One More Time

by David Howells

Neighbors

  Sam was waving goodbye to Peter Garofalo, owner of Country Lanes Condominiums. Though the property manager was a die-hard for cars with more mass than some tugboats, Sam had convinced Peter to scale down on metal monsters for something that had half the turning radius and would be an example for others of his residents to follow. Parking at his complex could be better. As it was, Peter had placed a surcharge for high-mass vehicles, since each vehicle had a reserved location. Peter Garofalo balked at paying his own surcharge. His new goal was to have traffic flow more like a parking lot and less like a marina.

  Sam’s one time bridge nemesis was happily plucking weeds out of her front garden, so he strolled over to watch and chat. “So, that’s a weed, huh?

  “Go on with you. I know Elsie had you well trained in what was what, so I am NOT coming over and doing your job for you...you old faker. Coffee?”

  “Usual fee?”

  “Usual fee. Give me an hour to finish up, which should be just right for you to get your own plot weeded.”

  “But, my lumbago...oh all right. Darn it that Elsie taught you all my best lines.” Sam added a slight limp for effect back to his own home and hit the stove’s warm up cycle. Then it was on to ferret out plants that for some reason his dear wife had it out for. It was like a botanical gated community and he was the enforcer against intrusions of broad leaf low lives, surely degrading his prim and proper petunias.

  “Off you go, stay on your own side of the tracks. And if I ever see any broad leafed babies? I’ll sic Elsie on you!”

  From thirty feet away, “I heard that! Extra icing for my intimidation.”

  That reminded him. Back in the house, he pulled out a cookie sheet and strategically placed four cinnamon roles, two now with extra icing, on them. Back they went in, on went the timer, and the screen door would allow him to hear the buzzer when it was time. By the time he was outdoors, Elsie was inside living up to her end of the bargain. Today was Tuesday, which meant her porch this time. Twelve minutes and thirty weeds later, the buzzer went off. Sam stiffly rose and grumped that Elsie wasn’t there to see him actually in pain for a change. He’d have to work more on his timing.

  Sam pulled out the treats, shut off the oven, found a nice serving tray with a cloth napkin for class to set the rolls on top of, then headed next door. There she was, setting up the carafe on the TV tray, flanked right and left with two comfortable rockers.

  “Oh, Sam. Aren’t we American icons? Rocking chairs on the front porch, watching the world go by?”

  “Elsie, couldn’t ask for a better friend to help me make young people point and laugh. Maybe I’ll start dressing up with a suit with a flower in my lapel. So, you iron out the sticking points to sell Silver Screen?”

  “Almost. Truth is, I’m afraid to go through with it, Sam. It’s been my life for so long, especially since Raul passed. I wonder if this is what Col. Sanders felt like when they turned him into a logo with no authority in the company. At least you’re keeping your hand in the car business. I won’t be able to with that ‘non-competition clause’. And Barbara will want me gone. She’s smart to do so, after a transition period. She’s going to have to make that place her own and she can’t do that with me there.”

  “Ouch. I was glad to leave the sales lot, well, mostly. You’re right in that I can keep a piece of the past, and I don’t have to worry about those clauses. You ok on the finances?”

  Sam and Elsie had known each other for a very long time. When both of their spouses were still alive, Tuesday was always bridge night, and Superbowl was always a shared event. Those two pass times went by the wayside after Raul was the first to leave, but there were still shared dinners and helping out with little things, like watching over the house of the one(s) who went away to spend a week at their kid’s home(s). Grace passed three years later, and porch sips and nibbles by the survivors evolved into a more frequent pleasant distraction. It was nice that they were the very best of friends, feeling completely comfortable with almost any subject.

  “Pretty good, Sam. Between the sale of the business, Raul’s social security and what I’ll get on mine when I sell out, and a small life-insurance policy, well, I won’t starve and I’ll always have a roof. You?”

  “Gracie hammer locked me into saving for retirement. Damned shame she didn’t get the benefit of that. I got a decent pension, too, and everything’s paid off...even my own plot and funeral costs. Guess we both did ok, except on the widow thing.”

  “Not many couples die together, Sam.”

  “That’s true, Elsie. We’re survivors. Yay for us.”