My ex-neighbor Bill comes over to my place on Thursdays to stare at his ex-wife Janine through my window blinds. There’s a restraining order that says Bill has to stay five hundred feet away from Janine, but he pays me ten bucks an hour because I can get him to thirty feet without anyone knowing shit.
Bill always brings his binoculars and a six-pack of beer. Sometimes we order pizza. Bill sits in my recliner and waits for Janine to walk into her kitchen or den. To the outside world this might seem like a bad deal, to pay to see his ex-wife in such a limited way or some nights not at all, but Bill doesn’t care. He pays me week after week without complaint.
“Lisa,” Bill asked me tonight, “What’s this journal entry mean? The one that says ‘Water Heater’?”
Besides the hourly charge, Bill pays me a few bucks to track Janine’s comings and goings. I jot down whenever Janine gets groceries or works in her garden. Normally it’s easy money, but last week it got complicated. On Saturday, a man named Jeremy stopped over and had sex with Janine. I knew his name was Jeremy because of how loudly and persistently Janine kept screaming it. After they finished screwing, I noticed a truck down the block delivering a water heater to one of my neighbors. I wrote that down in the journal instead of the truth.
“Maybe her old water heater broke?” I offered.
Bill was a handy guy. He still did things around the house for Janine when she wasn’t around. Once he climbed over the fence and cut down some tree branches that were getting too close to a power line. Another time, he mixed up some cement and tuckpointed a loose brick on the side of her house.
“I bought that water heater a year ago,” Bill said, “it should still be fine.”
All week I debated whether or not I should tell Bill about Jeremy. I decided against it. I’d seen Bill get angry a couple of times. The last time was right after he and Janine split up. Bill went out into his backyard and picked up a rowboat and hurled it against the side of his garage. Then he took an axe and split the rowboat apart and lit the pieces on fire. Then he stood there and laughed. While he was laughing at his fire some of the flames jumped onto his garage. This was when Bill really started to laugh, louder and louder, cackling while his garage burned to the ground.
“I only write down what I see,” I told him.
Whenever Janine walked into her kitchen, Bill pressed his binoculars to his face. Janine was in her early 40s and she often wore sleeveless shirts or tank tops to show off her lean arms. When Jeremy stopped over last week he kissed Janine on the back of her neck and then the two of them tore off each other’s clothes and fucked on a granite countertop near a fruit basket filled with pears.
“Did she dye her hair?” Bill asked me now, handing me the binoculars.
Janine’s hair had been brown before, but now it was blonde. I guessed it was Jeremy’s influence. I remembered how I’d lost some weight when I started dating my last boyfriend, Aaron, but when we broke up I gained it all back, plus a bunch more.
“She always talked about going blonde,” Bill said. “I’m glad she finally did it.”
Sometimes when Bill was over we’d discuss our relationship troubles, but tonight I didn’t feel like it. Earlier that day, I’d driven by Aaron’s apartment and found he’d moved out.
“Do you know where he went?” I asked Elaine, the apartment manager.
I’d met Elaine before, a couple of times, maybe not during my best moments. The first time I’d met her I’d gotten very drunk and puked up a large amount of Easter ham in the foyer of Aaron’s building. The other time was a couple of days after Aaron and I had split up, when Elaine caught me pouring weed killer inside an enormous heart shaped stencil I’d laid in the grass outside his apartment window.
“Even if I knew,” Elaine said, “I wouldn’t tell you.”
While Bill was watching Janine, another ex-neighbor of mine, Harley, knocked on my door. Until a few weeks ago, Harley lived across the street with his wife Lily.
“Bill mentioned to me that you let your ex-neighbors hang out at your place so they can be closer to their ex-wives,” he said.
I wasn’t a huge fan of Harley. He was a blowhard and a few years ago he’d made some disparaging remarks about a cheesecake I’d brought to a neighborhood block party. I never understood what Lily saw in him. Lily was neighborly to me, always waving hello whenever she saw me out in my yard.
“I only provide that service for Bill,” I explained to Harley. “He’s the only client I want right now.”
“Please,” Harley pleaded. “I just want to sit here and remember what my life used to be like.”
Lily and Harley’s house had lots of windows and I’d gotten the pleasure of watching their breakup from the comfort of my own bed. The yelling and accusing started in their kitchen. After that things moved into their living room. I made a plate of nachos and sat on my bed as their fight spilled onto their front lawn.
“Fine,” I told Harley. “It’s twenty bucks an hour.”
I thought this price might discourage him, but he didn’t flinch.
