I spent the better part of an hour nosing around by the meter. I even opened the boxes I had moved for the meter readers, examining every single item which I removed piece by piece. It was a good thing I’d changed out of my pajamas and had a decent pair of shoes on or I would have lost a toenail over a large set of old Star Trek DVDs that slipped from my grasp as I unloaded it. I found nothing in the boxes, but the intermittent beeping continued.

Time slipped away and I would have to figure things out later. I had the luxury of a remote job, but that didn’t mean I could ignore my computer all morning.

The beeping couldn’t be heard on the main floor, and as I mulled it over while frying a small steak and broiling cut-up potatoes sprinkled liberally with seasoning salt, I realized that I probably wouldn’t have noticed it without the visit from Remer Electric’s annoying meter readers because I wouldn’t have been in the basement in the first place. I wouldn’t have noticed it this time, either, but for the boxes I had hurriedly carried down there a couple of weeks ago.

I’d done a little research over my lunch break and discovered the probable source of the beeping, though I could hardly believe it. So after supper, I went outside and squatted to examine the side of my house. There it was: a patched hole in the wall where my meter was installed. Someone had attached the wires (barely covered by shallow trench I should have noticed) from their own home to my circuits!

I marched over to the neighbor closest to that side of my house – he had moved in last August to my recollection – who, after a stuttering denial, admitted he had planned to only temporarily borrow some electricity when he first moved in, but that time had gotten away from him. How convenient.

“Electricity shouldn’t cost anything, anyway,” he continued, “You’re probably unaware of this, but an inventor named . . .”

“Tesla. Nikola Tesla. Yes, I know.”

My neighbor’s eyes lit up.

“No no no no,” I interrupted his excuse. “Tesla is dead . . .”

“As far as you know . . .”

Heaven help me. I had a nerd of the highest order next door. I hurried to get us back on track before he wandered into a wormhole.

“Someone, in fact, is paying for it regardless, and that someone is me. And I have enough keeping up with my bills without paying for yours, too!”

“Only the electricity.”

“Change it back to your house and change it by morning, or I’m reporting you.”

He held up his hand. “Has it occurred to you the sound from your meter could align your entrainment?” In explanation, he added, “I’m a neurologist.”

“I don’t care if you’re a circus clown! Besides, you’ve no need to borrow anything from me with what your paycheck must be.”

“It started out as temporary, remember? I had no intention of stealing anything from you. Please. Let’s discuss this like two reasonable adults.”

Nothing seemed reasonable at the moment: not smart meters, not pesky meter readers tromping through my house, and not sneaky neighbors.

He opened his door wider and motioned me in. Why did I go in? It was an automatic response.

A person should check automatic responses in herself every once in awhile, I realized, as I sipped on an excellent cup of tea and enjoyed a macaron.

It was midnight by the time I returned to my house. My neighbor had turned out to be knowledgeable in more than neurology. Before this, I hadn’t noticed him much. I thought he was an accountant. We ended up having an intriguing discussion bordering on nerdiness of the highest order. It would’ve been embarrassing had anyone listened in. Which they didn’t. That I knew of.

My neighbor must have stayed up into the wee hours because when I woke up and checked, the beeping was gone and the shallow trench had been dug up and covered over again.

It’s been six months. Six months of the pesky meter readers interrupting my first cup of coffee once a month. Six months of lower electric bills. And six months of talking over the fence, shared dinners, and a surprising comradery with my neighbor. And I’ve decided that free and convenient in some things isn’t so bad after all.

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