her way. Plus, a young couple moved in next door, which suddenly made me oppose moving even more. Because every single night I could hear them groaning and sighing.
My room and their bedroom were right next door to each other. In most of the apartments, the six-mat room was the children’s room and the Japanese-style room, the same size next to it, was the parents’ bedroom. Which meant that in your typical three-bedroom apartment the kids’ room was separated from the neighbor adults’ bedroom by just a wall. Talk about racy. As soon as I heard them start to groan I’d clap my ear to the wall. The young woman next door was very friendly, with a cute face like a charming little kitten. Her hair hung down straight, like a junior high girl’s, exactly the way I like it. To imagine that young woman giving off groans like that!
Hearing them wasn’t enough. I wanted to see them in the act. So I quietly opened the door to the veranda and leaned out. There was only a plywood partition separating our veranda from theirs, a board that was flimsy, so in case of a fire it could be easily broken through. All I had to do was get around that and I could spy into the couple’s bedroom where they were going at it. Damn, I thought, what I’d give to be the Invisible Man.
Pretty soon I was getting all hot and bothered not just by the nighttime goings-on but thinking about what the woman next door was doing during the day, when her husband was gone and she was alone. Maybe she was getting off by herself? I’d love to see that, I thought. One day I skipped out on school and while Mom was out shopping I went out on the veranda and peeked around the partition. The curtains were closed, though, and I couldn’t see anything. I was disappointed, but just then I noticed that she’d hung out her laundry to dry. Her tiny panties were all hanging from a round little dryer hanger. They were so pretty I reached out to try to touch them. I couldn’t quite reach them, so I went back inside and brought out a dust mop. But I still couldn’t get them. My arms got tired, and just when I was taking a break, a piece of thread wafted down from above. I looked up and two floors above us a lady was airing out her futons. She was a friend of my old lady’s, I’m sure, someone she got to know through the co-op. Unconcerned, the woman went on beating her futon. Damn. I went back inside.
That night my old lady came up to me with this scary look on her face.
“What in the world were you up to during the day? Tell me.”
“Nothing,” I said.
“You were trying to get something from next door, weren’t you?”
“No, I wasn’t. I dropped an exam answer sheet and was just trying to pick it up.”
My mom thought about this for a minute. I thought I’d conned her, but she shook her head.
“You should have just knocked on their door. I’ll do that right now.”
“No way!” I yelled, but off she went. I waited thirty minutes, then an hour, and she didn’t come back. I was getting worried. Finally she came back, her eyes all red and puffy from crying.
“We can’t live here anymore,” she said.
What was going on? I didn’t do anything that bad. I stayed silent, while Mom made a big show of crying.
“Maybe I’ve been a bad mother. I can’t believe you’d do something like this.”
“What did they say?”
“The husband answered the door and said there wasn’t any exam paper around. He said that he didn’t have any proof, but it looked like you were trying to steal his wife’s panties. He said one pair was lying on the ground and it looked suspicious. What if your school found out about this? What then? The husband said they wouldn’t make a big deal out of it or anything because of your age, but I can’t stand living here anymore!
“I can’t believe it, can’t believe it, we can’t stay here anymore,” she kept repeating, crying hysterically. The upshot was we left there soon after and moved here. In the beginning, after
My room and their bedroom were right next door to each other. In most of the apartments, the six-mat room was the children’s room and the Japanese-style room, the same size next to it, was the parents’ bedroom. Which meant that in your typical three-bedroom apartment the kids’ room was separated from the neighbor adults’ bedroom by just a wall. Talk about racy. As soon as I heard them start to groan I’d clap my ear to the wall. The young woman next door was very friendly, with a cute face like a charming little kitten. Her hair hung down straight, like a junior high girl’s, exactly the way I like it. To imagine that young woman giving off groans like that!
Hearing them wasn’t enough. I wanted to see them in the act. So I quietly opened the door to the veranda and leaned out. There was only a plywood partition separating our veranda from theirs, a board that was flimsy, so in case of a fire it could be easily broken through. All I had to do was get around that and I could spy into the couple’s bedroom where they were going at it. Damn, I thought, what I’d give to be the Invisible Man.
Pretty soon I was getting all hot and bothered not just by the nighttime goings-on but thinking about what the woman next door was doing during the day, when her husband was gone and she was alone. Maybe she was getting off by herself? I’d love to see that, I thought. One day I skipped out on school and while Mom was out shopping I went out on the veranda and peeked around the partition. The curtains were closed, though, and I couldn’t see anything. I was disappointed, but just then I noticed that she’d hung out her laundry to dry. Her tiny panties were all hanging from a round little dryer hanger. They were so pretty I reached out to try to touch them. I couldn’t quite reach them, so I went back inside and brought out a dust mop. But I still couldn’t get them. My arms got tired, and just when I was taking a break, a piece of thread wafted down from above. I looked up and two floors above us a lady was airing out her futons. She was a friend of my old lady’s, I’m sure, someone she got to know through the co-op. Unconcerned, the woman went on beating her futon. Damn. I went back inside.
That night my old lady came up to me with this scary look on her face.
“What in the world were you up to during the day? Tell me.”
“Nothing,” I said.
“You were trying to get something from next door, weren’t you?”
“No, I wasn’t. I dropped an exam answer sheet and was just trying to pick it up.”
My mom thought about this for a minute. I thought I’d conned her, but she shook her head.
“You should have just knocked on their door. I’ll do that right now.”
“No way!” I yelled, but off she went. I waited thirty minutes, then an hour, and she didn’t come back. I was getting worried. Finally she came back, her eyes all red and puffy from crying.
“We can’t live here anymore,” she said.
What was going on? I didn’t do anything that bad. I stayed silent, while Mom made a big show of crying.
“Maybe I’ve been a bad mother. I can’t believe you’d do something like this.”
“What did they say?”
“The husband answered the door and said there wasn’t any exam paper around. He said that he didn’t have any proof, but it looked like you were trying to steal his wife’s panties. He said one pair was lying on the ground and it looked suspicious. What if your school found out about this? What then? The husband said they wouldn’t make a big deal out of it or anything because of your age, but I can’t stand living here anymore!
“I can’t believe it, can’t believe it, we can’t stay here anymore,” she kept repeating, crying hysterically. The upshot was we left there soon after and moved here. In the beginning, after
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