When You Live in a Bungalow by a Lake You Never Know Who Might Show Up on Your Doorstep...
danhowl. Getty Images.The bungalow was the perfect place for me to live at that time. I was 21, living alone, and trying desperately to figure it out.
Once I laid down the rules, the strays stopped showing up, and my friends stopped coming by all hours of the night with drugs they assumed I'd want to share. That's when the bungalow began providing me with the privacy I needed.
I completely understood why, for a recluse like the doctor, it was pure heaven and why he lived there for as long as he did. There was a certain simplicity and peace the bungalow provided that couldn't be duplicated in an apartment complex. There were no neighbors other than the Silks, and their house was far enough away that they couldn't even hear loud music, which was probably part of Herb's plan. Swing music was loud, and without neighbors, he and his musical cohorts could play their brass instruments all night without disturbing anyone.
People remember the "Great Blizzard of '78" as the big snowstorm. It started on Monday, February 6th, but weeks before it, in January, another storm dropped 21 inches of snow. That's one I'll never forget.
It was always cold in the bungalow, and I remember wearing thermal underwear to bed. The bungalow had two propane wall-mounted heaters, one in the bedroom and one in the living room, but in cold weather, they were barely enough to keep the place warm.
Two nights after the January storm, when the snow started melting, around 2:00 am, something woke me up. It was the sound of running water.
The bedroom was small, and my full-size bed took up most of it, except for a 4' x 8' section at the entrance. As I stepped down onto the indoor-outdoor carpeting, I felt a sudden surge of cold water begin to cover my bare feet. The carpet was floating on 5" of ice-cold water, the height of the threshold. I quickly exited the bedroom and stepped up onto the carpet in the bathroom, which was soaking wet.
The snow melt raised the lake, and the normally calm stream across from the bungalow overflowed and ran like rapids.
The bungalow was diagonally across from the Massapoag Trail Trailhead.
The bungalow was built on a slab, but on three different levels. The bedroom was the lowest, the bathroom was 6" higher, and the kitchen and living room were 6" higher than the bathroom.
I took my green mid-calf rubber boots out and put them on. I walked through the bathroom and back into the flooded bedroom.
I didn't panic. I waited to see how quickly the water went down and if the place would dry out completely. I kept my boots on when I used the bathroom and walked into the bedroom to sleep. I left the boots beside the bed, and in the morning, I stepped down into them.
A few days later, after most of the snow melted, the carpet started to dry out. I was confident I'd be okay. Then, one morning, I woke up, stepped into my boots, and when I looked up, dozens of full-sized mushrooms were growing out of the bathroom carpet. I grabbed fistfuls, pulling them out violently, but the next day, they were back.
I told my girlfriend what was happening, but it wasn't until she came over that she fully understood. I pulled all the mushrooms out and flushed them down the toilet before she arrived, but when she went to use the toilet, one mushroom was still bobbing in the bowl full of water, totally grossing her out. I had to speak to the Silks about the problem and see what they could do.
I walked over to the main house, and unfortunately, Herb wasn't home, so I had to deal with his wife and daughter, Marilyn, who was always at her mother's side.
Mrs. Silk told me there was nothing they could do, that I could move out if I wasn't happy there. I drove over to Pokey's and spoke to his mom, Marie.
Marie was calming. She told me not to worry; she'd find me another place. A few days later, when she called back with another place, she told me she looked up the bungalow. The board of health had condemned it a couple of years ago for flooding and mold, so the doctor had to move out. It all made perfect sense.
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Apparently, the Silks had the place professionally cleaned but didn't fix the problem. They had no problem renting the condemned bungalow to me, though.
Even though I lived in the bungalow for close to 11 months, there were still many unknowns. Now I knew why the doctor moved out, but I still wondered why Herb and his friends stopped playing Swing out there. They were having the time of their lives in the prime of their lives. Did Mrs. Silk put her foot down because Herb and his friends were out of control? Or did something happen in that bungalow involving Marilyn? I guess we'll never know…
The new place was less than a mile away, on Pond Street, a quarter mile from the center of town. It was an in-law apartment located at the back of a two-story single-family home.
Barney was in his late 40s and looked a lot like Louie DePalma, Danny Devito's character on the TV show Taxi. He was a small guy who, because he was balding, always wore a scally cap. He drove a huge 4-door Buick Lesabre with the seat pulled all the way up. His wife was short like him, with medium-length bleach blonde hair I assumed was hiding grays. She seemed nice enough and was even a bit flirty. Their daughter was a year older than me, and I knew her because she had been a high school cheerleader. Their son was a jockey who won several big races and received some celebrity status as a result.
Thanks to Marie, it looked like I was in a better living situation. I'd move in just in time for the Great Blizzard of '78…
The place on Quincy Street wasn't exactly a Hollywood Bungalow, but it was close.
To be continued…
*All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental…