Suburbia - ch. 6-7

Ch. 6

Thieves sneaking around in broad daylight and trying to hide behind shrubs near the sides of someone's house should be an indicator that something going to happen. A neighbor was outside watering his yard wearing a stained white t-shirt and boxers along with knee high black socks and slippers. He was tall and too slender for his height while his head marked a perfect beacon to airplanes when the sun reflected off his scalp.

He swings the hose around, rainbow colors of water drops misting out around his lush flamingo garden, he notices the thieves at Jimmy's parents' house. Steward was the flamingo care-taker's name but the rest of the neighborhood called him stupid. He was adept at watering and caring for his lawn which had won the annual neighborhood beautification award for the past three years. He hung the medals on the window overlooking the road.

He waves over to the boys sneaking about, "Howdy there!"

A distant sound bellows to the thieves' direction like some exotic avian mating call. One boy had unplugged the bottom of the basketball goal, water draining down the driveway and into the street very conspicuously as the mating tune rung in his ears.

"Dude someone spotted us Roger!" Don whispered loudly to himself as he looks over either shoulder. His accomplice was no where to be seen. Maybe he was attempting to break in through the back door. Maybe he was a chicken-shit that ran before the job was done.

A twig of a man, pale as the moon and as hairy as a beast was waving gingerly at Don. Of course this suburban little paradise would never experience any break-in or other criminal mischief.

This was Brownwood after all!

When you go to a public area and bump into someone that looks up at you then smiles and begins to start conversation, often it is polite to return the conversation until a decisive moment to escape. Sometimes two complete strangers meet and someone says that they knew them from high school or at some other convention. Sometimes the recipient of the comment lies and nods his head saying that yes perhaps they had met. This is often also called being polite.
This was exactly what Don had done. He stood up in the drive way and waved back to Steward with a ginger smile. A loud pound followed by a crack erupts the awkward moment and the criminal goes to check on Roger who by now was either halfway to his car or extending his criminal record.

"Those are some nice boys they have!" Steward says to himself and smiles, shaking his head and returning to watering his garden of grass.

He leaped and bounded over bushes and slammed his boots into a thick puddle of mud. He dashed past the corner of the brick home in the green alley between the house and the fence. Don couldn't help but remind himself of Rambo while charging into the dangerous unknown of Jimmy's backyard and Roger's criminal mischief.

Glass sparkled brightly on the concrete patio in the backyard and the screen was torn asunder with manic glee. Don's eyes bulge from his face and his mouth gapes open like a snake trying to swallow a rodent three times its size. He tried so hard to emit words from his throat but they merely came out as audible chirps and whistles of partial syllables.

Standing there staring at the living room was as traumatizing as the first glance at what the police like to consider 'breaking and entering.' Shards of thick glass laid on the red carpet along with wiry shreds of what used to keep the bugs and vermin out of the house of windy days. The wire didn't withstand rats the size of Roger. The screen wasn't insured for that sort of treatment.
Roger pops out from no where and cracks a huge shard of glass with his tennis shoe, "His parents are freaks!" He laughed out loud. The curiosity had sunk in for Roger and he was far too excited to realize how loud the breaking glass must have been to the rest of the world.

"We need to get the hell out of here man!" Don demanded that Roger stop playing around.

"It'll be okay, bro. No one knows we're here!"

"I think you missed the part where you shattered a door made of glass you fucking moron!"

"Was it loud?"

"Yes!"

"How loud?"

"Very loud!"

"That loud?"

"YES!"

Roger looks over his shoulder and grabs something that looked important. A purple elephant with a crystal held high by the statue's trunk. In reality, this didn't cost more than a dollar at the thrift store.

"I guess we should probably go then?" Roger said while tucking the elephant in his shirt."
"YES!" Don didn't know what else to say. His face was as red as a baker's furnace and his clenched fists were ready to pummel someone like a champion ultimate fighter.

"Get your panties out of a wad…" Roger replies after seeing the fury in his accomplice's eyes, "We still have to load up that basketball goal."

