I brusquely opened the door for her to leave. “But do yourself a favor and start closing your blinds.”
She stood pat. “The blinds don’t work. Eddie messed them up trying to break in. And I can’t complain to the fucking landlord because I’m behind on my rent.”
She turned to leave, but paused on her way out, inches from my face. “Just keep away from me, or I’ll tell everyone around here you’re a peeping tom.”
Several days passed while I mulled my options. The fence continued to lay in the sun like the bones of a beached whale. On Thursday the mailman clomped up our stairs to deliver a pointed message along with the mail. “What’s the story with the fence?” he said. He looked peeved. “It’s getting to be a navigational hazard, if you catch my drift. Someone needs to clean it up.”
That weekend Megan and I were the dining room, quite early on Sunday morning. She was munching granola and sipping coffee while reading the paper—her usual Sunday A.M. routine. I was trying to work on lesson plans but mostly was obsessing about the fence. School would start in two weeks and I was not exactly prepared. I hadn’t been sleeping well since the night with The Doors and the police coming. How could such a seemingly simple thing evolve into such a…
Then I sensed some activity below in our yard. I took my coffee cup and peeked out the window by the front door. In the gray morning light, Rommel and Roxie were quietly working together, pulling the fence out of the flowers and off the walkway. At first I didn’t recognize him, in a faded Hawaiian shirt and baggy sweatpants. Without his hat, I could see he was mostly bald. Roxie was in a white sweatshirt and bluejeans. They looked like they could be father and daughter. I watched them for a minute as they worked to untangle the fence, and then slipped on my loafers and went downstairs. We worked together without speaking. After the fencing was back in three neat rolls, Rommel helped me carry them around to the alley and into one of our garages. When we returned to the front, Roxie was nowhere to be seen, and I noticed now her blinds were closed.
We stood on the newly cleared walkway between our buildings, looking down toward the sidewalk. As the sun began to burn off the morning overcast, the area again looked open and inviting, with the huge shade tree and grass beyond. Many of the marguerites and geraniums
were worse for the wear, but they would recover.
Rommel lit a cigarette with a turquoise Bic and took a long drag. “Sorry about the hassle, man.” He was still looking toward the street, but sounded
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