The Duplex

(I just like this picture, it has nothing to do with the story. The only real tie is that I took the picture, and I wrote the story.)

The duplex had been cleared and it was time for new tenants to move in. With four bedrooms in each duplex, at least 8 college students would be filling the walls of 1374 &1375 Walnut Road in Brewer’s Corner, Idaho. In 1374, four young, independent minded frat brothers filled their duplex with fancy electronics, leather furniture, a dart board, and a pony keg. In 1375, nine slightly older, mediocre collegiate baseball players filled their 4 bedrooms with bunk beds and chewing tobacco.

At around dusk on this mid-September evening, the frat brothers each plugged in a Foreman Grill and started cooking their cubed beef steaks, some even popped some Easy Mac in the microwave so that they could have two courses. Looking out their window the brothers saw the baseball players hitting baseballs up against the wall of their duplex. “Looks like a fun group guys,” said one brother. A chuckle was had, but the joke was quickly forgotten when Dane Cook came on Comedy Central in the background. The brothers could be seen flashing each other the “Su-Fi” as they started yelling ecstatic obscenities, tossed their meals on some plastic plates and hurled themselves on the couches around the tv.

As the night grew darker and the pony keg was being thoroughly enjoyed in 1374, a number of rumbles, some might even say, crashes, could be heard from 1375. Intrigued by what was going on next door, and interested in making friends with the new neighbors, the most sober of the frat brothers, James, made his way next door to invite the baseball players over for some beers.

As he knocked on the door, it slowly swung open, revealing a home, completely dark, but noticeably destroyed. “Hello?” said James. Popping up from behind a chair was a 6’4” broad shouldered, bald man, who could have been 19 or 34, wearing a miner’s helmet with a flashlight on the front, “what’s up?” he uttered with a dumb open mouthed wonderment on his face. “What are you guys doing in here?” asked James. The baseball player whose name was Skip, but it could have easily been Brody, Cody, Brad, or even Todd slowly and difficultly explained that the previous tenant had the power turned off and so until they could get it fixed they were going to play flashlight tag in the dark. Ever the gentlemen, James still invited Skip or Brody or Cody or Brad or even Todd and all of his roommates to come next door and enjoy some beers. Not to his surprise, the offer was quickly declined and the game of flashlight tag, a la miner’s helmets, ferociously continued on.

James returned to his side of the duplex, did a keg stand, and was never asked to explain what had happened at 1375 to anyone, he certainly didn’t volunteer the information. The only time that the story of James’s visit to 1375 ever came up was when he would explain future noises coming from next door with the quip, “Ever since they told me they play flashlight tag, I’ve assumed they’re idiots.”

-NDP