By Hannah Christensen
“Mom, I’m fine.” Shalonda tossed her dark curls over her shoulder and clamped the cell phone to her ear with her shoulder before scooping up her big suede purse the same orange as a tropical sunset. “Yes, I read all the fine print. It isn’t that kind of neighborhood.” She swung herself out of the car and unloaded a briefcase and two shopping bags from the back. “You and Tanika can stop hovering over me. I know what I’m doing.” She flipped the car doors closed and strode for her house. Her neighbor was trimming the boundary hedge. She gave him a nod in passing.
Chuck nodded back as Shalonda clicked past in high heels only a shade more pink than her purse. He hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words with her since he had moved in last week, despite seeing her constantly come and go. She was almost always on her phone and in a hurry. Not that he needed someone asking a lot of questions about his high security job.
Carefully, Chuck snipped off another half dozen twigs in a perfectly even swathe. Fresh sap tingled his nostrils and the warm life of the earth reverberated through his bones. Only a few bushes remained to be trimmed, but he was not ready to be done.
“I’ll get the tops, too,” he decided.
Shalonda noticed the bushes that evening while taking the trash to the curb. She fumed. “Now my neighbor doesn’t think I can keep up with the yard work. I had that hedge on my schedule.” She stomped back indoors to see how she needed to shuffle her chore list to get the hedge done before the weekend.
Chuck visited a nursery the next day to pick some plants to edge his mailbox post. It needed to be something he could enjoy now, since he probably wouldn’t be stationed in the area more than six or seven months. He paused by the paving stones. The sidewalk from the driveway to the front door was cracked. Fitted stones would make a beautiful replacement. Maybe, when he was done, he would even invest in some shrubs or bulbs for the next resident’s enjoyment. He went to get a cart.
That evening Shalonda screeched to a stop at the edge of her driveway, then pushed her car into reverse and backed up until she reached Chuck’s mailbox. Stones ringed off two square feet in area, and little purple and white flowers were planted in the area, neatly separated by mulch. Chuck carefully levered a dandelion from a gap in the curb.
Shalonda rolled her window down. “Nice mailbox,” she said in a flat voice.
“It does look nice,” he agreed. “I thought about planting morning glories to climb up the post, but I’ve never had luck getting vines to climb where I want them to climb. What do you think about triangle edging along the curb?”
Shalonda gave him her best icy stare, but he was too busy looking at his lawn to notice. “Sounds like a lot of work. The curb’s enough of an edging without adding little triangles to tangle with your mower.” She rolled up her window and turned into her driveway. “Show-off,” she muttered to herself. Still, she always had admired the fancy mailboxes. Maybe now would be a good time to add more bling to her life.
Shalonda stopped by the hardware store the next day and picked out the most floral mailbox she could find. She stopped by at her friend Vicky’s after work and they made a date of adding highlights in glitter and plastic gems. Shalonda couldn’t wait to put it up. Though dusk was softening the sky when she got home, she pulled out her tools and started the switch immediately. “I’ll show you nice, Mr. Whitney,” she told her non-present neighbor.
Forty-five minutes and two flashlights later she was glad that Chuck had not been around to witness the struggle. She slid her tools into the old mailbox to have fewer things to carry, then swung her flashlight around her neighbor’s yard. There didn’t even appear to be lights on in the house.
“Yes, hasn’t he done a lovely job on his walk?” asked Mrs. Tiltman from across the street. She always waited for dark to water her rose bushes. “It’s a pleasure to have someone like Mr. Whitney in the neighborhood. He really knows how to take care of his place. Gives the place class.”
Shalonda shone her flashlight up by Chuck’s house, but couldn’t pick out the difference in the dark. She brought the mailbox and tools inside, and then, when Mrs. Tiltman had gone back indoors, snuck next door to see what gave a sidewalk class.
“He probably put triangle edging along it.” Almost there, Shalonda turned on her flashlight on its red light setting. She stared in horror. “Paving stones? He redid his whole sidewalk in paving stones?” She flicked off the beam and retraced her steps. “The fellow must be mad!” Then she checked herself. After all, she herself dreamed of having a patio someday. It might as well be now.
