The Curse of Shared Walls

A few months after arriving, I finally found my feet.  With great excitement, I started teaching music again.  One of the deep loves in my life is music.  My mother can attest to the fact that, as long as there is music, I am a very happy girl.  With great encouragement from my engineer, I jumped into starting my studio and focusing on my students.  Before I knew it, I had a wonderful group of musicians who were growing in their various ways before my very eyes.  This period in my military life would become one of my most cherished.

Like most music teachers, I taught from my home.  I had carefully placed the piano on an interior wall so as to not fill my neighbors' homes with the sound of my students' progress...or lack of.  Because I knew that we would move often, I had invested in a high quality digital piano, as to conserve on our weight allowance.  This also allowed me to adjust the volume to a workable level for both my students and my neighbors.  Everything was great.  I was finally happy.  My engineer was thrilled to see me diving into something that I loved.  Then it began...the screaming.

Everyday, between 4pm and 4:15pm, we would hear the neighbor's door close with a bang...and it would begin.  His wife would begin SCREAMING at him at the top of lungs.  Over time, I would grow to pity him and despise her.  At first I was embarrassed as his commander's wife (she was one of my students), would turn to me and ask if this was a part of my daily life.  I would shrug my shoulders and do my best to draw her back to her lesson...despite the unseemly distraction next door.  Over time, she would simply raise her eyebrow and shake her head when it would come crashing in on her lesson time.  Part of me felt really bad, as every house had the name and rank posted next to the front door for all to see.  What was I to do?  There is no way her husband didn't hear about it!  I know that, if something like that happened to me, I would tell my engineer.

This daily screaming would be a part of our lives for a good year. Weekends were the worst.  After a while, my engineer and I just spent as much time out of the house as possible.  I was quickly learning what I seriously did not want to be.  Our dinner quests and friends quickly developed this running joke about the whipped man next door and his shrew of a wife.  My engineer and I, forever wanting to stay out of something that may bite us later, worked hard at not contributing to the talk concerning our neighbors on the other side of the wall.

I remember one day when the husband sheepishly told my engineer that his wife was going through fertility treatments, and she was a "little" difficult at the moment.  However, upon doing the math, the screaming started before the treatments began.  All I knew was that I wanted nothing to do with someone who would speak to the love of her life the way she did...regardless of the excuse.

That early experience was the first of many concerning shared walls in military housing.  When we moved to The Orient, our shared walls would push me to contemplate calling the police for fear that someone was being physically injured.  I would quietly talk to the spouse when her husband wasn't home, only to be told that he had never hit her or the children.  I finally told her that I would call the Military Police anyway if it continued.  Sadly, shortly after, he went Blue to Green after being pushed out for hitting a subordinate.  My heart broke, watching her leave with those children, knowing the abuse would continue.

Not all of our shared wall companions were bad.  Some of them were delightful!  We would hear laughter floating through the walls as families enjoyed each other's company.  There was the luscious smell of various culinary creations that would escape their abode into our own. Because we were all far from our families, holidays and spontaneous gatherings would be open to each other out of mutual understanding of the need for connection.  For the first time in my life, I would feel comfortable going next door to borrow a cup of sugar, and be more than happy to return the favor.

My engineer and I would learn the vital lesson of living a quiet life in our home.  Arguments would be conducted in controlled tones, as to not, unwittingly, inflict it on someone else.  We would learn how to carefully maneuver being the hosts of gatherings that didn't infringe on someone else's life.  With the arrival of children and the noise they bring, we would develop habits of graciousness to our neighbors who were, unfortunately, having to suffer the sleepless nights right along with us.  Even to this day, living in a single family home, our home is normally a quiet one.

I guess I have a lot to thank that angry woman and her doormat husband for.  If it wasn't for them, I am not sure if we would have learned the valuable lesson of quiet living as early as we did.  We have our moments, with the addition of two children...no doubt about it.  But they made us ever mindful of what could be heard outside our home.  I just hope to God that I NEVER have to live near them again...and my heart breaks for those who have been cursed with having a shared wall with them in the years that were to follow.