My house just fell down.

I wish I was kidding. I’m sure, when the shock wears off and is replaced by devastation, I’ll wish that I was kidding even more.

It’s a Tuesday, my only day off work this week. I’d been down at the office, doing (and I’ll try not to go too into detail here) some work. My boss, whose name (and I’ll try not to go too into detail here) is Geoff, said I could go home early. He said it like he was taking a bullet- ‘ah, you know what, Tim? You can go on home. Yeah, on you go’- but I know he just wanted an excuse to also leave. It’s not like it’d impact the company in any way; most of what he does at work, most of what I do at work, can be done at home anyway.

At least, that used to be the case for me. It’s not anymore, though.

 Because my house just fell down.

I’d got a text, which I tried to read on the drive home, but I’ll tell you something: when the government ads remind you to keep your eyes on the road at all times, they never mention how hard this makes it to read texts.

So I’d pulled over, because my phone had pinged a few times and I was getting kind of worried. The last time I’d got more than one ping, it had been my GetFit app telling me to ‘get off your lazy white ass’ and ‘go a run before your neck flab swallows your head’. I’d been quite shocked, I seem to recall, because the other ping was an email for 50% off at Papa Murphy’s. Score!

 Today’s pings, however, were not sent by a pizza chain (except two of them). Instead, they were from his neighbour Chester, who had something rather cryptic to say:

‘Your fucking house just fell down!!!!!!??’

As I returned to my vehicle and resumed my journey homewards, I set to wondering what on Earth Chester could have possibly meant.

Now I know exactly what he could have possibly meant. I can see itwith my own two eyes.

My house just fell down!

I dart across my front lawn, hopping fragments of my roof.

Chester is emerging from his house, and that is where I’m headed. He’s holding a mug. The mug is green, with red spots. I don’t know what is in the mug, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was either tea or coffee or something else.

His eyebrows shoot up when he spots me coming, and he glances at the remains of my house as if seeing them for the second time.

‘Oh, hi Tim,’ he says.

‘Did you call the police?’ I yell. I am still at least thirty yards from where he stands, and I’m starting to realise our houses are farther apart than I’d ever realised.

‘Oh, uh…’ Chester replies. He scratches his head with the hand not holding the mug. ‘Hadn’t thought of that, actually.’

‘You hadn’t thought of that?’ I yell. I am still at least sixteen yards from where he stands, and I’m starting to get a bit tired, actually. Has his house always been this far away? Jesus, I could barely see him when I started running! How long have I lived here? Eight years? Eight years, and I’ve never noticed how ridiculously far away my neighbour’s house is? What kind of person doesn’t notice how-

‘Ah!’ I yell. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I’d ran right into Chester, and our foreheads had collided. He falls back into his house, and the mug is emptied of its contents. The contents, I am pleased to discover, are either tea or coffee or something else.

I stand up, brushing myself off. There’s no reason for me to brush myself off, but it’s rare that I find myself running into and knocking over people, so I’m not quite sure how to handle myself.

As Chester reaches for the handle of his mug, which has snapped off and landed in the hall, I compose myself.

‘You thought to text me about the fact that my house had fallen down,’ I say, ‘But you didn’t think to call emergency services?’

‘I had the kettle on,’ Chester says. ‘It slipped my mind.’

‘How did it happen?’ I say, glancing at the rubble. I spot my still intact grandfather clock, which had actually been handed down by my great grandfather following the First World War, where it was discovered just north of a well known Marinelager (a German POW camp for captured naval serviceman), and had been used as a means of smuggling 16 starving prisoners to safety.

I should really get it on eBay. Takes up so much room. Don’t see any other kind of clocks taking up that much room, do you? No, you don’t.

‘Chester!’ I shout, slapping Chester across the face. I feel quite bad about slapping him across the face- might have been a tad overboard- but it appears to have reclaimed his attention.

‘I’m not sure how it happened, Tim. I just heard something from my living room, and it sounded like a house falling down, and I went outside, and then I noticed that your house had fallen down.’

‘I can’t believe it,’ I said. The shock was now wearing off, and the implications of this disaster were gradually revealing themselves. ‘I can’t believe it! My house fell down! This is terrible!’

‘A dreadful thing, really,’ Chester said. ‘A man’s house falling down. Not too good. Not too good at all. And in broad daylight, too.’

‘Why is that relevant?’

‘Well, it’s something you say. When something bad happens. You know, when someone’s robbed, and you say ‘and in broad daylight, too.’’

