Look Evelyn, Duck Dynasty Wiper Blades. We Should Get Them.: A Collection Of New Essays (12 page)

Short men don’t like you turning your back to them. They need to be seen and heard. I glanced over my shoulder as I walked away to check Carl wasn’t about to go all spider monkey on me but he was off - stomping away with his fists clenched and his elbows pointed out as if he was carrying two invisible buckets of water. Short men do this a lot. It’s their version of an annoyed pufferfish. His short fat wife bounced after him.

Carl started mowing a lot after that. Four or five times a week. He made a path through the trees between our houses so he could mow two feet from our driveway, scowling the whole time at my apparently infringing driveway rockery. I waved with a big smile whenever I saw him. He’d purse his lips, glare a bit and shake his head. It was the trees that pushed him over the edge though.

I planted twenty Leyland Cypress trees just our side of the metal pole. They’re evergreens, in staggered formation, which means regardless of the season, we can step outside our front door or look out the kitchen window without seeing Carl’s flappy torso zooming past. They’re only four or five feet in height at the moment but I was told they grow fast. My friend JM is an expert on trees.

“Get yourself some Leyland Cypress trees. They grow fast. That will fix the problem.”

“Really? How fast do they grow?”

“Oh, ten feet a year or so.”

“That seems highly unlikely. Did you just make up a random number?”

“No, it was an estimate.”

Carl stood on his back deck watching the nursery truck deliver the trees with his neck craned out like a turtle and his arms bent against the railing as if he was doing push ups. I waved and he went inside.

The problem with short men is that they always have something to prove. Nobody cares but as far as they’re concerned, everybody has to. I saw a movie once called The Incredible Shrinking Man in which some guy ate something or got zapped and shrunk down to the size of a pea. There was a scene where he was trying to get the attention of his wife. He jumped up and down waving his arms around screaming, “Please notice me. I’m down here. For the love of god, please notice me.”  This is essentially how short men spend every waking hour. It’s more of an internal jumping and yelling, but it’s there in every nuance.

The next morning, as I made coffee in the kitchen, I glanced out the window and noticed Carl had tied neon orange plastic ribbons on the Leyland Cypress trees closest to our driveway. The metal pole in the ground had been removed. I put on shoes and took my coffee and a pair of scissors outside. Carl watched me from his back deck so I gave him a friendly wave as I cut the last of the ribbons in my pyjamas. He didn’t wave back. He stormed down his steps and across his yard.

“Morning Carl. Beautiful day isn’t it. I was just doing a bit of trimming.”

“You actually just committed a crime. It’s against the law to remove property markers.”

He stood on one of my rocks and reached out to tap me on the shoulder, “I’m making a citizen’s arrest.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I said.

“Yes it is. I looked it up.”

“Do I get a phone call? If so, I’m going to call the circus and tell them to come and collect their midget clown.”

“I beg your pardon?” Carl spluttered, “ I beg your pardthhh...” Carl’s white tooth, on a pink partial plate, flew out of his mouth and landed in the driveway.  He went to pick it up.

I shouldn’t have stepped on it. I wasn’t helping the situation and knew that even as I did it. It was a spur of the moment reaction without any possible benefit or advantage. When you find yourself in a idiotic situation though, the temptation to test how far the idiocy will stretch can be overwhelming.

“That’s actually on my side of the property line, Carl. It’s my scary little white plastic tooth now. I might even tie a little bit of orange ribbon around it.”

Carl took his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Old people like flip phones for some reason. Holly’s parents both own flip phones and even the mention of upgrading to a smart phone sends them into a panic.

“I need a keyboard. Smart phones don’t have keyboards.”

“Yes, they do. You press this icon and the ke...”

“
I 
don’t understand. Why are you doing this to me?

Carl jabbed buttons and waited, “Polithe pleathe.”

Despite being under citizen’s arrest, I left Carl to it and went inside. Holly was making coffee and had watched most of the exchange from the kitchen window.

“Look,” I said, holding up my tooth, “We’ve got a spare in case either of us ever loses one.”

“Just once,” Holly sighed, “I would like to live somewhere where we get along with our neighbours.”

“It’s never going to happen. People are dreadful wherever you go. Or maybe it’s just us. Same result though.”

“You mean just you. I get along with people fine.”

“You hate people more than I do.”

“Yes, but I manage to get along with them. Without spending $800 on trees. Besides, if I didn’t hate people, we wouldn’t have anything in common.”

