I fear I have made a powerful enemy. Well, maybe not all that powerful, but since I’m not particularly powerful myself, even a wimpy enemy is one more than I need. Also, my enemy lives next door, so it’ll be hard to avoid him as the summer drags on.
The only statement I can make in my defense is the same one I gave Sister Sulpichia when she caught me fighting on the playground back in fourth grade: He started it.
He did, too.
It was a week ago. My neighbor, who until this point seemed like a nice enough fella, yanked up a bunch of vines growing on MY side of the fence, the one that allegedly separates our two properties. Adding insult to injury, he tossed the debris back into my yard.
I have no idea why my neighbor did this. I know it’s not because he’s too lazy to clean it up himself. His own yard is clipped tighter and with more precision than a Marine recruit’s first military haircut. Every hedge is trimmed to a geometrical perfection that would bring tears to the eyes of Euclid. All he does all day, every day, is work in his yard, and it shows. His yard is a showcase.
I had liked the vines and was hoping they would prosper. Now, here they were lying in a tangled clump in my back yard.
At this point, I was faced with several choices. I could gather the debris and toss it in a yard waste bag; I could go next door and calmly ask why he had done such a thing; I could mow over the dying vines, pretend nothing had happened, and live out my days quietly and free of the aggravation a confrontation would almost certainly create. There were, in fact, many ways I could handle the problem like a mature, intelligent adult.
Fat chance.
I threw the crippled vines over the fence again, back onto my neighbor’s immaculate grass. Then I stomped back into my apartment to await developments.
I hadn’t long to wait. The next morning, the vines were back in my yard, a little deader now, brown leaves dropping away from the desiccated branches.
I considered hurtling them over the fence again, but, for once, I decided to think things through first. Throughout the day, I considered alternatives. Maybe I could leave the vines on my neighbor’s front porch. But wouldn’t he just put them back on MY porch?
What would I do then? How far was I willing to take this?
I thought about bundling the vines together, setting them on fire, and tossing them through his front window. That’s probably against the law, but I plan to check, just to be sure.
I have seen the Godfather movies, “Scarface,” and several episodes of “The Sopranos.” So I’m obviously nobody to be trifled with, an expert on the manly art of conflict resolution.
If my neighbor’s not careful, he may wake one morning to find those vines in bed with him along with the head of a race horse. Or I may invite him to “say hello to my little friend.” In this case, my “little friend” is my son’s old paintball gun, but still, those things can sting! Or they would if I could figure out how to hook up the little compressed air tank thingy.
I could dig up one of my neighbor’s rose bushes and leave the deflowered corpse on the deck of his pontoon by the lake, just to show him what I’m capable of.
But I worry about how he would retaliate. Like I said, he seems nice enough. He seems reasonable. He seems friendly. Then again, so do I until someone throws yard waste on my lawn.
If this continues, how long will it be before we’re dousing each other’s oak trees in kerosene and setting them aflame? Do I really want both our yards looking like a demilitarized zone come September?
Well, no, I don’t. The sensible thing would be to take the high road, make amends, be mature, shake hands and forget about it.
But, well, he started it.
mtaylor@staffordmediasolutions.com
(616) 548-8273
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