There were side comments about our porch lights, a complaint to the homeowner's association (HOA) about our lights being too bright, even though they were placed exactly where the guidelines said.
Vernon constantly complained about my car and our "standards."
He once knocked on my door just to let me know our lawn was an inch too long. I checked. He was wrong!
But I let it go. Because that's what you do in places like this. You keep the peace, you nod, and you go back inside. That is, until the night Rowan got sick.
Vernon constantly complained about my car...
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Lena was out of town visiting her sister.
Rowan had been complaining all day, then by bedtime, he was on fire.
I took his temperature, and my heart dropped. 104.5!
I called the nurse line, and the woman on the phone didn't even let me finish before she said, "ER. Now."
I threw on a hoodie, scooped Rowan into a blanket, and sprinted out the front door.
That's when I stopped cold!
I took his temperature, and my heart dropped.
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My Civic, my ugly little car that always started on the first try, was frozen!
It was not just frosted. I mean, it was encased in ice!
The doors, windows, handles, and windshield all looked like an ice sculpture!
I reached for the driver's door, tried to grab on, and yanked. Nothing.
I ran inside, placed my son on the couch, and grabbed a bottle of de-icer. I sprayed it everywhere and scraped like a man possessed.
Nothing!
This, by the way, was all happening at 2 a.m.!
I mean, it was encased in ice!
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Then I saw them — small, dark, frozen puddles stretching from the edge of Vernon's driveway across the street to my car. And then the hose, coiled neatly by his side gate. It could easily reach my side.
I'd seen him use it earlier in the day.
Rowan had managed to drag himself to the front door. When I saw him, I rushed to place him in my arms as he whimpered, "Dad… hot…"
That's when I screamed.
Not just out of panic, but out of rage.
"Vernon!"
That's when I screamed.
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A light clicked on. Curtains rustled. I saw a shadow shift behind the window.
He was awake. Watching.
I had no choice. I called an ambulance.
Rowan was luckily safe.
But I didn't sleep that night. I sat by his hospital bed, my hands clenched, teeth grinding.
When I got home with my son at sunrise, a message came through in the neighborhood group chat.
"REMINDER: VEHICLES THAT DETRACT FROM NEIGHBORHOOD AESTHETICS SHOULD BE KEPT OUT OF SIGHT. TOOK STEPS LAST NIGHT TO PROTECT PROPERTY VALUES."
I had no choice.
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I read it again. And again.
My hands were shaking. I nearly threw away my phone!
Later that evening, Lena came through the door, exhausted but smiling.
I told her everything. She didn't scream or curse.
She just read the post, then looked up, smiled, and said, "Honey, we're not going to yell or fight in his driveway."
I stared at her. "Then what?"
She smiled wider. "We're going to let him hang himself with his own 'standards.'"
That was the moment we became co-conspirators.
I told her everything.
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We didn't jump into action right away. We were smarter than that.
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