Talk of the Town

Almost to a man they each grabbed a breakfast sandwich, a couple of donuts and a can of beer or two.

I was amazed. These weren't kids. They were all grown assed men. They all gathered around on the porch guzzling beer and munching on donuts.

Who does that? Who drinks beer with donuts? I noticed by looking at them that there were a mixture of types and body sizes among them. Very few of them were actually wearing the uniforms of moving or sales companies.

That meant that a lot of those guys were simply friends of his. I looked again and noticed that I knew or had seen a few of those guys around. A couple of them lived on my street.

He walked around as chipper and cheerful as a God Damned chipmunk, making sure they were all eating and having a good time. It made me even more pissed. How dare he bring that many MEN to MY house?

I looked around and saw a few more people on the block out on their porches. That was a good thing I thought. Someone besides me was pissed about the intrusion into our peaceful Sunday morning.

Then I saw something that made me smirk just a bit. The woman who lived across the street from me, all two hundred pounds of her was heading over to the porch. Her lazy assed husband was trailing behind her. She had a full head of steam up and searched through the guys on the porch. Her eyes settled on Mustang guy, and she marched up to him.

"Dennis, you were supposed to call me when you got here," she yelled. He put down his sandwich and marched over to her. Despite being much smaller than she was he hugged her so hard he lifted her off her feet. She squealed like a school girl.

"Put me down, you idiot," she squealed. "I don't need all of these guys trying to look under my skirt."

I noticed that none of the guys had even noticed her, they had beer; they had donuts and the woman was huge.

"Dennis, I called my sister; she's on her way," she said. "But it would have been better if you'd let me get her over here first. She's going to help you arrange your furniture. You men suck at stuff like that."

She turned around looking for something. "Bert get your lazy ass to work!" she shouted at her husband. He had grabbed himself a beer and two donuts and was munching happily with the other guys.

It was not the reaction I was expecting. 'Fuck!' I thought.

Apparently I either spontaneously developed the ability to project my thoughts into the minds of others, or I had gotten so mad that I had actually shouted the word on a bright sunny Sunday, when everyone except me was having a good assed time. I really believe it was the latter because as one, nearly every eye on the block turned to me.

He was on me in a second. "Good Morning, Neighbor," he said. His words were so cheerful that I wanted to yell a chirpy, "Good Morning," right back at him.

It was the weirdest thing; he got so close to me that I could smell his aftershave or cologne or whatever he was wearing. It smelled really good on him. He wasn't a pretty man. His looks were actually kind of average. He had dark-brown hair and really nice blue eyes. He was wearing a Mustang T-shirt and black jeans. He wore black moccasins on his feet with no socks.

I think that he thought it looked good. But it was too stark. There was simply too much black without any small hints of color to make the outfit pop. I laughed inwardly thinking about it. I realized suddenly that he had dressed, not to make a fashion statement but to look like his fucking car. It was not only funny, but endearingly sad.

Despite myself, I wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

"Oh my God, she's beautiful," he gushed. I began to blush until I noticed that he was looking straight past me at my car through my open garage door.

"Can I?" he asked.

"Can you what?" I screamed. "Just what do you want to fucking do, now? I mean besides waking me up at the crack of fucking dawn on a God Damned Sunday morning ... What next?"

"Sorry," he said. I noticed the way his eyes dropped. The bright as a shiny penny smile faded. I felt as if I had kicked a puppy. "I did leave you a notice warning you ... sorry." Then he stepped slowly away from me.

Most human beings have a kind of empathy. It's a way of sensing how those around us feel. And in that moment with him backing away from me, as if I was a danger to him, I got the feeling that the happy-go-lucky image was only a mask he had put on to cover up the fact that he was as broken as I was.

Back to his friends, he started to smile again. But for the first time I could see the cracks in the mask. Men don't notice things like that. They hide from true displays of emotion. "It's always the pretty ones," he said, shrugging his shoulders. The guys all got back to eating, drinking, and burping and farting and all the other things that men do.