“Are you saying the only reason we’re together is because we hate everyone else?”

“Yes.”

“What about pineapple on pizza? We both like pineapple on pizza.”

“No, not really. I just put up with it because you like it.”

“Right, well I’m not a massive fan of those pants you’re wearing. I wasn’t going to say anything but seeing how we’re all opening up and being honest about things.”

“I’m just saying, when you live in a small community, word gets around fast.”

I printed off two copies of the Geographic Information Systems information for our area. I gave one to the officer when he arrived a short time later and the other to Carl’s fat wife when he sent her down to ask for his tooth back. I’d thrown it in the bin but she waited while I dug it out. I put it in a sandwich bag for her as it was covered in oily cheese and cigarette ash. I added a bit of orange peel and a tea bag.

There were no more discussions about property lines after that but I don’t wave to Carl anymore. I saw him kick our dog while it was playing in his yard. He kicked it hard enough to hurt and I heard the yelp all the way from our kitchen window. Short men like hurting animals. It’s probably a DN
A 
thing passed down from a time they weren’t invited on mammoth hunts or something.

“Can I come?”

“No, you’ll just get trampled. Stay here with the women and weave a basket or something. And stay away from the dog. Grok told me she saw you throwing rocks at it yesterday.”

“I won’t get trampled.”

“To be honest, it’s not your safety that’s the issue. The other cavemen just find you kind of, well, annoying.”

“In what way?”

“Just the whole thing really. Like the way you stick your elbows out when you walk.”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes, it looks like you’re carrying invisible buckets.”

“What about Krog? He likes me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

I get along fine with our other neighbours though. I met one of them a few weeks ago while I was adding to our letterbox rockery. When you live in a small community, word gets around fast.

“I heard you and Carl had some kind of falling out recently? ”

“Yes, I caught him looking through our bathroom window while my wife was in the shower. He was standing on a stepladder. The police were involved.”

“Oh my gosh. I saw the police car but had no idea.”

“Yes, according to the officer, it’s not the first time he’s been in trouble for this kind of thing either.”

“Really?”

“Yes, he’s a registered sex offender. Carl’s not even his real name. It’s Steve.”

“I always knew there was something about him. He’s a very short man. So, I couldn’t help but notice the accent. Australian?”

“Yes.”

“Is your wife Australian as well?”

“No, she’s very American.”

“Really? Where did you meet?”

“Have you ever seen the television show Below Deck?”

“No.”

“Well, I was working as a deck hand on a charter yacht and Holly was one of the guests...

When I get older, I’m going to watch The Weather Channel a lot. If someone mentions that it’s cold, or warm, or wet, I’ll be able to tell them that a low front is moving in from the west which will give me an opening to be able to complain about my knees. And the price of ointments and balms these days. And the government.

.....................................

From
: Beverly Corrigan

Date
: Thursday 21 November 2013 7.08pm

To
: David Thorne

Subject
: Very disappointed

Dear Mr. Thorne,

On the 18th of November, I ordered two of your books from Amazon. The Internet is a Playground and I’ll Go Home Then, It’s Warm And Has Chairs. They were for my 14yo grandson.

Both books are being returned immediately.

Good writers do not need to use foul language several times in the first few pages. It isn't clever, it just displays a limited vocabulary. At the very least, the cover should include a warning that the book contains explicit language so people don't have to waste their valuable time returning items. 

Thank you for your time.

Beverly Corrigan

.....................................

From
: David Thorne

Date
: Friday 22 November 2013 2.14pm

To
: Beverly Corrigan

Subject
: Re: Very disappointed

Dear Beverly,

I'm sorry to hear of your disappointment. Hopefully Amazon's efficient return process won't interrupt your admonishment schedule too much. I'm sure you will let them know if it does.

As misery loves company, you may be pleased to learn that I have received similar correspondence from readers in the past. In response to this feedback, it may also please you to learn that reworked stories from the first two books are being released as a single volume targeted specifically towards your demographic.

Available in both Block and Edison Disk Audio-book versions, the Victorian Edition is sure to be a hit at local council meetings, doctor's waiting rooms and church fundraisers.

Please find attached a few sample pages for your consideration.

Regards, David

.....................................

From
: Beverly Corrigan

Date
: Friday 22 November 2013 4.36pm

To
: David Thorne

Subject
: Re: Re: Very disappointed

I won't be buying that book either I’m afraid. It's sad that this is what passes for humor these days.

Beverly Corrigan

.....................................