‘When someone’s robbed you say that.’

‘When something bad happens like someone getting robbed you say that, yes.’

‘No, when someone’s robbed you say ‘and in broad daylight, too.’ You don’t say it when someone’s house has fallen down. The fact that it happened in broad daylight isn’t relevant when someone’s house has fallen down.’

‘Well. We’ll agree to disagree then, shall we?’

‘I… suppose so.’

I turn back to the rubble. I start to wonder what my next move here is; so far all I’ve done is talk to Chester, then look back at the rubble, then talk to Chester some more, and then look back at the rubble. I should probably call the fire brigade, I suppose. Although nothing’s on fire, so… who should I call? The police? They hardly seem qualified to deal with a fallen down house. If I’d known that my house was going to fall down, and I knew of someone who was trying to make my house fall down, then yes, maybe the police would be the-

‘A dreadful thing, that,’ Chester said. ‘A disagreement between two neighbours. Not too good. Not too good at all. And in broad-’

‘You sure you didn’t see how this happened?’ I ask, trying to determine if he’s sure he didn’t see how this happened.

‘Wish I could tell you, Tim,’ he replies. ‘You’ll reimburse me for my mug, won’t you?’

‘Of course I’ll reimburse you for your mug. What kind of a person do you think I am?’

Once again I look back at the rubble. How on Earth could this have happened? And why my house, and not Chester’s? Chester’s house was far more deserving of collapse. He doesn’t even have a washing machine. Just washes his dishes with a sponge. Well, Chester, you’ll have one less dish to wash now.

God, what a horrible thing to even think! Your house falling down truly changes a man. The last time I’d felt such animosity towards Chester had been every day for the past eight weeks. I’d leant him my second favourite book, ‘The Selection’ by Kiera Cass, and he is yet to return it. It’s true that I probably shouldn’t have leant him the book with just three pages left to go, but I simply wanted my neighbour to enjoy a great book! He’s the one in the wrong here, not me!

‘You’re sure you didn’t see how this happened? You didn’t see anything? You said you heard it fall down, but you didn’t hear anything else? Anything peculiar?’

‘Nothing peculiar. Nothing odd, neither. Nor strange. Nor good.’

‘Good?’

‘I’d ran out of words, Tim. No need to chastise me for it.’   

‘You’re sure you didn’t see anything?’

‘No, Tim, I didn’t!’ Chester yells, and I take a step back. I’ve never seen Chester yell before. To tell you the truth, for the first three years of knowing him I’d thought he was a mute. I mean, I’d heard him talk on many an occasion, but he just looked like one of those types, you know? One of those mute types.

‘And I’m getting a bit fed up of you asking!’ he continued. ‘I distinctly remember not hearing anything suss, because I was in the living room picking up my bookshelves!’

‘Okay. Alright, Chester.’

That does it. He really didn’t see or hear anything. Time to call the police, I suppose. Or the fire-

‘Wait, why were you picking up your bookshelves?’

‘Oh, you didn’t feel it? Ah, I guess you wouldn’t have, you must’ve still been on the road at that point. Big earthquake. Massive. Biggest one I’ve ever felt. I’m lucky it was just my bookshelves, honestly. Could’ve done some major damage.’

I stare at the neighbour whose surname I’ve forgotten but I’m pretty sure starts with either O or A or something else. His eyes are beads of ignorance. His mouth, a lower case M of ignorance. His nose, a… a nose of ignorance.

‘Chester,’ I say.

‘Yes?’ he replies.

I grab him by the shoulders. He stares up at me with fright.

‘Is The Selection okay?’ I ask.

He stares at me.

‘The Selection,’ I repeat. ‘By Kiera Cass. When your bookshelves fell down, did they ruin The Selection?’

‘Oh!’ Chester exclaims. He lets out a long sigh before shaking his head. ‘No. No, no. It’s okay. I forgot you’d leant me that, actually. Started it a while back, couldn’t really get into it. Not my cup of tea. Or coffee, or however the saying goes.’

I look down, and my fists are clenched. Closing my eyes for a second, I resist the urge to knock his lights out.

Within seconds my eyes have opened.

My anger has passed.

The Selection is okay.

It’s time to call the fire brigade. Yes, the fire brigade. I’ll just light a little fire on the front lawn. It’ll save me a lot of embarrassment, and they’ll tell me who to call about my house falling down when they arrive.

And as for what caused all this?

It pains me, it really does… but I guess we’ll never know.

– Matthew Gowans