The house next door to me is empty. Late, one night, I heard my neighbors coming and going, which wasn't unusual for them since they worked long hours and spent what little free time they had with their Church. I'd often see them rushing into their back door and within fifteen minutes, they'd be rushing out again, clothes changed, shirts pressed, Bibles in their hands.
We exchanged waves. Chit-chatted over the fence about how our sons (same age) had shot up over the winter months, or complained about our daughters' don't-stop-backing-up-until-you-hear-a-crunch driving methods.
I remember when they first moved in . . . how excited they were about owning their first house, the plans they had, how happy they were with the size of the lot, the amount of bedrooms.
And then, after 6 years, they were . . . just gone, and I'm left to speculate about what happened. Ballooning mortgage? Divorce? Job loss? I don't know. I just feel so . . . bad.