Theresa McLaren
Neighbors
(first place prose award)

        Today he finds a dozen metal screws tossed onto the cement sidewalk that runs between the garage and the thin ribbon of grass in his backyard. He doesn’t even postulate where they came from or consider that he may have dropped them and forgotten. He picks them up, walks to the alley, and tosses them behind Mr. F’s garage. Mr. R hopes that Mr. F will puncture a tire.
       
        The distance from Mr. R’s kitchen door to his back fence is a mere ten feet. Mr. R can access his backyard through four doors. One is a sliding door from the dining room exiting to a covered patio. This door is barred on the inside with a stick and has not been used for several years. The second door is at the far end of his kitchen. Three steps descend to the sidewalk, and five feet forward lead to the four-foot high wooden fence that separates Mr. R’s and Mr. F’s backyards. The third door exits off the laundry room. The fourth door is at a right angle to the third door. It exits from the attached garage. There is no door from the garage into the house. Mr. R has a high ratio of doors in proportion to the small size of his backyard.
      
        At the end of Mr. R’s garage, past a wooden gate, where the back yard once ended, Mr. R added a six-foot chain link fence. This area fences in a barn-shaped wooden storage shed and a small vegetable garden. The intention was to keep his dog, long-since dead, out of the garden. It is still useful, as Mr. R occasionally babysits his son’s dogs. When Mr. R weeds his garden he sometimes throws the weeds over the fence into Mr. F’s backyard, depending on his mood and depending on what Mr. F threw from his side of the fence the previous day. Mr. F has only one back door exiting into his yard and a detached garage that he enters from a side door, close to Mr. R’s garage door. He pulls his car in through the entry in the alley.

        “He’s a nut and a screwball. He just sits in his garage annoying me. That fat wife of his never comes out of the house except to go to the grocery store. He and his wife, they always argue.”

        This is Mr. R’s assessment of Mr. F. If we were to ask him, it may also be Mr. F’s assessment of Mr. R, except for the fat wife. Mr. R. has an ex-wife, whom he only argues with on the phone. Mr. R and Mr. F are both retired, in their seventies. They have a lot of time to plot and plan.

Mrs. F used to give Mr. R baked goods on occasion, but Mr. F gave Mrs. F strict instructions not to fraternize with the enemy. Mr. R rarely sees Mrs. F; he mostly hears her yelling to Mr. F to come and help her or to get off his lazy butt and take her to the grocery store. Consequently, Mr. R’s opinion that Mrs. F is just a fat voice yelling out the back door.

            Mr. R and Mr. F have been neighbors for fifteen years. When Mr. R first moved in, Mr. F was friendly. The first incident of trouble between the two came after Mr. R received a puppy from his grandson. The puppy was a present, intended to keep Mr. R company. As puppies do, he barked when left alone in the backyard. Mr. F does not like puppies. He does not like the barking to disturb his retrospection when he sits alone in the doorway of his detached garage. When Mr. R went to let the puppy in, his fur was soaked. Mr. F held a hose in his hand.

Mr. R yelled across the fence, “What’d you go and soak my dog for? He wasn’t harming anybody and I was just going to let him in.”

            Mr. F did not answer, has not spoken to Mr. R since. Thus, the silent war began. That evening, Mr. F received a present on his back stoop from Mr. R’s dog.

            Most enemies would build a higher fence, enforce their front line, but Mr. R and Mr. F take great delight in seeing the whites of each other’s eyes. They like to see each other’s response to covert night operations.

            Mr. F has no vegetable garden. He is a flower gardener. His favorite is zinnias, which he grows in multiple hues of reds, pinks, purples and yellows. Much to the delight of Mr. R, Mr. F made the mistake of planting his flowers along the fence, next to the enemy line. Some seasons his flowers develop a fungus. Other seasons, when Mr. R is feeling especially playful, they grow to enormous proportions. If Mr. F checked Mr. R’s garbage can in the alley, he would see that Mr. R has been dumping a triple dose of Miracle Grow® on his zinnias. The next season they will again develop a fungus. In the fungus season, screws, nuts and bolts turn up more often in Mr. R’s backyard.

