do it while they all were gone. She had discovered several rolls of weathered grape-stake fencing in a wire mesh in one of our garages, apparently left behind by the former owner. She theorized the fencing had been used in the past, maybe to fence in a dog, so why not use it now to put a stop to the unwanted incursions?
Something about the plan made me uneasy, but we felt we had to take a stand, and we were well within our rights to protect our turf. We didn’t have time to mix cement to set the posts and do the job correctly, but still it took most of the day. We had only enough fencing to string along the property line between our lot and the neighbors, and then part way across the front. Most of the geraniums and marguerites ended up just inside the fence. With the job done, late that afternoon, Megan took off her gloves, brushed the dirt from her pants and quoted a favorite poet: “Good fences make good neighbors.” Looking at the results of our labor, however, I doubted these neighbors would see it that way.
The next day was Saturday and when the mailman came, I was downstairs pruning the plants that had become crowded by the impromptu fence. “Nice fence,” he said, handing me our mail. “Is that new?” He took off his summer pith helmet and wiped the inside band and the back of his neck with a handkerchief. “How come it doesn’t go all the way across the front, and up the other side of the yard? Did you run out?”
The following evening, just as it was getting dark, Megan and I each held our breath and watched while one of their vans started to pull over the sidewalk, only to be blocked by the corner of the fencing we had erected. The driver revved the engine several times and then turned it off. The headlights displayed what we had done in stark relief. Several of them gathered to stare at the fence with hands on hips, but then they unloaded and carried their paraphernalia and grocery bags up the walkway to their apartments. I watched Eddie and Rommel lug an ice chest along the now narrow walkway. Even in the twilight, I could see Eddie muttering and glaring up at our darkened windows. I didn’t think he could see us, but my chest tightened when he gave the finger in our direction just before going inside.
In the middle of that night I was jolted awake by the ceiling light blazing in my eyes, and the sounds of thumping and other worrisome noises accompanied by The Doors. It had been a while, but I recognized the unsettling dissonance of “The End.” The bedroom clock showed
2:13. As I lay squinting at the light, the thumping noises came closer and I began to recognize the sound of Megan’s bare heels on our hardwood floor. She seemed to be searching for something, pacing in the hallway, opening and closing doors. I couldn’t imagine what she possibly could be looking for
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