TURN YOUR CHEEK

The teen skate boarder passes my house. He’s wearing a subdued plaid pattern of shorts, below a long tattered white T shirt. With barely a glimpse of his face, I know he is good looking. His shoulder length brown hair flies wildly behind him. His youth and speed invigorate me until I realize his shorts are too long and most of his rear end isshowing and he revels in it being seen. There is no sign of underwear.On the back of the T shirt is a large red devil, its tail erect between its legs. I find it cheap, vulgar and ugly. The image of the skater and his red devil I throw in the gutter.
That is when I get my come uppence. The devil rises, gives me hell, leaving plenty for himself. ‘That young man isn’t hurting you, is he? Why does he have to be what you think is best? Look in your baby books and you won’t always have on a diaper. Your rear will be getting a washing. There’s one I remember when you went skinny dipping with your girlfriends and boys were hiding behind the trees, getting a good look at you. You don’t like the image of me on that T and I don’t like you! The devil melts in flames.

Gerald, my neighbor, insists his manicured lawn always be perfect, maintained grass height 1 ½ inches. And he doesn’t do it. His son Steven, spelled with a ‘v’, not ‘ph’ has to mow the lawn twice a week. But today he sits on the mower, slamming the steering wheel, cussing loud enough for me to hear every effen word. Children walk by. Mothers nudge their kids forward.

‘Dad, it’s broken again! Steven whines. His father comes out, walks swiftly to the mower, and bangs his son hard on the top of his head. Steven grabs it to protect himself and yells, ‘Stop, Dad!’ ‘What do you mean, it’s broken? If it’s broken, you broke it, Idiot! Get off and figure out what you did wrong.’ Dad, I was riding peacefully in circles like you taught me and all of a sudden this thing stopped dead.‘ ’Jesus, Boy, you are stupid. Did you fill ‘er with gas?’ ‘No, I thought you did.’

The drama is over but not my anger. Gerald is a goon, a dragon who treats his son like grist for the mill. He can be heard cussing his son, even across the street. Steven finishes the lawn, rides the mower back to the garage, looks at his dad walking back into the house, puts up his hand, pretends he has a gun and goes ‘bang, bang.’ One of these days ???

At the center of the home owner’s cul de sac I smell fragrant cinnamon coming from Bea’s open kitchen window. Her house is the only one with the kitchen in the front facing east. She insisted it be that way, paid the architects a lot to change the design, get special permits. And I often smell cinnamon when she is baking buns and coffee cakes. I want to ring the bell and invite myself in but never dare.

She is not a nice lady at all. Several neighbors have complained to our Board that she doesn’t put her trash can lids on tight enough. Raccoons and dogs upset them, garbage brings rats. We have barbecues but Bea never comes. She has a barbecue of her own but doesn’t light it.From her front window she can see children crossing her lawn and scares them away. Guests sometimes park in front of her house when there is no other spot available and Bea will put a note on the car windshield not to park there again.

I don’t like her but try to give her the benefit of the doubt as to why she is the way she is. Maybe she couldn’t have or didn’t want children.Her deed does not list a husband. And I know something I don’t think my other neighbors know. Living next door to her, I’ve heard her car motor start 2, 3 a.m. I see her fill her car with cartons, bags. In warm weather when the windows are open I can smell the cinnamon. Bea is selling her baked goods without a permit. Neither our Home Owners’ Association or the county allows this.

I understand and keep my mouth shut won’t even open it if some day she actually offers me a cinnamon bun.