            Mr. R spends most of the daylight hours in the summer in his garage, as does Mr. F. Mr. F mostly sits, perhaps contemplating his next move. Mr. R works on wood projects, turning bowls and making intricate wood borders for his remodeled kitchen. Once, Mr. R left a workhorse with wood clamped together so that the glue would dry in the summer heat. He came back to find Mr. F had turned his sprinkler on high next to the fence, soaking Mr. R’s sidewalk and the wood he was trying to dry. Mr. R waited until dark then dumped a can of warm bacon grease over the fence. The next morning Mr. F found a large splat of congealed grease on his lawn, as if a very large pork-eating bird had let go overhead.

            When it snows Mr. F and Mr. R retreat indoors. The battle wanes during the winter months. Snow is the ammunition of choice when boredom brings Mr. R and Mr. F out for fresh air. Snow shoveling by hand became difficult for Mr. R, so he brought a snow blower. Mr. R has the advantage with this weapon as he can easily maneuver his blower along his back sidewalk and spray the snow into Mr. F’s backyard. Mr. F’s sidewalk is too far from the fence to blow snow into Mr. R’s yard, so he sometimes piles snow from the alley in front of Mr. R’s gate, blocking his access to his garbage cans. Mr. R will retaliate in spring by sharing his garbage with Mr. F.

When spring rolls around again it is a year for the zinnias to develop a fungus. But Mr. R is playful from a long winter and Miracle Grow® is on sale. Mr. F shows his zinnias at the county fair when they do not develop fungus. He thinks he is sure to get best of show in the cut flower division, as some of the flower heads are almost as big as Mr. R’s fat head. Mr. R is going to enter onions and tomatoes in the fair this year. Mr. R looks in the premium book to know when his entries are due and looks at the date for cut flower entries. Mr. F rises early on that day to cut his colorful zinnias. Where the large flower heads were the previous evening, stems stand in the morning sun, dewdrops glistening on the bare tips that supported the flowers. Mrs. F finds a lovely bouquet of zinnias on her front door step when she goes to retrieve the morning paper, with a note attached that reads, “From a Secret Admirer.” Mrs. F rarely goes in the back yard, so she does not recognize the flowers. Her mood is elevated in a direct opposite to the deflated mood of her husband.

            Mr. F does not consider revenge today. He wants to win the war, not the battle. Mr. F waits until the next day to go to the fair. He lets out a whimper as he passes the cut flower entries. He waits near the vegetable drop-off table. As Mr. R enters, cane in one hand, vegetables in the other, Mr. F pounces. He lunges for Mr. R, knocking him off balance. Tomatoes roll out of the box and Mr. F grabs one. He does not throw it at Mr. R. He smashes it in his face. For the first time in nearly fifteen years Mr. R and Mr. F speak to one another. Mothers nearby cover their children’s ears. Mr. R and Mr. F continue to tussle and curse, in a slow arthritic tangle, with no punches connecting. They shuffle around each other, grabbing one another for balance. Mr. F slips on one of Mr. R’s onions, tumbles ungracefully to the ground, dragging Mr. R with him. They land with oomph, both whooshing out a surprised “oh,” then an “ouch,” then more cursing.

            When the vegetable clerk untangles them, neither can stand. An ambulance arrives; they are transported in the same vehicle to the hospital. They have to be restrained by the paramedics as each is trying to rip the intravenous injection out of the other. Each has broken a hip. Mrs. F is called to the hospital. She suggests that Mr. R and Mr. F share a room, since they are neighbors. She leaves her husband lying in a bed next to Mr. R, refusing to pull the curtain between the two men. Mrs. F drives home, places her flowers in a vase on a table in the backyard and enjoys the quiet evening in the solitude of her neighborhood.