"Uh ... guys," he said suddenly. "It's eleven o' clock. Kickoff is at one. I have several huge pizzas scheduled to be delivered at one fifteen, sharp. We need to get all of this stuff into the house in the next two hours and have that big-ass TV set up, or we're gonna miss part of the game!"

I have never seen anything like it. Almost as one they all chugged the rest of the beer they were holding and practically ran for the trucks to finish unloading.

As the army of men headed back to work even faster than before, my eyes locked onto his. "I really am sorry," he said just loud enough for me to hear him.

I wondered many things in that moment. I wondered if I could have handled the situation any worse. I wondered why more than a year after my divorce, I was still so angry at the world. I wondered if he really thought I was pretty.

But before I could wonder anything else the huge fat face of my across the street neighbor Ernestine Briggs, aka Ernie, obscured my vision.

"You're a piece of work," she said angrily. "Ever since you moved into the neighborhood a year ago, everyone here has been nothing but nice to you. Once we figured out that you weren't really the neighborly type, we left you alone. We try not to bother you because I guess we got the message early on that you didn't want to have much to do with us.

So we don't invade your privacy, but we still look out for you. We don't invite you to neighborhood get togethers, because you've made it clear that you're not that kind of person. Shit, we don't even send the kids to your house at Halloween. We also endure without comment the fact that you rarely ever cut your God damned grass, and let your leaves pile up until they blow onto everyone else's yard. But what you just did..."

She shook her head as if she was trying to keep from hitting me. Ernestine had been one of the first people in the neighborhood to try to reach out to me when I moved in.

She was one of those motherly types. She was kind to everyone, so to see her upset was a rarity.

"Unlike when you moved in ..." she said icily. "He didn't just show up on the spur of the moment out of nowhere. He let everyone know exactly when he was moving in. He even came to a meeting of the block club and introduced himself to the people around here that didn't already know him."

"But ... But I didn't know," I said. "I don't go to the block club meetings ..." She pointed to a bright blue piece of paper that was taped to my screen door.

"Maybe there's another reason you were standing out here in broad daylight in a thin silk robe with your nipples threatening to pop off of your titties," she said. She shook her head in disgust, turned, and walked back to her house as men scurried around me, spurred on by thoughts of football, pizza and even more beer.

I walked back up onto my porch and pulled off the bright blue paper.

"Hi, my name is Dennis Miller. I'll be moving in on Sunday. I'm truly sorry for any noise caused by the move and will try to keep it as brief as possible. Feel free to stop by and meet me or have a snack. You don't need to help, but any and all help is welcome. Thanks in advance for your consideration."

I wondered then why I hadn't noticed the flyer. In the back of my mind, I realized that it had been there for a couple of days at least. I ignored it. I'd thought it was another thing stuck to my door, inviting me to a fucking bake sale or to see yet another mind numbingly boring school play or concert that somebody's kid was appearing in.

I went back into my house. For the rest of the day, I sulked. I brewed a pot of coffee and watched from my bedroom windows as the near army of men, boys and even some girls and women moved my new neighbor in.

It took me weeks to get all of my stuff moved in. I had hired people several times to help with larger pieces that I couldn't move by myself. After a year, there were still things in my house that weren't unpacked or that needed to be assembled or moved.

In most cases, I simply didn't bother. For the first time, I wondered why I continued to live out of suitcase and a few drawers. What was it going to take to make this house into a home? The life I'd left behind was over. There was no way I could or would ever go back there. This was now my home, like it or not. For not the first time I wondered if my anger would ever abate or if I would be this way forever.

It's been said many times that life, and our experiences shape us and make us into the people that we become. I have no idea when it happened, but my life thus far had turned me into a first class bitch.

It was three days before I saw him again. I heard him coming and going a few times during the week. The deep thrumming sound of his exhaust couldn't be mistaken. But he usually drove up his driveway and straight into his garage. He had some sort of motorized fence and one of those electric garage doors that opened automatically. It closed as soon as his car was inside of it.

