If you had told me a year ago that my life would be this stressful, I wouldn’t have believed you. It all started when that damn neighbor moved in.
I live in a duplex in the middle-class area of town. The houses here are nice, with perfectly manicured lawns and lovely occupants. I’m walking distance from downtown, which has lots of cute shops, quaint cafes, and even a small grocery market. It’s paradise. My absolute favorite thing about where I live is that it’s easy to be social. For an extrovert like me, the more people the better, and what better place to meet people than a sweet small town in the South?
I have a daily routine: wake up, have my morning coffee, then leash Bruce, my dog, and take him for a walk downtown. Bruce and I love playing fetch in the park, so that’s always our first stop. After that, we hit all the pet-friendly shops for a few hours. By the time we’re done shopping, I’m usually famished from carrying our bags around for so long, so we head to our favorite mom-and-pop café for lunch. Betty, the waitress there, knows Bruce and I’s order by heart: a veggie burger and fries for me and a leftover steak bone for Bruce. We always leave a good tip for Betty.
After lunch at the café, Bruce and I head home with our goodies. Once we’re back at the house, Bruce usually takes a nap in the grass of the white picket-fenced front yard while I get some landscaping done. I take pride in the curb appeal of my half of the duplex. My old neighbor, Jenny, did too. Two years ago, we worked together to build an adorable little fence right down the middle of the shared front yard. Then, we grew some knockout roses right next to it, which tendrilled up the fence and created the most beautiful natural décor. I just love those roses. They grow the prettiest buds and most vibrant colors in the spring. I figure it must have something to do with the fertilizer I use. It’s completely organic and long-lasting, so the roses get a steady supply of healthy nutrients all year long.
Anyway, after yard work, I go inside and start making dinner with whatever ingredients I managed to collect from the market earlier in the day. I always include a protein, a starch, and a vegetable, since that’s what the USDA recommends. Bruce always gets a small serving, too. Once dinner has been eaten and cleaned up, I finish my night off with a good book and a glass of wine while I enjoy a soak in the tub, complete with a lavender bath bomb and my favorite eucalyptus candle for optimal relaxation. Then, it’s off to bed for a restful night’s sleep. Wash, rinse, and repeat the next day. It’s a simple routine, but I enjoy the structure.
I’m sorry that took so long, but I wanted to be sure that you understand my full, detailed schedule. See, that’s the only way you’ll be able to fathom just how badly he screwed it all up. When George first moved in, I didn’t think much of it. In fact, I was excited to have a neighbor again. I had been lonely since Jenny left. Of course, I didn’t know it then, but George would turn out to be a cruel individual – far from the friendly neighbor I thought I was getting.
The day Geroge moved in, I was sitting on my front porch with Bruce. We had just returned from our daily trip downtown when a moving truck pulled up next door. I watched the two men in the truck unload a whole house’s worth of furniture from the back. Just as they were finishing up, a balding middle-aged man of medium build pulled up in a silver SUV. The driver’s door opened slowly and the man stepped out with a groan, right hand on his lower back. The man stood outside the car for a moment, looking the house over. Then, his gaze drifted across his half of the yard, to the fence with the roses on it, into my yard, and finally, settled on me. I extended my arm into the air and gave a slight wave, shouting “hey, neighbor!” The man just stared at me. Then, he shook his head, averted his gaze, sighed, and made his way inside his half of the duplex, all without saying a word. Well, that was rude, I thought to myself.
The next day, on my way out the door with Bruce, I noticed the man sitting on his front porch, holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He glanced at me and gave a half-nod. Huh. He’s actually acknowledging me. Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot yesterday, I thought to myself as I made my way off the porch. I turned onto the sidewalk and took a left. As I passed by him, I waved. To my surprise, he waved back. I smiled sheepishly. “Hi, I’m Sarah. What’s your name?” I asked. “George” was the only response I received, followed by the rustling of the newspaper as George unfolded it in front of his face, obscuring his view of me. Conversation over. That’s okay. I had made progress! Bruce and I trotted happily to the park.
It was a lovely day for fetch, shopping, and lunch at the café. I found a beautiful yellow polka-dotted dress and a new chew toy for Bruce at the shops. Betty served Bruce the biggest steak bone I had ever seen, so he was happy too. With satisfaction in our hearts and full bellies, Bruce and I set out for home. Nothing could bring me down! Nothing, except for the awful sight that awaited me at the duplex, that is.
I had just rounded the corner to my street when I first saw it. There, right smack dab in the middle of our lawns, was the fence Jenny and I had built together. This wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary, except that only the fence was there. The roses were gone. And, worse than that, a pair of pruning shears and bits of mutilated rose littered the ground next to the now-bare fence. Sure, I was looking at George’s side of the fence, and my side still appeared to have roses on it, but how dare he?! Jenny and I grew those! What gave George the right to do such a horrible thing?