Making a patio took more time and work than Shalonda had reckoned. By the end of the week, she was far less than half way finished, and exhausted. “Tomorrow, I get a break,” she announced to herself. “Sleep in til noon. The patio can wait until then. It’s not as if Mr. Whitney’s around to see.”
Chuck indeed had not shown his face in several days. He had been at work since first thing Wednesday, and had stayed there around the clock, sleeping in the bunk room during break hours. Friday night was especially busy, and his shift stretched into overtime until the wee hours of Saturday morning. He dragged home and collapsed in bed. Scenarios and cases at work kept fizzing through his mind, refusing to let his tired body sleep. Every time drowsiness started to win, the beginnings of a dream jolted him back awake. Finally, the sun began to shove its way upward and glow against the sky. Chuck threw the blankets away and started pulling on his shoes. It was time to do something to quiet his raging mind.
Shalonda woke to the sound of a lawnmower. She peered at the alarm clock. “Five a.m.? Who mows the lawn at five a.m.?” She swathed her head in her pillow.
The mower made another pass, closer this time. Shalonda burrowed deeper, but knew it was a losing battle. Her bedroom window faced east, and she had a good idea who was ruining her sleep in day. “This is war,” she growled.
That night Shalonda canceled her trip to a chick flick. She blamed it on being tired after the noise shattered morning, but that was only half the story. She wanted to be ready for the morning.
Shalonda’s alarm went off at three-thirty the next morning. She stumbled out of bed, already dressed for yard work, and headed for the lawnmower. It was hard to mow by headlamp, but she had moved on to weed whacking when the police arrived.
“Ma’am, I have to ask you to wait until more a decent hour to mow your lawn. Neighbors have been complaining that you’re disturbing the peace.”
Shalonda bit down the argument that she was weed whacking, not mowing. Instead she turned to him so the weed-whacker was directly in his line of sight. “A more decent hour?” she said sweetly.
“I understand you want to beat the heat of the day, but at least wait until sunup.”
Shalonda gritted her teeth. She had hoped to drag Chuck’s mowing time later, too, but sunup had him covered. Who mowed at such hideous times?
“If you don’t have a time in the day you can do it, I can tell you where to find mowing services.”
“Can you advise me where to find efficient noise blocking sleepwear?” Looking at the officer’s face, Shalonda quickly began to put the weed-whacker up. If she got a ticket for sassing an officer of the law, her mother would be over camping on the lawn.
Shalonda wished she could know who had complained. If it had only been Chuck, she could rest satisfied in her revenge. It may have been someone else, though, which would mean her reputation was sinking lower than ever next to the classy Chuck. What she needed was a way to get back into the neighborhood’s favor, and even up with Mr. Whitney. Gifts were the way to go, and she knew exactly what to do.
After some research into the easiest vegetables to grow, Shalonda planted some zucchini. She had never liked them, herself, but they were known for producing abundantly, which meant that even if she killed some of the plants, she should have enough to share with everyone. Chuck, of course, beat her to the punch, and planted pots of tomatoes.
He put in a flower garden along his footpath.
She put potted plants along her almost finished patio.
He lined both sides of his driveway with semicircle edging.
She painted her shutters.
He planted a rosebush.
She bought a porch swing.
She refused to be pushed into digging up dandelions from the yard, though. Instead, when he wasn’t looking, she blew their seeds over the hedge into his yard. She even set up a bird feeder right along the backyard fence, where the seeds would fall onto his side and sprout non-grass plants. Instead of being decently indignant, he congratulated her on her idea, then installed his own bird bath and home-made, palatial birdhouse.
Worst of all, Shalonda’s neighborhood gift plan failed. The zucchinis produced just fine, but nobody wanted them. No one but Chuck. He would occasionally accept a zucchini or two. She wasn’t sure if it was from pity or spite, but she would have stopped offering if her fridge had been large enough to hide them all in it.
