The Meadow 129 felt cold compared to the open pasture, smelled like it always did: Hay and chickenshit. Oscar and Rooney, the two roosters strutted, scratching at the ground in front of us. The hens, Henrietta, Gilda, Violet, and Sara pecked and cocked their heads to look at our faces. They love us, I thought, filling their water feeders. And then I heard I what I had heard throughout this summer, the noise that did not instill me with fear or anger until I saw Dad throw a blender full of blended bananas at their driveway, until I saw mom sitting on the hood of our station wagon, smoking cigarettes, staring at our neighbor’s pristine front lawn, their immaculate siding and energy saving windows. And then Dad phoned the police last week. He called, standing with the corded phone on the back patio, the cord uncurling and stretching, yelling into the receiver that they were causing harm to us, breaking noise ordinances that may or may not have existed. The brap brap of the motorcycle rose as it approached the barn, then turned to follow their other fence, making a perimeter on the dirt track. When it went by, the chickens seemed to explode, squawking, running and flying up and down, trying to find some sort of shelter. By the time the bike’s roar subsided, the chickens had found a curved piece of plywood, which they hid under, their yellow feet flexing into the floor of hay. “Those fucks!” my brother shouted, dropping the bag of feed. He grabbed my arm, pulled us through the door in time to see Mary accelerate out of a curve, on her way around again. Her red hair flowed behind her, billowing from her black helmet. She liked to wear a face guard and goggles, so the only way to tell it was her, of course it always was, was by her hair, by her red trimmed jacket and pants and boots. While I understood we had to hate her, had to hate her family and their dog that barked at butterflies and their plants; especially, Mom had said to me in the kitchen as she chopped carrots for a stew, their fucking tulips. Our neighbor had a double or triple line of tulips
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy ODQ3NA==