My Neighbor Tatiana Is Moving Out

Somebody shout Alleluia! I was on my balcony the other day doing some blog work when her royal highness nuisance, Tatiana came out. You know it’s impossible for Tatiana to see you and not start a conversation, so she asked me what I’ll be doing for Thanksgiving, and I told her nothing. Then she wanted to know what I will be cooking, and again, I told her nothing. She asked me why and wanted to know what Igwe will eat on Thanksgiving. I told her we weren’t going to be home anyway, that we will be going to spend the day with my grandma and the rest of my family.

That was when she said, “You know I’m moving out next month, right?” She asked me the question as if the apartment complex sends out a newsletter when someone is moving out. She went on to tell me that the apartment people are trying to cheat her, that they have refused to give her back her security deposit, that they told her she opted to pay the nonrefundable security deposit. I said, oh, I didn’t know. I didn’t ask why she was moving out, but she told me anyway that she just couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t know what it was that she couldn’t take anymore, and I didn’t ask either. I was just happy to hear that she’ll be moving out, and I’ll be able to sleep better in the morning.

Tatiana also went on to tell me that she had not been going to work for a while because she got hurt at work and she was now receiving Workers’ Compensation. To that, I just said a simple, “Oh,” that could have been interpreted to mean different things: surprise, sympathy, interest, shock, apathy. Whatever.

But Tatiana wasn’t done talking. She also told me that she was going to be moving back to where she used to live before, around Loch Raven. Then she asked me where our mail man was because apparently, he hasn’t been the one delivering our mail. I said that I didn’t know. The reason Tatiana knows this is because she’s not been working and she’s naturally a busy body. The rest of us who have jobs, we don’t know when the mail man brings our mails, unless he brings a package to the door. Because I don’t see the mail man anyway, I wouldn’t know when he’s not around.

Just as Tatiana was asking about our mail man, the mail truck came driving through. It stopped and a black woman with short blonde hair came stepping out of the truck. Alas, Tatiana was right. This woman was not our mail man. Our mail man is a white salt and peppered hair middle aged man. Tatiana literally ran into the building. She stood by the door and asked the woman, “What happened to our mail man?” The woman told her that he was on vacation. Then Tatiana asked, “Where did he go? … When will he be back? … Did he go [travel] somewhere? ….” I don’t know how many of these questions the mail woman answered, but I went back inside my house and shut the door. Didn’t want Tatiana to come back and start talking to me again.

And in case you’re wondering, yes, she’s still yelling at her man. She yells at him and calls him all sorts of names. I’m yet to hear the man retaliate one single time. Oh, well. What matters most is that soon, my neighbors and I won’t have to deal with her anymore. Cheers to the New Year.

P.S. Tomorrow is the day I tell you my secret! Kai. The day has come too fast.