“Two hours’ worth,” he said, slapping forty bucks down on my dining room table.
I handed Harley an extra pair of my binoculars. Across the street, I saw Lily doing yoga. It looked very exciting to me, her ponytail shifting and bouncing as she stretched, but Harley stifled a yawn.
“I wish I could start over with her,” he said, “but once you’ve ruined something it takes so much energy to fix, you know?”
I knew. Aaron had cheated on me with his boss, a woman fifteen years older than him who’d recently had a hip replaced. I immediately forgave him, told him we could work through it. Unfortunately, Aaron wasn’t looking for forgiveness.
“I told you this wasn’t working,” he said, “and you kept ignoring me so I decided to show you instead.”
While I stood there with Harley, he pulled out his phone to check his messages. Bill never did this. Any time Janine walked into his line of sight, Bill stared at her like nothing else in the world existed.
“This feels even creepier than I thought it would,” Harley said.
“It’s only creepy if you aren’t in love,” I snapped.
While Harley and Bill watched their ex-wives, I went into my laundry room. I’d recently drilled a peephole in the wall by the dryer. When I was feeling especially depressed about Aaron, I liked to go in there and stare at Bill while he stared at Janine. Sometimes when I was feeling especially sad, I turned on my dryer and rubbed myself against its vibration and warmth while studying Bill’s loving and devoted face.
Tonight while I stared at Bill, I saw him get up from his recliner and walk over to the window. At first I thought Bill was trying to get a better view of Janine, but shortly after he stood up he smacked his hand against the window and screamed “Janine!” Then he screamed “No! No! No!” I watched as Bill sprinted down my hall and out my front door. I ran into my living room and saw what he was screaming about – Jeremy was in Janine’s kitchen sucking on her tit.
Bill ran next door and tried to kick in Janine’s door. It took a minute or two for him to knock it down. By then Janine and Jeremy barricaded themselves inside the upstairs bathroom. While Bill rampaged through the house, I heard sirens in the distance. Soon a squad car flew up in front of the house. Then another. I watched as the cops ran inside and wrestled Bill to the ground.
Most of my neighbors, Lily, the Wassersteins, the Driscolls, were standing on their lawns wondering what the hubbub was. Soon Bill was will dragged outside.
“Janine!” Bill yelled as he was shoved into the back of squad car. “Janine! How could you?”
As the cops drove off, I poured myself a gin and tonic. I thought I might commiserate with Harley about Bill, see if he had any good advice about my current situation with Aaron, to see if he wanted to make this time a regular thing, but when I got upstairs Harley was gone. I looked out my front window and saw him talking to Lily. He was standing close to her and he was pointing over at my house and Lily was throwing her head back and laughing. They kept talking and giggling until the streetlights kicked on and then Lily took Harley’s hand in hers and led him up the sidewalk and into the house and I watched her pull down her blinds and spin them tightly shut.
Part of me wanted to be like, NOBODY WOULD DO THIS! But then I remembered being 20 and in love and a heartbroken crazy person, so I can see empathizing with someone else’s crazy at that time. Not now, no, but.
No, this is just creepy, and I’m frankly surprised that The Toast thought this was appropriate.
(It’s fiction.)
…I realise that. I still think it’s unlike this site, especially given that it was written by a man ‘from the perspective of’ an overweight, unhappy woman. That’s some thin ice to tread on, and I’m not convinced enough that it was successful enough to merit the posting. YMMV.
Thank you for articulating my discomfort so precisely when I could not find the words.
I wish I could like this more than once. My mileage is apparently varying in the same way yours is.
I read this when it first posted and came back to the comments today to see if I was the only one who was weirded out by this piece. Glad I was not and that the reasons I felt gross about this were very similar to everyone else’s.
I agree with you. This is an expression of male weirdness and not super good writing, this is not what I come to the site for.
It’s creepy, but I don’t think it endorses that creepiness; I think it points out how silly / dangerous the idea of a romantic stalker is. The narrator certainly seems to think Bill’s “devotion” / stalking is a sign of love. But he ends up getting arrested and causing a fight. Harley correctly notes that this is creepy…And he’s the only one who ends up with a happy(?) resolution.
“This Is Only Creepy If You Let It Be Creepy”
Have never found myself disagreeing more strongly with a title. Well done.
In all seriousness, I wonder if you can get in legal trouble for helping someone violate an order of protection. Swear to Bob that this is a theoretical.