She was hauling a newly purchased gnome out of her car after work when Tanika dropped by.
Tanika squinched her nose up. “Is that one of those indecent gnomes with—”
“I don’t see how it’s your business.”
“Mother would be hot if she saw that.”
“No need for her to see it.” Shalonda wiggled the gnome into the boundary hedge so it only peeked out. Its rear end faced Chuck’s side.
“Shalonda, Mother’s worried about you. You haven’t been to see her in almost a month, and you keep pushing her away from coming to see you. It’s not just her. You’ve skipped tennis, and your friends complain they haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I’ve just been busy classing up the place. I’m fine.”
Tanika looked skeptically at the gnome. “Mm-hm. If you’re so fired up about improving the place, why not put your effort into something more important, like trimming up some of those dead branches off your tree.”
“First you say I’m too busy, and now you’re saying I’m not doing enough. Just bite your tongue.”
On the other side of the hedge, Chuck had been noticing dead tree limbs as well. One limb on the maple out front looked like it was ailing, and he didn’t like how close it looked to the electrical wires. He decided to call a limb removal service and schedule an appointment. Next door, Shalonda’s crab apple tree had a few dead branches. It would be a cinch for the professionals to drive over and snip them off while they were over working on his tree. He would ask if she would like that. She seemed to be more and more uptight and snappy, despite the hours she spent outside puttering in her yard.
Next time he saw her outside, he leaned across the hedge. “I’m thinking of taking down some limbs on my maple. Do you want a hand with your tree while I’m at it?”
Sholanda stared at him. “Excuse me?”
He gestured toward the crab apple tree. “There are a few dead branches up there. It shouldn’t be a big deal to get them at the same time.”
Her smile resembled the snarl of a bobcat.
“I’m fine. No need to help.”
He shrugged to himself. There was only so much a neighbor could do. He needed to go get ready for another three day stretch at work.
Chuck scheduled the tree servicemen for the afternoon he got back. He was in the backyard, weeding the gladiolas, when the slam of a car door announced Shalonda’s return from work. He paid no heed to it, nor to the later thumps and bumps and small motor noises next door. They were a mere background to the brush of petals against his skin and the earthy smell in his nostrils. It was the scream that yanked him out of his reverie, a scream followed by a crash.
Chuck leaped up and dashed around the house.
Shalonda dangled over a branch, clamping on with her knees and elbows while trying to hold onto a small chain saw. A ladder sprawled on the ground.
“Shalonda! Are you okay? Can you hold on?”
“My grip is slipping!”
“Hold on! I’m coming for you.” Chuck hurled himself over the hedge and slammed the ladder upright.
“I don’t think I can hold it much longer. You’re going to have to catch it.”
“I’m almost there.” Chuck dashed up the ladder and leaned forward, only to jerk back as the chain saw plummeted down. It crashed. The ladder wobbled, and Chuck had to jump off to keep from falling.
“You were supposed to catch it,” cried Shalonda.
“Are you trying to kill me? I came over to catch you!”
“I don’t need catching. I just need the ladder under my feet again.”
Chuck shoved it back over, and Shalonda unwrapped herself from the branch and wobbled down.
The chainsaw did not turn on. Chuck went to his house for a hand saw, and climbed the ladder to finish the job. Shalonda watched from below, arms crossed.
“Where do you want the branches?” asked Chuck.
She picked up an armful and headed for the side of the house. Chuck scooped up the rest and followed.
“Still have a lot of zucchini, I see.”
The poor gal was too shaken up to come up with more than a grunt for an answer.
“You know, there’s more than one way to get rid of them. My brother and I used to sneak the extras into any unlocked cars we could find. I’d go with you on a zucchini raid some night if you’d like. We’d have to go a few blocks away to allay suspicions. Maybe across town.”
Shalonda just glared at him. Not that it was a bad idea, in its way. But she didn’t need to go across town to find the perfect doorstep to pile the whole harvest on.
Octopencil 