had bought our house. She was their babysitter. Her yearbook entry was full of coded references to him. They’ve now been married for decades, have several kids together. My sister taught one of their daughters in 4th grade.
cat’s cradle i always knew i didn’t want children
About the Author
Kristen Lindquist is a poet, writer, and naturalist in Camden, Maine. She has published two collections of poetry and maintains a daily haiku blog at kristenlindquist.com/blog.