I really didn’t get a sense of a female voice at all; maybe Holden Caulfield-ish, without much affect. I’m afraid I can’t say this piece’s tone or style redeemed itself from the really disturbing premises. None of the characters seemed realistic – someone like Bill would be much more volatile and scary and sad, to dedicate that much time and have that level of physical rage. (I have seen the work of many a Bill in hospitals.) It has a soulless, disaffected feel that isn’t lost or sad, but very detached and unemotional, despite some details that were inserted to propose emotional engagement at one point during the narrator’s history. I just have no sense of what the author was trying to accomplish. This was a really odd (to put it nicely) piece to feature on The Toast.
I agree about the voice. I was surprised when the narrator was addressed as Lisa. I feel like a woman would have more skin in the situation–in every aspect of the situation–than this narrator seems to have. I feel like, if this is a woman and this is how she feels, there needs to be some reason for it. I mean, wouldn’t she be scared of Bill? I really feel like a) she would have some feelings about his violence and volatility, or b) we would know specifically why she didn’t have any feelings about his violence and volatility. I like some aspects of the story, but the voice just really doesn’t ring true.
A good story. Creepy though. You gotta want to get better.
I can’t decide if this is terrible or hilarious, or both.
I agree with most of the others commenters about the voice. It felt like the guy wanted to write it as his default voice (which, like most writers, is their own gender), but he also wanted to get it published on the Toast, so he did the bare minimum rather than put any extra work in.
Urgh. A very, very odd piece to find toast-adjacent. Was it posted satirically?? Whatever, I feel disillusioned 🙁
I didn’t initially look at the author’s name, just clicked on the title and started reading, but I assumed pretty quickly that it wasn’t written by a woman. Also, I think that stalking one’s ex and/or enabling that is pretty much the definition of creepy.
I didn’t initially look at the author’s name, just clicked on the title and started reading, but I assumed pretty quickly that it wasn’t written by a woman. Also, I think that stalking one’s ex and/or enabling that is pretty much the definition of creepy.
It’s been a few days and yup, still pissed that y’all felt it appropriate to publish this gross ass shit. I really hope the editors address it because it feels incredibly out of line with what I expect from this website. A woman narrator clearly written by a man talking about stalking women? Nope nope nope nope a thousand times fucking nope.
I agree. I’m not sure what response I want from the editors, exactly, but I feel like enough people have registered their feelings about this that *something* now needs to be said. I will often glance at the comments of pieces I read, and I’ve never seen a reaction this consistently negative, and certainly not this concerned/conflicted about what a particular post says about the site as a whole. The many ways in which people have said that this doesn’t fit a website we’ve come to trust… that has to carry some weight, and I think it should be acknowledged.
Maybe it’s here to warm us up for a great piece by Mallory on Things Women Only Do in Media Created by Men.
I mean, that stupid old business of pleasuring oneself on a washing machine? Guys, I know we are inextricably linked in your minds with domestic tasks, but WE’VE GOT EASIER AND MORE EFFICIENT WAYS.
Hi there. As the editor who selected this piece I wanted to let you know I hear your concerns. This short story is fiction and no one involved with The Toast or The Butter condones untoward behavior toward anyone, and especially not women. Not everything we publish here will be for everyone. When I read this story I found it strange and uncomfortable and funny and also in line with John Jodzio’s writing with which I am very familiar and have published before at other publications. That said, will definitely keep the responses to this story in mind as I select future work for the site.
Maybe it's here to warm us up for a great piece by Mallory on Things Women Only Do in Media Created by Men.
I mean, that stupid old business of pleasuring oneself on a washing machine? Guys, I know we are inextricably linked in your minds with domestic tasks, but WE'VE GOT EASIER AND MORE EFFICIENT WAYS.
Yes, you can.
Hi there. As the editor who selected this piece I wanted to let you know I hear your concerns. This short story is fiction and no one involved with The Toast or The Butter condones untoward behavior toward anyone, and especially not women. Not everything we publish here will be for everyone. When I read this story I found it strange and uncomfortable and funny and also in line with John Jodzio's writing with which I am very familiar and have published before at other publications. That said, will definitely keep the responses to this story in mind as I select future work for the site.
I read the piece before looking at the author info as well, but the dissonance in tone made me think of a woman writing in an affected male voice—-like that phase I went through after gorging myself on Martin Amis.
Regardless, it's a good piece. Not great, but not bad, and I certainly don't feel like I want that ten minutes of my life back. It didn't creep me out or piss me off like it seemed to do so many of the people commenting here, and maybe if it had elicited such a strong reaction in me, my opinion of it would be higher. As it is, said opinion is actually boosted by the fact that it *did* pull such a visceral response out of so many people—art is *supposed* to do that.