War And Peace on 22nd Street

22nd Street isn't much different than any other street in the older part of any city. There are big maple and oak trees lining the street and shading the houses. Those houses sit on half-acre lots. The lots are that big because when they were built, there wasn't any city sewer yet and the zoning code said half an acre was the minimum size lot for a septic tank and proper drainage of the drain field. There usually aren't any trees in the back yard. Those would have clogged the drain field pipes. Several of the houses have flower beds in back though, along with a tiny patio.

All the houses now have city sewer connections so the septic tanks and drain fields lay unused a few feet under the grass of the tiny back yards. Each house has a one-car garage in back, and the drive to that garage goes between the houses, so there's really no side yard to any of them except what grass grows between the two, foot-wide strips of concrete that serve as a driveway.

Between the lots in back is an alley. That's where everybody keeps their trash cans. Once a week, the city garbage truck comes by about five in the morning and dumps the trash cans. The alley is also where the kids played when there were kids in the neighborhood. The kids are all grown now and have moved to the suburbs where they have an acre or so of yard, concrete drives to two car attached garages, and fences to keep their neighbors on their own property.

Like most of these older neighborhoods, on the corner of 22nd Street and Walnut are a couple of businesses. One used to be a grocery store before Walmart built a huge store five miles away. It's now an antique shop. The other is "Dick's Bar".

Dick's Bar isn't one of those fancy places where you can order a pomegranate vodka martini and the bartender won't say anything except ask if you want Luxsosowa, Absolut, or just the bar brand. You won't find any craft beers on tap or in the coolers. Dick's Bar doesn't have little crackers with cheese, and you won't be waited on by a young waitress with her breasts spilling out of her top.

Dick's Bar is a quiet place now, except for the bell on the door that dings anytime anybody comes in, and the taps have handles that say Busch, Miller, and Budweiser. If you like your beer in a bottle or a can, Mary will get you a Pabst or a Hamm's or a Corona from the cooler down at one end. Mary can pour you a shot of Wild Turkey or Jack to go with that beer if you want, and she can mix most drinks though she'll probably have to look up the recipe for anything that's not common.

Liz will fry you up a hamburger and fries if you're hungry, and on Friday night, you can get a fish sandwich instead of a hamburger. Trudy will bring it to your table and ask if you need another drink. Trudy's breasts aren't spilling out of her low cut top. They're big enough to do that, except she wears T-shirts.

Mary actually owns the bar. It became hers when her husband, the "Dick" of Dick's Bar, was killed in a car accident. They'd lived upstairs over the bar, it was paid for, and she didn't want to move, so she kept it open. She's not getting rich, but I guess she makes enough to keep herself in what she needs.

If you ask her, and several men have hinted that they're interested, she'll tell you one of the things she doesn't need is another husband. I didn't know this for a while, but Trudy lives upstairs with Mary. I guess they're happy with that arrangement. She never said why, but Trudy once told me Mary wanted to experience what she'd always fantasized about but never got the opportunity to try until Dick was killed. Apparently she liked the experience a lot.

I started going to Dick's Bar two years before because my wife had divorced me. "Incompatibility" she said. That was after we'd been married for twenty years. What had really been "incompatible" was me wanting to have sex with her a couple times a week. She came up with this shit that her body was hers and not mine and if and when she decided she wanted me to have sex with her she'd tell me.

There are always two sides to any divorce, and I probably wasn't the same guy she'd married. Time can do that to people. They get married and they're happy and start living life together. They have kids, and the kids keep them happy and together. When the kids are grown and move out, it's just the two of them again and they find out what they used to like they don't like anymore. I probably was the asshole she said, but she was the bitch I thought she was too.

Anyway, after one fight over why she insisted on wearing long pants and a long sleeve shirt to bed every night, we came to the conclusion that we couldn't continue to live together. I let her divorce me because she didn't have much of a job and I did. I paid both lawyers, we each kept our cars, and split everything else down them middle. She moved a little over three hundred miles into a duplex our daughter owned, and I moved to 22nd Street because the houses in that part of town are relatively low in cost and that's all the house I could afford.

I usually spent a couple hours down at Dick's Bar on Friday and Saturday night. I'm no big drinker. Hangovers seem to hurt a lot worse when you're forty-eight than when you're twenty. I'd just go down about six, have Liz fix me a hamburger and fries, and drink a couple of beers. After a month, I knew some of the regulars, and we'd talk about what we'd done in the military or what we did at work and how fucking crazy the world was getting.

It was after I'd been going to Dick's for five years, I got a new neighbor. The Madison's, a couple in their seventies, had decided to move to an assisted living home and put their house on the market. It took it forever to sell because it wasn't in the best of shape, but one day when I came home from work, the realtor's sign out front had a "sold" sign on top.