Flamingos seemed to stare at the two boys as they snuck around the side of the house from the backyard. After performing something that is immoral or down right wrong there is often a feeling of dread or paranoia. No one ever raises their hand saying they did it. Even some prisoners serving double life sentences for triple homicide say they didn't do anything. They were framed. They were innocent.

Rome is known for the fine architecture of ancient Greek statues and the astonishing waterfalls and aqua-ducts. Steward may very well be made from granite and marble as the boys exposed themselves to the front yard on their way to the drive way and the truck. The lanky white gardener held the green hose at his hip and the gush of water spewing out from his nozzle looked more excited to be held than not. The dull canvas Mona Lisa staring expression on Steward's face should be a Kodak moment. He watched the boys for a long hard minute trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Don was an idiot. Last season he had single handedly saved his team from an embarrassing defeat when he scored a touch down in the last quarter followed by an interception and an additional touch down in the final minutes to win his season. The all-star player didn't even know what the score was throughout the game. He was ordered to run. That was all Don did. That's all

Don was good at. Don no care cuz don dad rich.

He waves at Steward with a cheerful disposition. Not only does he reveal his face but exposes other attributes so often asked by the police. He is a six feet and two inches tall with blue eyes, and black hair. The stranger was roughly two hundred pounds. Mostly muscle. This was Don and he drove a vintage truck, white. That is what Steward would tell the cops if they came over asking, that was if anyone called the police on the kids. No one had reason to steal in Brownwood after all. The Beaver would envy this little commune of good faith.

Steward quirks his lip into a faint and dubious grin and waves back to the kids. His long green hose flapping mindlessly about as a breeze picks up. A rainbow shimmers from the water mist uplifted by the wind. The green grass beats happily as the water pellets tickle their blades eager for more of what the gardener had to offer. Suburbia could not be more gay and full of Zen.

Ch. 7

"Help me with this damned thing!" Roger whispers in a roar to Don.

Don was already attempting to open his truck and preparing for their escape while Roger struggled with the heavy load. Sweat beading off his brow he looks over his shoulder to the driver of the truck sitting there turning the engine.

The basketball goal was more cumbersome than it was heavy. It stood eight feet tall and weighed a hundred or so pounds at the base. The plexi-glass board behind the rim had a white silhouette of Michael Jordon slamming a dunk. The goal seemed brand new. Of course it would, Jimmy wasn't the sporty type. Besides, his mother hated the idea of allowing her child to participate in sports. Jimmy's health was far too important to her and to bear the thought of injury. Her little Jimmy would never do something so barbaric.

Instead, the boy became a mock of ridicule and dislike. He was weak and lacked any self-esteem because of his sheltered life. His father wasn't much of a father when it came to teaching him how to be a man and to stand up for what he believed in. His mother was just a paranoid lawyer. They both worked long hours most of the time and Jimmy's best friend was the television. This was the life of little Jimmy, his escape was channel 13 between commercials between the hours of five and six.

He could have gone outside and played with his basketball goal if only his mother allowed him to have a basketball. Mom would not hear any of it and refused to allow him the opportunity. Even as society began to stress the importance of living active lives, Jimmy was not allowed to be part of this cast. Jimmy was destined to sit and vegetate.

"Why do we even keep that out there?" She asked Jimmy's father.

He was sipping coffee and reading the daily newspaper that was thrown exactly at seven each morning. He puts the steaming mug down and then looks to her as she slips a plastic wrapped sandwich in a paper bag.

"Maybe one day you'll let him actually be a boy dear." He was so subservient to her, they both knew who wore the pants in the house. They both knew who paid the bills and kept food on their plates. It certainly wasn't him.

"I want you to get rid of it." She demanded as she rolled the top of the paper bag down crunching a bag of chips within.

"Honey, it was a gift to Jimmy. You know how much he cares about it." He says while turning a page. He continues, "You should really let him use it. It's sentimental for him. You know how important it is for the boy."

She huffs like an ogre hungry for mortal blood and turns around to another room.

Jimmy comes downstairs as he does every morning. His feet stomp on each flank as loud as the last and dad reminds him that grandmother is in the other room sleeping. Jimmy's breakfast was already on the table for him. This was just another morning. This was just the same routine as before. This was their life.