She smoked like a chimney, back then it was a common scene. Her croaky voice and stained teeth justified her obsession for cigarettes. Val was our next door neighbor. She was in her mid life, older than my parents. A slender tall house wife to a husband who was of similar stature yet so different. It was then, I figured that opposites did in fact attract. George didn’t speak as much as Val, we also didn’t see him as much. He never smoked.
We’d meet mostly in the garden. Cigarette in one hand and a cup of tea in the other or she’d have the cigarette hanging from her mouth while she clipped her washing on the clothes line or straightened her plant pots. Her curly short hair blowing slightly in the breeze. She wore high waisted jeans and cozy slippers that never came off, be it rain or shine. A pack of cigarettes and lighter were permanent fixtures in her hand. She’d always stop her chore to say ‘hello luv’, walking closer to the short wired fence that separated our gardens. Without a thought she’d begin to mention the latest news about another neighbor or how the dustbin men left the gate open again to the entrance we shared. She’d voice her annoyance with the paper boy. He didn’t throw her newspaper directly at her doorstep and so it got half drenched in the rain. Every conversation was eventually interrupted with a hacking cough filled with phlegm. Val talked with my dad at length. He would sometimes share drinks with her in the garden. My mother, on the other hand, would wave from a distance mainly because she was put off by the smoke that never left Val’s side.
Val would invite me over to her house so I could retrieve our empty dishes; my parents would send over food they thought she’d enjoy. They loved sharing and it didn’t phase them that Val never once cooked for them. Her house had a stale stench, there was not much color. Some parts of her living space seemed untouched. I felt sorry for the kettle that whistled non stop perched on her stove top. China tea cups and saucers with used tea bags filled her sink. The oven light was always on along with her television that was situated in front of a worn armchair. I knew it was her chair because there was an ashtray right next to it. The house wasn’t as orderly as I thought it should be, considering she was home all the time. Cereal boxes and newspapers lined her kitchen workspace. I couldn’t imagine Val cooking a meal. The bread bin was always open, overflowing with packets of half used loaves. On top of the bin was her stock of cigarette packets stacked like the leaning tower of Pisa. There was always a newspaper resting on her chair, one on the foot and one beside the ashtray. I often wondered that perhaps there was more to her than met the eye. She was definitely a walking encyclopedia of current affairs.
I didn’t know much else about Val. I didn’t even know her full name. The couple replicated somewhat of a TV sitcom. A mundane life, repetitive events and once in a while the need to gossip about surrounding neighbors. Val and George never ever argued and I thought that odd too. She had only one daughter who lived so far away she barely saw her. I wondered what she did in her spare time, as it seemed like she had an abundance of it. She never left the house. George did all the shopping and outside chores, he went to work too. I never saw any friends or visitors come and go. Our house, on the other hand, was like a zoo on Saturday mornings in comparison. Val noticed every visitor and she’d question me afterwards about raised voices and arguments she overheard on the street.
Every Christmas Val would give me underwear. It seemed embarrassing but amusing. Now, come to think of it, it was quite thoughtful, girls need pretty underwear. Val always remembered my birthday and secretly I’d wait for her to knock the door when I got home from school. Val would hand over an envelope in exchange for some birthday cake. It was that little bit of excitement that she gave me that made her a special neighbor. She often mentioned what a good girl I was to my parents. She always noticed my new haircut or my new coat. She made me feel special amongst my siblings.
Her simplicity is what inspired me the most. The ability to be content with oneself with so little. Yes, Val smoked non stop, drank a lot of tea, read boring newspapers and watched TV all day long on her own little arm chair because it made her happy. It didn’t seem to bother her that George didn’t have his own chair or that he did her chores. Everyday she stood by her bay window sipping a cup of tea and watching the world go by through the sheer net curtains. I’d look up to see if she was standing there on my way home from school and Val would wave back. She lived in her own world and did whatever pleased her.
Years later, I ventured back to spy on my neighbor Val. Our full house was empty, kind of torn apart. No more parents, scattered siblings, no chaos but the house stood sturdy. Val’s house stood solid next to it. Val was still there. She had aged quite a bit, her wrinkles were deeper, her hair like silver coils and her voice croaked more than ever. Her need to grasp a moment of air in between her sentences disturbed me. This time I had a cup of tea with her, my heart sank as she reminisced about the days gone by. She told me she missed me; the little girl next door with a big smile. George had passed, she had outlived my younger parents. Val was still going strong, living her simple content life, watching the world go by.