Playing Fair and Being Kind

I have a gang of characters who travel with me. I know I’m not alone in this so don’t get smart. (Laughter) Here is a story that came out of this phenomenon recently. I carry good, bad, and ugly situations around and I entertain myself easily with replays. Sometimes I win all of the arguments.

GET OFF MY LAWN!

Highpockets was surprised to see Fred standing at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t like him and had hoped he would never see him again. In fact he had often wished Fred dead. Fred stood at the bottom of the stairs staring up at Highpockets with a smile on his face. Seeing Fred enraged Highpockets and he let him know right away.

“Ah, there he be. The slimiest bastard I’ve ever known. What in tarnation do you want?” Fred remained silent. He simply smiled a bigger smile and slowly shook his head at Highpockets. That only egged him on.

“You ignorant asshole, I outta come down there and kick your ass right out of this house.” Fred put his hand on the staircase rail and one foot on the first step. “Get the hell out of my house you son-of-a-bitch!” railed Highpockets. Fred retreated and Highpockets waited until he disappeared. “He’d better get the hell out of here.” he said to no one in particular.

Highpockets turned and went into the bathroom. He knew Fred was gone but it still bothered him that he’d shown up. Fred had always been troublesome. He used to live next door. Not long after moving into the neighborhood Fred accused Highpockets of chasing after his wife. It wasn’t true but no one would believe either one of them. It hurt Highpockets that his longer term neighbors had not take his side. He was only being friendly with Fred’s wife. Nothing more. He growled a little more thinking about it then flushed the toilet.

Highpockets lived in Barton. He’d lived here nearly thirty years and he’d had two wives who left because he couldn’t stand to be around other people. Highpockets had moved to Vermont in 1987 to get away from the big city and urban sprawl. He left a good job as a nurse at a methadone clinic in Brighton, Massachusetts after both his parents had passed. There wasn’t anything to keep him in the Boston area and Barton was a pleasant memory from his childhood days. He remembered the wooded hills around the town; piles of green with clean air and quiet nights that filled his imagination with images of Ethan Allen and The Green Mountain Boys. His move to the Northeast Kingdom was probably the best thing he ever did for himself.

Highpockets real name was Alvin. He got the name Highpockets when he was in the eighth grade because he was so tall, nearly six feet tall at the age of twelve. After a while no one called him Alvin. It was Highpockets. He didn’t mind it that much. No big deal.

He went downstairs to start a pot of beans. Highpockets prepared Boston baked beans once a week. The recipe was simple; soak navy beans overnight and put them in the pressure cooker for about forty five minutes with molasses, brown sugar, mustard, garlic, onion, and salt pork. That mess of beans would last a week. He loved baked beans. What irritated him was that one of his ex-wives had left with his bean pot as well as other favorite kitchen items. Once in a while she would show up while he was working in the kitchen. She wouldn’t say a word, just show up and grin at him until he noticed her standing right there watching him washing dishes or something.

“JESUS!”, he would shout, startled. “Don’t you fucking knock?” He’d glare at her with his hands pressed against his chest but she wouldn’t say a word. “What did you come back for this time, you goddamned thief?”, he’d ask. She’d just look at him and shake her head slowly like he was a little boy. She seemed amused by the situation she’d created. Highpockets wanted to strangle her he was so mad. “You forgot to take the vacuum cleaner, you little thieving shit!”, he raged. “And bring back my friggin computer. I had all my files on there!” Highpockets moved back toward the kitchen counter to sort the beans. He began picking out the dark ones or the ones with spots on them. His ex-wife took one of the avocados from on top of the window sill and began walking toward the sliding door that led outside.

“Yeah, take it!”, said Highpockets. He was used to her just coming by anytime and pilfering or outright removing items from his house. He hated her and would never forgive her for the divorce settlement he’d had to accept from the court. With his most sarcastic voice he loudly proclaimed, “Come again, you shit-bird! Stop by again real soon!”. He drew out the ‘real’ part and then laughed a painful choking noise. He was glad to see her go.

Highpockets put the navy beans into a bowl with enough water to cover them and placed them on the bottom shelf of his refrigerator. Satisfied with himself he thought it would be good to get a bottle of beer and go sit in the back yard as long as the day was still warm. He found one of two bottles remaining in the refrigerator and wandered out to a couple of lawn chairs. He thought of starting a fire in the fire pit but decided it would be too much trouble for now. Maybe later this evening. Highpockets took a seat in one of the chairs and pulled on the end of the bottle. “Ahhh, he thought. This is the life.” He was settling into the chair and feeling the beer slide down inside. He liked the taste and one beer always gave him just the right amount of buzz. Just then his reverie was jolted by the barking of a dog. The noise was coming from the front of the house.

Highpockets growled and cussed. He got out of the lawn chair as quickly as he could. He didn’t like dogs and he really didn’t like them shitting on his property. When he arrived at the front of his house he saw a young woman with a small dog on a leash walking along the sidewalk well past his house. He gave his lawn a quick glance to check for dog turds. “Goddamn it all to hell!” Highpockets saw amazingly three dogs on his lawn in various degrees of crapping on his grass. “JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH!”, he shouted. He quickly retreated and rushed back toward his garden shed to get a tool of some size to drive those dogs off of his property. He was moving as quickly as he could but his breathing was labored and he was so angry that he could barely see. Highpockets caught his toe on a lawn chair and fell flat on the ground nearly into the fire pit.

He rolled over and tried to sit upright. It was no use. He was defeated. Highpockets lay right where he fell and watched the leaves in the trees above him make slight waving motions. Tears came into his eyes as thoughts of losses came to him in bigger waves. He felt miserable. He felt old. He felt forgotten. Highpockets rolled over onto his side and worked his knees under him and got up very slowly. He sat in the chair that had tackled him and found the beer bottle with beer still inside of it. The beer tasted good. He began to relax bit by bit. Highpockets’ oldest son called to him from the house to inquire if he wanted to go downtown for pizza. What a good idea!

G. M. Goodwin

31 July 2017