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Davis
Stepping out of my truck, I pocket my keys and reach into the bed for the bag of mulch I picked up at the local home improvement store.
Slinging it over my shoulder, I dump it onto the walkway, and return to retrieve the rest of the items. I have no idea where this enthusiasm to work on my yard has come from. It would be a helluva lot easier to hide out in my garage apartment and drink the day way, though I doubt my liver would appreciate it. I’ve been swimming in booze for years now, but for reasons unknown eventhatdoesn’t interest me anymore like it once did. Ever since I sat in the nursery and allowed the memories to consume me, I feel like I’ve been gutted again in every possible way; a hollow corpse of nothing more than blood and bones. And nothing….not running incessantly or drowning my sorrows in booze, brings me any relief. The sorrow is suffocating.
It’s not like I haven’t been this broken before. This has been years in the making. I’m not an idiot….I see how easy it would be to end it all. How easy for me, that is. Taking the chicken-shit way out would certainly alleviate all the guilt, the agony, and the regret that seems inescapable. That said, it would kill Ma, my sister, and brother. Chantal, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t even bat an eye. Truth is, she might actually be relieved to have me gone.
In the past few years I’ve considered it more times than I want to admit. It would be so damn easy to drink a bottle of vodka and swallow some of the sleeping pills the doctor provided a few years ago. All this unending pain would finally cease. All the guilt would be eradicated. I might not make it to Heaven, but it would be better than this hell I live with every day.
Since the need to drink has been tempered for now, I’m turning what little energy I have into my yard. My house may be a shithole, but at least this is good place to start. Once it’s cleaned up and I can do routine maintenance every few weeks, I can concentrate on all the repairs that need fixing on the inside.
Then maybe….just maybe….I’ll be able to walk away and not look back.
The sound of a lawn mower pulls me out of my heavy thoughts. I glance over the fence to see Merrick pushing his high tech, pricey machine, leaving a perfectly straight pattern across his thick, green lawn. Like me, he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt; the unseasonably warm morning almost Spring-like in temperature. I wonder if he’s going to try to talk to me, just as he has anytime we’ve run into one another. It seems like no matter what time I arrive home each night, there he is either retrieving his mail or gathering items from the backseat of his car. He always makes it a point to greet me by name, ask how I am, and comment on something. His annoying kindness pisses me off and I find that I’m going out of my way to try to avoid him.
Unfortunately, it’s not working. He’s still there, all the time, just as he is now as he cuts the engine on the mower and strolls toward the fence.
“Hey Davis, how’s it goin’?”
“Fine,” I mutter, slicing the mulch open with my pocket knife and turning my attention to the plants I purchased. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away.
“Nice plants. Local nursery?”
“Home Depot.”
“Your yard is looking really good.”
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
“How long have you lived in this neighborhood?”
Ignore.
“This is the first house I’ve owned. Pretty overwhelming, if I do say so. A lot of responsibility.”
Ignore. Dig hole in dirt. Pretend ignorance.
“The entire process was daunting. All the papers to sign. The meetings back and forth to settle on a sale price. I had no idea what was entailed just to purchase a home. Did you?”
Jesus, guy….get a fucking clue and go away.
There’s a long, silent pause and just when I think he’s somehow heard my inner pleading, he murmurs, “You know, you’re gonna have to talk to me eventually.”
My head juts up and I can feel a surge of anger sliding down my spine. “Oh? And why is that?”
He grins, hands gripping the fence posts. “Because I’m irresistible.” His eyes widen, as if he’s just realized what he’s said to a complete stranger. “Sorry. I have a tendency to speak before thinking.”
Somehow, I doubt that.
I go back to the task at hand, his shadow lingering across my pathetic excuse for grass. Hopefully, if I continue to ignore him, he’ll eventually get a clue and go the fuck away.
Minutes tick by. One plant is in the ground, then another, and that damn shadow just lingers there. It’s almost comical, how he hangs around waiting for me to say something. I can’t explain why, but his presence makes me uneasy. I feel like he’s judging everything I’m doing or like he’s trying to see what I’m all about. And it’s starting to really piss me off.
Rising and brushing my hands off on my shorts, I glance at the annoying man who continues to make my shitty life even shittier. “Look man, I don’t know what you want from me, but take a hint. Go away.”
Instead of the anger I anticipate, he smirks at me. “Just being neighborly is all.”
“Yeah well, knock it off.”
