Joanne's House

A subtle commentary on loneliness and how little we know our neighbors

“Did you see the man walking into Joanne’s house?”

“He parked in front of Joanne’s house.’”

“Just go straight past Joanne’s.”

Since Kindergarten, I have lived in the same house with the same large dining room windows overlooking a bridge dividing two sides of a lake. Whether you are doing the dishes in the kitchen or doing homework at the counter, all that is in view is the bridge, the lake... and Joanne’s house. My neighbor, Joanne, had lived in the house across from us, directly on the lake, since before I was born. When you can only see one neighbor outside your window at all hours of the day, you start to pay attention to them. Sometimes, it was because we were bored, or sometimes because she was quite literally right there. We always said hello and talked in brief conversations. She bought Girl Scout cookies from us and let us use her dock. All the neighborly things. “Joanne” and “Joanne’s house” were commonly used terms in our household whether that be as a noun, an adjective, or even a verb.

Joanne was in her late 60’s and 70’s while I was growing up. Her husband died before I was born, but she was never alone. Her company was… peculiar. She liked older men, which hey, everyone has their preferences, but I am talking 90 year old men who can’t walk without assistance. It became a strange “cycle,” we noticed, of her having a new older “companian” as she called them, then they would pass away, a few months would go by, and then she would have a new one. This happened several times… like 3 or 4. Sometimes after her breakups (not sure if that’s the correct term here), she would do something fun like dye her hair. One day, she came out front in October shortly after one of her companions died with bright orange hair. Not like auburn, like the color of a pumpkin. We thought it was just for Halloween, but then she left it for months on end.

I moved to college and she started getting older and older, naturally. Unfortunately, she passed away peacefully in her home in the fall of 2023. Naturally, in Joanne fashion, no one told me until months later when I came home for break and saw the “for sale” sign in the yard. I felt sad for Joanne and her family, but happy she was at peace.

One night more recently, my siblings and I were all home from college, eating as a family at our dining room table. I look out the window to **formerly** Joanne’s house and we start discussing how old she was. My dad thinks she was one age. My mom thinks another. “Let’s just look up her obituary! My mom says wisely.”

We didn’t know Joanne’s last name.