Kimmy and her neighbor-slash-landlady, Lillian, in the show “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.”
By Lana Schwartz | lana.schwartz925@gmail.com
Becoming friends — true friends — with your neighbors in New York City is as elusive as finding a rent stabilized apartment. The fantasy is that you can socialize without leaving your apartment. The reality typically is that, at best, you don’t have anything in common with your neighbors except your address. At worst, you hate them. They’re loud, they have bad taste in music, and usually both at the same time. Worst of all, they could be doing that while simultaneously paying less money in rent than you.
No wall, floor, or ceiling has ever been thick enough for me to consider any direct neighbor as anything but annoying, quite frankly, if I’m considering them at all. Phone numbers have only been offered so I can send pleas to “please turn the music down, it’s 5 a.m.”
Yet recently I have found a more satisfying relationship with a neighbor, one that I believe is perfect.
I believe the key to this affection for my neighbor is that he lives in the building next to mine, rather than in my building. We have all of the neighborly camaraderie without any of the contempt familiarity can breed.
Our interactions go as follows: When I see him, I say “hi.” He says “hi” back. Though one time he did say that I’m “always walking around places,” which is an accurate summation of what I’m usually doing.
He is an older man, though I have no idea how old and I will probably never find out. How long has he lived in Greenpoint? Does he still like living here? These are all questions I don’t have. The simple, uncomplicated wave of recognition we share is more than enough for me. I even look forward to it. There is no expectation or intimation of small talk. It is a relief to know I can walk by and wave without having to say I’m “good” or talk about what the weather is doing. There are no hopes of deepening our relationship, and by the same token, no disappointments.
Still, I’d be upset if he wasn’t there anymore. I’d like to think he feels the same, and that, if needed, he could provide an accurate description of me to any real-life Law & Order: SVU detectives should I become a victim of an unspeakable crime. But there wouldn’t be an unfillable hole in the other person’s life if one of us was gone; and in New York City, where people are always arriving and leaving, there’s more than enough people with whom you share actual relationships with to miss. I wouldn’t want to add to my neighbor’s burden (whatever that burden may be, but like I said, he is older, so I imagine there are burdens).
Wave to the people who live on your block. You may get lucky and wind up with the kind of relationship like I have with my neighbor, though there are no guarantees. What we have takes no care, no maintenance, and therefore might be impossible to replicate.
