Annie Levin
My Circus
On the East Coast of the vast United States, the disproportional oblong known as Pennsylvania is my home. More simply stated, I suppose one would call my cul-de-sac one of the quiet suburbs of civilization. I live in a house on a hill, behind a small church that plays music at every hour; a street that shelters a stereotypical terrifying old woman who refuses to interact with the rest of society; and a place where someone’s dog is somehow always loose. Wide roads and matching trashcans, the street proves far from dull though – and in a much greater sense it is its own circus.
A typical morning usually begins with a wakeup call – the words “Buck! Buuuuuuuck!” resonating through the hilltop cul-de-sac. It is 6 A.M. and despite the daily escape attempts of his black and white Jack Russel Terrier, Mr. Ridley still remains strongly anti-leash. His faith in the idea that an unleashed dog would have the decency to remain in the unfenced lot has always been amusing to me, though, not as much as the fact that he calls to a dog which has never in its life responded to its own name. As per the usual 15-minute front lawn solo, Mr. Ridley eventually hitches a ride in the battered Ford and moves on to Plan B: windows down, he wanders the maze of the nearby neighborhoods, continuing to call out for his dog. Only the good Lord knows how much longer this sitcom-worthy ritual will keep up; while part of me would appreciate the extra shut eye, the rest finds especial delight of the situation during the winter months.
In my 17 years on this street, it has become apparent that the majority of my neighbors harbor a shared dislike for trees. Though the street of Cedarwood Drive homes no actual Cedarwood trees, the few flora that do dare to grow have been the victims of an ongoing mass murder in the recent years. Should the cry of Mr. Ridley not wake you from your slumbers, it is highly likely the privately hired Mexican brother duo will take care of that. Careful not to break the township’s code of conduct for nuisance, the strike of 7 A.M. means the beginning of your very own horror movie soundtrack —weekdays or weekends alike, and always on the mornings you least expect it. Two chainsaws as well as a shredder hard at work, the men labor tirelessly for what you can bet is no less than the sixth time in the past three months alone.
Why can’t a household have them remove all unappreciated trees in one visit? How is it that the same handful of neighbors always seem to find a new tree to remove, despite our street not being incredibly green to begin with? Perhaps they battle in an unspoken territorial showdown; or perhaps they all enjoy the sound of chainsaws far too much. All I know is that at this rate, the Mexican duo won’t have any business left in the hood pretty soon. And I only wish that day would come sooner.
“So, the mornings are sometimes rough, but that doesn’t account for what the neighboring people themselves are like,” you may think. Is it possible that regular day-to-day is smooth sailing from here? All you need is one good look at the Maddens’ children to find the answer to that. Growing up, there were never too many kids on the block. Across from my house lived a family of five, with a daughter who hardly ventured outdoors. It wasn’t until the Maddens moved in with their firstborn that some hope was shed to the situation. For the first time there existed another child who enjoyed a good game of hide and seek or kickball. From there, she had a sister. And then another; and another.
One house, a massive dog, and five little girls ranging from two to eleven, each being roughly two years apart in age – let me be the one to say they’ve essentially established their own “kindergarten.” Every afternoon the girls can be found in the yard or on the street, chalk, soccer ball, bikes and all – doing so in the complete comfort of bare feet. In the sun, rain, or mid snow flurry, you would be foolish to assume a clothing change just because of temperature drops. I’ve learned they love their au naturale “survivalist” attire – so 40-degree weather only means another chance to fire up that body heat as they chase one another in their Disney Elsa t shirts and shorts. (The cold never bothered her anyway.)
The place I live is far from your ordinary cookie-cutter block, mainly because of the people that surround me. Full of their own personalities, problems, and unique quirks, never do I go a day wishing for something to happen, because something always does. It is not just some quiet, suburban neighborhood; it is busy, colorful, and full of surprises. Sure, things may get a little crazy at times, but it is my very own circus. And that is the place I live.
* Note: Names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.