Before I could stop myself, I quickened my pace and stormed right up to George’s front porch. Bruce trotted to keep up. I stomped to Geroge’s front door, raised my closed fist, and swung it toward the door. Just before my hand made contact, the door opened. Not fully paying attention at first, Geroge turned his head toward me and jumped, apparently startled by my presence on his doorstep. “Ah, Sarah, good timing!” George said, holding his hand out. I stared at him for a moment, blinking dumbfoundedly. I was still enraged over the roses and couldn’t believe he was being so friendly after what he had done. Finally, I cleared my throat, softened my face, and extended my hand to meet his. He shook firmly once. “Hi, George.” I said with a fake smile.
“Sarah, you must be a mind-reader. I was just on my way over to invite you to dinner tonight!” George declared. This wretched man just murdered Jenny’s roses and now he wants to have me over for dinner?! He’s acting like nothing in the world is wrong! Well, everything is wrong! The roses are dead!! My mind raged. On the surface, I managed to remain calm. “Wow, George, that’s so sweet of you!” I replied cheerfully. “Let me take Bruce home and I’ll be right back over with a bottle of wine.” George smiled at me for the first time since moving in. “Okay, great. See you in a few!” Sickening. What a monster. My mind seethed. I smiled shyly at George and waved, then turned and walked off his porch. I heard his door close behind me. As I walked the short distance from George’s house to mine, I stared at the bare fence, stewing over the atrocity before me. Suddenly, I had another, more pleasant thought. I smiled a coy smile to myself as I walked through my front door.
An hour later, I arrived on George’s doorstep, bottle of wine in hand. I was wearing the yellow dress I bought earlier that day, hoping to make a good impression. I grinned almost-too wide and knocked on lightly on the door. Footsteps approached, then George’s round face appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Sarah! Come on in.” He moved out of the way and gestured for me to enter. I stepped through the threshold and immediately smelled something delicious. On the dining room table was an enormous feast of delectable-looking food.
“George, this looks amazing!” George chuckled as we walked toward the spread. “Well, truthfully, I needed a grand gesture to make up for my behavior yesterday.” I thought back to how rude George had been and gritted my teeth. What makes this jerk think he can treat me so poorly and get away with it? First, he snubbed me, then he killed the roses – MY roses. Enough is enough! My mind interjected. I plastered a smile back onto my face. “Oh, no worries, George,” I said as I poured two glasses of wine. “I’m sure the stress of moving was already enough without me shouting at you the way I did.” I handed George a glass. “Well, yes, but moving wasn’t what I was so angry about.” George said as he brought his glass to his lips. “My ex-wife put me in a sour mood. Told me the kids wouldn’t be coming to stay with me until she sees their living arrangements for herself.” He took a long drink, downing almost half the glass in one sip. “That’s why I had the movers bring all my stuff in one go. I had to get this place put together before she comes.” He polished off the glass and reached for the bottle on the table. “This wine is delicious, Sarah. What is it?” he asked as he lifted the bottle to pour himself another glass. “Oh, it’s my own special recipe. I make it myself, right in my own kitchen.” I smiled playfully at George. He tilted his head, looking at me curiously. “Well-” George started.
A look of nervousness, then fear, the panic crossed his face. George grasped desperately at his throat. He dropped the wine bottle, sending shards of glass ricocheting across the tile floor. Undissolved fertilizer littered the dark red puddle on the ground. George struggled to breathe, gasping and clawing at his throat with both hands as his eyes widened with realization. I chuckled. “Of course, the last time I made this wine was two years ago, for Jenny.” George fell to the ground, a gurgling sound escaping from his throat as it began to disintegrate from the inside. “See, she wanted ivy on the fence.” George’s mouth began to foam. “I wanted roses.” George’s nearly lifeless eyes settled on me as his hands fell limply away from his throat. “Jenny was so stubborn. I knew I was going to have to make her help me with those damn roses one way or another.” George’s body twitched as the light faded from his eyes. “So, I turned her into fertilizer! Humans are so nutrient-rich. They make wonderful organic plant food.” I chuckled fondly at the memory of Jenny. I squatted down next to George’s still, blue body. “You know, George, you strike me as a blueberry kind of guy.”
The next morning, I was so busy gardening that poor old Bruce missed his walk. “If we want blueberries this year, I have to get this bush in the ground today, Bruce. I’m sorry, buddy.” Bruce cocked his head sadly. I looked at my poor pooch with pity, then tossed him the biggest bone he had ever seen – even bigger than the one Betty gave him the day before. He laid down with it and munched happily as I planted the shrub in the pre-fertilized ground.
Over the next several weeks, that blueberry bush gave me nothing but trouble. It needed constant tending. It threw mine and Bruce’s entire routine off. To this day, a whole year later, it still struggles to produce well. I never thought I would have difficulty with gardening. I have always taken pride in my curb appeal and, now, I have an eyesore right smack dab in the middle of my front yard. If I could, I would just rip the darn thing out, but I don’t want to risk pulling the fertilizer up with the roots. Who knew growing blueberries could be so stressful?