Anyway, Wednesday evening, I noticed that after he got home and then went out to wherever he went every evening, he came back and armed with another batch of bright blue papers he walked up and down the block. He knocked on almost every door and spent a few moments talking to people at every house.

If no one was home, which only happened once, while I watched, he taped the flyer to their screen door. The route he had taken made a big rectangle, and I would be the last house he stopped at. A lot of the neighbors invited him in so it took a good two hours for him to do the entire block.

I waited nervously for him to knock on my door. I looked at the clock and then noticed that it had gotten dark. I figured that someone had probably invited him to stay for dinner.

Then I noticed that he had already gone home. I could tell because lights were going on and off in his house. I looked through my front door and saw a bright blue notice taped to my screen door.

I opened the door and snatched it down. This time he was notifying his neighbors that he was having a pool dug and installed in his back yard. He expected it to take two weeks, with the first few days, while the digging machines were here being the loudest. The next loudest would be a few days later when the cement was poured.

He wanted to impact the noise levels in the neighborhood as little as possible so the crew would only work from ten in the morning until five in the afternoon each day. They would also work part of that time on Saturday, but there would be "NO" work done on Sunday. I had a big suspicion that the Sunday part had something to do with me.

He was also inviting everyone over to a pool party when it was finished and outfitted.

I wonder why he didn't knock on my door, and the only other person he hadn't spoken to was the one who wasn't home. It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

The next thing that affected me was on the following Saturday. Since I work during the week, and wasn't home during the day, the digging of his pool never affected me. I could look into his back yard from the upper level of my house and see its progress but the noise never happened while I was home.

But that next Saturday, I got up and went out to walk in the woods. I did some shopping afterwards and when I got home, I was surprised. My grass was neatly cut and edged. It looked amazing. I just stood there and stared at it.

Seeing how good it looked made me notice for the first time how bad it had looked before. It wasn't hard to figure out who'd done it. He lived right next door and while he wasn't the only person on our block who'd cut his grass that morning, he was the only one who edged his grass.

I was on the verge of walking over to his house and cursing him out, but something made me reconsider it. I wondered if that was what I really wanted to do. After thinking about it for a few moments, I decided to take a different approach.

I did walk over to his house. I knocked on the door and heard a response telling me to come into the backyard.

I blew out an angry breath and tried to calm myself down. I walked around into his backyard, and my mouth dropped open. I noticed that in the two weeks that he'd been here, the house was looking a lot better. But I had stared out into that yard for over a year, and it had always been ... Kind of barren to put it nicely.

But now, it was transformed. He had clearly sodded the entire yard except for where the pool had been dug. There was still an area about two feet in width around the periphery of the yard that was bare soil. He obviously intended to put plants or shrubbery completely around the yard. There was already a six-foot privacy fence around the yard, but he was looking more for ambiance than privacy.

The pool had not only been completely dug, and the thick fiberglass liner had been installed. It was larger than I expected. It looked as if it could be long enough to swim laps in. As I watched there were three workmen in the pool. Two of them were installing pumps and hoses; the other was drilling a hole that looked like it might be the main drain.

Dennis was busy as well. He seemed to be multitasking. On one hand, he was installing stone tiles from the edge of the new deck down to and surrounding the pool. On the other hand, he had parts, pipes, and hoses from a hot tub that he was installing on the small deck. I almost stepped onto one of the thick stones he was installing, but I stopped before my foot touched it.

He looked up at me and smiled. "You can step on it," he said. "That's what they're for."

I stepped onto the stones of the path he was putting in and got a surprise. The stone wasn't actually stone. It was a very realistic-looking rubber piece. It cushioned my feet as I stepped on it. Despite myself, I smiled.

"There's no digging or hammering going on," he said. "I didn't think the noise was that bad?"

"I'm not actually here about noise," I said. "Did you cut my grass?"

"Did I cut it in a way that you don't like?" he asked. "Is it too short or not the way you like it done?"

"I'm more interested in WHY you did it?" I said.

