Guilt Trip

One of the consequences of being both bi-polar and autistic is that there are side effects. I get at least two I've monitored: OCD and good old-fashioned paranoia. Not extreme; just enough to be an itch, an irritation. Or to cause problems (or imagine them) with neighbors.

My wife, daughter and I share a house in a suburb of Seattle. We have neighbors. An interesting variety, in fact, but that's another story. One of them is a fellow nerd, who also works at home, and is just a (tall) fence away, much like the neighbor character in the Tim Allen sitcom Home Improvement.

In fact I really can see him only above eye level unless he's on the second floor deck, where he sometimes appears. Otherwise we have this fence, and on my side is my little park and garden and on his side are, well, two dogs, three (young) children, two adults (parents) and a couple of stray cats.

Being a writer, given (and when) we actually have sunshine, at times, in Seattle, I like to sit, or rather lounge, in my yard, and absorb rays. And probably UV but never mind that. Another side effect of autism, however, is sensitivity to noise. Such as the kind two dogs, three (young) children and two stray cats make, along with an occasional protesting parent.

Certain frequencies are worse than others. There is one frequency, possibly capable of breaking glass if not eardrums, which is emitted by young girls in the 2 to 6-year range. It's called 'screaming.' And it's very loud. It also causes pain in certain people's central nervous systems. If not eardrums. Like mine. So out comes the family, while I'm out working on my latest inspiration (and also some rays). The children consist of a four-year-old boy and twin girls, age 2 (as in 'Terrible Twos.'). And these particular girls apparently like to scream. In the aforementioned high frequency. At the aforementioned high volume.

The boy, whose exceedingly Christian name is Noah, attempts to scold his little sisters. "Don't scream," he instructs them. Probably just trying to be helpful, to his elder neighbor (me).

My neighbor the nerd, who is standing by somewhere on the other side of the fence, begs to differ. "They can scream if they want to!" he insists.

I flee the scene. Unfortunately, I cannot resist a protest of my own, and close my sliding patio door somewhat more loudly than normal in my hasty departure. About which I immediately feel guilty.

I don't know what guilt is a symptom of, but it then proceeded to nag me for months, because as it happened, that incident took place in August last, and I did not see those neighbors again ('seeing,' with that fence in the way, being proverbially speaking) for another five months. During which time I fashioned and fabricated numerous imaginary discussions with said neighbor over his daughters' screaming, and my loud exit. I considered soliciting another neighbor (a minister, as it happened) to intercede or negotiate terms. Or maybe just confer my apology for my part of the overall disturbance. Because after all, they're just kids, and don't know any better, and girls will be girls, and so on.

Then, on a recent sunny (as in 70 degrees sunny) day in January, my wife and I decided to go outside for a few rays, when suddenly: "Hello there!" It was my neighbors. All seven of them (the cats were occupied elsewhere). All smiles. No screams. Not even a bark. Noah waved. So I sheepishly exchanged greetings and small talk. Then it dawned on me at last: probably with all that screaming, my neighbor never even heard me slam the sliding door anyway. Here I was feeling guilty for five months and he never even noticed!

(Loud proverbial scream). Ah well. Such is life in the suburbs. Even in Seattle.