Deep Fried Love
By Dixie Fried

Briefs For Beginners
It took me about three days to adjust to living in Queens after living in Manhattan for six years. I moved because my DJ neighbor made me insane. For two years, I'd listened to the heavy bass of his stereo night after night, shaking my bedroom walls. I punched holes in the walls from pounding them so hard, screamed at him, cried to him, and the bastard's only response was that he was "mixing." He came home at different times every night--probably to keep me on guard-- and sat right on the other side of the cheap tenement wall while he turned up that bass. It got to the point where I dreaded going to sleep; I found any excuse to stay awake, hence the late night drinking binges. I was always tense, and if I heard someone coming up the staircase, tears would cloud my eyes until that person went past my floor.

When my lease was up, my roommate Tim and I set out for the greener pastures of Astoria. We found a three-bedroom apartment on a tree-lined street. It was on the top floor, with only one other apartment on our floor. Hardly any footsteps would even come up this far, I thought. Gone were the all-night bars and the hipsters walking up and down my block. There were no more squatters or junkies nodding off on my stoop. Here in Queens I had a real supermarket that didn't sell rotting fruit. I was a happy girl. Soon, I met my neighbors, two Greek women named Cristina and Elena. They kept to themselves, and hardly made any noise. I adjusted so quickly, that if a car honked on the street below, I was startled by the sound. I wanted to kick myself for not moving sooner.

One night, I was cooking dinner in my huge kitchen (another perk) when Tim and I heard shrieks coming from the apartment across the hall. Cristina and Elena were screaming at each other in Greek, and it didn't sound pretty. We couldn't understand anything except the slamming of the door. We figured out later that Elena had her boyfriend move in, and told Cristina to hit the road. I felt like I was in the middle of a soap opera, and for once, the drama didn't concern me.

The first time I saw the boyfriend, he was in his underwear in our hallway. I opened my apartment door, and saw a mass of hair and flesh and belly before he slunk back into his apartment. I quickly closed my door in horror. I felt as if I just walked in on my neighbors having sex. Tim laughed when I told him, but I didn't find it funny; I was scarred for life.

Greek, Hairy, Naked Man, or GHNM, as I named him, treated me like every Greek man in the neighborhood seemed to treat women: as lesser objects. Since I grew up around European men, I could spot this attitude a mile away. Even my landlord took this stance. He spoke only to Tim and never returned my calls. I'm surprised he didn't pat my head when he saw me and tell me to run along. GHNM would only nod to me every so often with a look of embarrassment. I sensed the embarrassment came not from me catching him in his skivvies, but from the fact that he felt obligated to nod to me. I saw GHMN in his underwear about three times a week. He took out the trash, or swept the hallway, or ran up to the roof. Tim was lucky enough not to witness the spectacle, and every time I caught GHMN he shrank back into his apartment.

One day, I heard barking and whimpering in the hallway. I looked out of my peephole and saw a dog tied to a short leash. I went out to pet it, and it wagged its tail and seemed to grin at me. I stayed in the hallway for a few minutes, when Elena opened the door and said, "You like our dog?" I nodded, then shrank back into my apartment. Each day when I returned home from work that week, the dog was tied up in the hallway. It got so excited when Tim and I passed by it, and we were getting worried about the poor dog.

As the weeks went by, the dog was in the hallway more and more, and was rarely let in GHNM's apartment. Once in awhile GHNM would come out in his underwear and let the dog out onto the roof. He would leave the dog up there, then go back into his apartment for half an hour before retrieving it. This became a routine, and often, I heard the dog running back and forth on the roof above me, sounding like a herd of elephants.

I worried about the dog constantly, trying to figure out how to report my neighbors for animal abuse. My landlord would side with them since they were Greek, I thought, and if I approached my neighbors, they very well might turn into the neighbors from hell. And I've had my share of them.

It dawned on me that GHNM never walked the dog, and that the dog was probably relieving itself on the roof. I was tense every time I heard their apartment door open. Every time the dog barked my heart pounded fast. I didn't know what to do; my sanity was in jeopardy again. One morning, two hours before my alarm went off, the dog was on the roof, running back and forth. I got up, cursing under my breath, and looked out of the peephole.

When GHNM opened the door, I pounced on him. I don't know what I said in my moment of blinding anger, but his faced turned three shades of red, as I screamed profanities at him, accused him of animal abuse and threatened him if the dog went up on the roof again.

Surprisingly, he began to walk his dog. However, he would completely ignore me when he saw me, which was ok by me. I still had to bear the underwear show, and see the dog tied to the banister. Tim finally reported the situation to the landlord, who made the couple give the dog away. I still don't know what happened to it, but it had to be in a better place.

After that incident, we rarely saw our neighbors. As the weather got colder, GHNM wore more than underwear and stayed in his apartment. One Saturday, three people my age were moving furniture into the apartment across the hall. I couldn't believe it! Elena and GHNM slipped out while we weren't looking.

Our neighbors clearly came from Manhattan, and I was thrilled. I could bet they wouldn't tie up animals in the hallway. But as I lay down to bed that night, I heard the distant, familiar bass pumping through the wall, and thanked God I had chosen the smaller bedroom farthest away from their apartment.