"Two weeks ago, I ruined your Sunday morning," he said. "And the people in the neighborhood were getting pretty pissed about you letting it "grow wild." It was a big topic of discussion at the last block club meeting. I figured I could kill two rats with one rock. I pay you back for disturbing your peace and calm down the restless neighbors at the same time. No one gets hurt, and everyone is happy. It's a win/win situation."

"Unless of course, I just wanted my grass to "grow wild," I said. "Maybe I was looking for more of a natural look as opposed to that neatly trimmed suburban look."

"Ohhhhh," he said. The look on his face was one of horror. He looked so surprised that it almost made me laugh. Up close he really was kind of good-looking in a rugged manly sort of way.

"Relax, cowboy," I said. "I was just too pre-occupied to cut it. And as for you ruining my Sunday ... I guess we're even."

"Wait," he said as I turned to go.

"Did you get the latest note I left on your door?" he asked tentatively.

"The one about the pool and the pool party," I asked. He nodded.

"Look, I should tell you ... I really don't do parties or groups of people. As a matter of fact, I don't do people at all. So thanks for thinking of me, but I'm going to have to decline." I turned to leave again.

"Wait," he said yet again. I turned back to him and this time it was even harder to suppress my smile.

He tore off a piece of paper from the wrapper of the tiles he was installing. He quickly scribbled something down on it and held it out to me.

"You don't need to come to the party," he said. "But you can use the pool anytime you want. Just call me and I'll leave the fence open. I won't even come out here until you're done."

I was amazed at his offer. I had no idea, whether or not I'd use his pool. But slipping into that hot tub after one of my longer hikes sounded like heaven.

"I'm not promising you anything," I said. "But maybe..." He nodded.

"In the meantime are there any other chores around my house that you're just burning to do?" I asked. He nodded with a smile. The way he looked at me was almost sensual. My body was definitely reacting to him.

"I would love to wash your car," he said.

"Uhm, that's kind of personal," I laughed. "We're gonna have to work our way up to that."

I took one more look at the oasis he was turning that barren piece of dirt into and shook my head. He really wasn't that bad for a man. As soon as I got back inside of my house, I balled the piece of paper he'd given me up and threw it into my trash can.

On a whim, I retrieved it. I took a few minutes and saved the number in the contacts on my phone. Then I threw the piece of paper away again.

* * * * * *

Sarah

My stomach churned, I knew that I should get up and eat something. What was the expression? "Eating for two," well one of us, two, didn't want to eat anything, so the other would simply have to make do.

If Dennis had been here he'd never have allowed me even to think about it. He'd have forced me to eat if necessary. But that would never have been necessary. My previous two pregnancies were joyous occasions. Dennis had been there pampering me and spoiling me and making it all seem like bringing a child into the world was a wonderful thing. We'd talk endlessly about how special he or she would be, and we'd discuss, argue, and bargain for weeks about what to name it.

But this time it was so different. I was all alone. Not only was no one glad about the event, everyone I ran into either sneered at me or laughed at me.

The whole thing was fodder for discussion and derision all over town. And now that news of my pregnancy had spread like wildfire, there was a new dimension added to the level of scorn I had to bear.

Before, I was just a whore that had destroyed a family and made a good man miserable. Now I supposedly ruined Brad's life as well. I didn't have the chance to tell Brad. But the grapevine was in full effect. He showed up at my door, screaming and calling me names. This time he'd demanded that I get the abortion before it was too late.

He screamed, demanded, and finally cried. I escorted him to the door, all of his bluster and demanding had morphed into begging and whining. He was pathetic. He was, in fact, as pathetic as I was. I realized for not the first time, the fool I had been. I also realized how wrong I had been in my assessment of my mistake.

If you ask anyone in town, they'd tell you at the drop of a hat that I cheated on my husband by sleeping with another man. I was a lustful harlot or maybe even a rampaging nymphomaniac.

But the reality was very different. Right now, I am as horny as a mountain goat but the thought of ever letting anyone other than Dennis touch me made me want to throw up.

Another thing they were incorrect about was the fact that I had not cheated on my husband with another man. The sniveling, whining, lump of flesh in front of me wasn't a man.