Strange charity service in the Neighborhood door – 01

She laughed. “Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?”

I nodded. “Thought I’d head over to the Morrison’s and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they’re really planning on selling it.”

“That’s mighty neighborly of you.”

“It’ll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house.”

After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn’t notice when Paisley left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.

I’d finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had.

“I guess we victims of fate need to stick together.”

“It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate.”

“It figures you would.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“It just doesn’t surprise me. I bet you’ve been helping out when you could.”

She sighed. “Not too much. She’s too damn proud. Doesn’t want any help from anybody.”

I shook my head. “Now you tell me. She’ll probably call the police on me.”

“So what if she does? You know you’re doing the right thing. I’ll bail you out if need be.”

I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The backyard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.

The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I’d be able to reattach the fence cross beams to the new 4×4.

I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap.

“Just thought I’d fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don’t mind.”

She just shook her head.

She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn’t be talking to me. I should probably leave. “I’m just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later at your mother’s home.”

I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. “I’m David Mathew. I live across the alley,” I explained, pointing down a few houses.

She nodded.

She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Alida’s.

Alida. My perfect little Alida. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body is so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Alida.

Gone.

It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn’t breathe. I turned away from Hannah, so she wouldn’t have to see me lose it. She’d suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there.

I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them.

Instead Alida and Rihanna were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again.

I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself.

“Hannah! You know your mother doesn’t want you out if she’s not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Mathew will be alright, he’s just tired. Go on now.” Paisley had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. “C’mon David, not here. Let’s get you home.”

I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a minute.” I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. “I’m Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I’m fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together.”

“Alright. I’ll help.”

It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2×4’s and reattached the two panels. Paisley’s help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better.

“I’m going to go inside and fix Hannah her after-school snack. It’s about all that Victoria will let me do. Why don’t you come with me?”

“I don’t know if I should. Victoria doesn’t know me. She may not want me in her house when she’s not there.”

“Never mind that. She’ll be fine. Just come in a moment. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Hannah was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn’t even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories.

“Where can I wash my hands?” I asked Paisley.

She pointed to a door. “In there.”

I headed to the bathroom. “Don’t use the toilet. That one doesn’t flush anymore.”

I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined the inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine.

“Fixed. The chain was just off.”

Paisley nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Rihanna loved grilled cheese. But you couldn’t cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn’t be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore.

I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door.

“Paisley? I’m going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately.”

“Go ahead. Victoria won’t be home until late, and if we’re going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn’t have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner’s association.

“What color paint do you think I should use?” I asked Paisley.

“Let’s ask Hannah.” She returned in a few seconds with Hannah at her side. “We’re going to paint the front door, Hannah. What color would you like?”

We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch.

I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it.

Christmas trees shouldn’t look like that.

Strange charity service in the Neighborhood door – 01 will continue in the next page.