I watched that house for a week before I saw the new owner, and I was surprised to find the new owner was a woman about my age. That Friday, a small moving van pulled up in the drive and two guys unloaded a bed, a couch and a couple of chairs and end tables, and a small dining table with four chairs. On Saturday, she pulled into the drive and started carrying boxes from her car to the house. Just to be neighborly, I walked over to welcome her to the neighborhood and to ask her if she needed any help.

Well, if the truth be told, I walked over because she was a pretty good looking gal and I wanted to meet her. I didn't have any illusions about doing anything with her. I'd just not really talked to a woman socially in five years and I missed that. Sure, I'd talked to women at work, but that was just about work. Saying anything different than something about work would probably have gotten my ass fired because women today don't seem to appreciate the fact a man might find them attractive and don't think he should tell them that like Harry told Marilyn.

Harry got fired for saying Marilyn made his day brighter when she wore a particular dress. Marilyn made my day brighter when she wore that dress too, because the neckline was pretty low and her cleavage showed. All Harry said was "Marilyn, you should wear that dress more often because you look like a movie star in it". Marilyn went to Personnel and demanded some sort of action because Harry was making sexual remarks about her body.

I was standing beside her car when the woman came out of her house, and she frowned when she saw me.

"Who are you and why are you here?"

I hadn't expected that so I stammered a little getting out what I said.

"I...I'm Rick Harrison, your neighbor...that house over there next door. I just...well, I thought I'd say hello and ask you if you needed any help."

She was still frowning.

"No, I don't need any help, thank you very much. I'm busy, so go away."

I really hadn't expected anything like that. She was more of a bitch than my ex. At least my ex had been civil most of the time. I turned to walk away when she said, "you can answer me one question though. Is there anyplace close to get a drink around here?"

I smiled, hoping she'd at least stop frowning, but she didn't.

"Yeah, Dick's Bar, down on the corner."

"Any young kids go there?"

"No, just people my age or older."

She just said, "OK, thanks", picked up another box and started walking up her walk.

As I walked back to my house, I was wondering if she was going to always be like this, or if she just had something bothering her. If she was going to be that kind of neighbor all the time, life on 22nd Street wasn't going to be much fun. I hoped she'd get over whatever it was and be at least a little friendly.

That night, I made my usual walk down to Dick's Bar for a burger and a couple beers. The normal crowd of six older guys was sitting at the tables on one side and talking. I walked to the bar and took the stool I usually used. A few seconds later, Mary sat a frosty mug of Millers in front of me and smiled.

"Trudy is sick, so I'm your waitress tonight. You want a burger like always?"

I was waiting on my burger when I heard the bell on the door ding. I looked at the door, and there she was, my new neighbor. She looked around for a few seconds and then took a seat at other end of the bar from me. Evidently she hadn't gotten any happier. She was still frowning.

Mary walked down and took her order, then came back and reached for the bottle of vodka on the back bar. She poured two shots into a glass, stuck a slice of lime on the edge and then took it to the woman. When Mary came back with the four ones, she leaned over the bar in front of me.

"You know her? I've never seen her before."

I nodded.

"I don't really know her, but she just moved into the house beside mine."

"Well, she's upset about something. She wanted a double vodka, neat. I think she's looking to get herself drunk for some reason."

I looked down the bar, and figured what Mary thought was probably the case. The woman's glass was already down about a quarter of the way, and while I was looking, she took another healthy pull, swallowed, and then made a face.

I was finishing my hamburger when Mary took the woman another double vodka. I was finishing my second beer when Mary took the woman a third. When Mary came back, she frowned.

"That's it. I'm not serving her anything more. She just tossed a handful of bills on the bar and said for me to count out what I needed. She'll be lucky if she can walk out of here when she finishes this one."

I'd been talking to the guys at the table for about ten minutes when I heard a screech and a thud and looked back at the bar. Mary had run out from behind the bar and was trying to help the woman get back on her feet. I went over to see what was wrong. When I got there, Mary looked at me and grinned.

"Told you, didn't I? She said she had to use the restroom and asked me where it was. When I told her, she slid off the stool and fell on her butt. I'll take her to the restroom if you'll help me. I don't think she can walk there by herself."

Between Mary and I, we got the woman to the restroom and inside a stall. Mary said she could take it from there, so I said I'd wait outside in case she needed help again. About ten minutes later, Mary opened the door with the woman hanging on to her shoulder.

"Rick, she's pretty out of it. It seems like a waste of money to call a cab to take her half a block, and since Trudy's sick and Liz can't tend bar, I can't leave. I'll go get her purse. Since she's your neighbor, could you take her home?"

That half a block walk was interesting. The woman could barely walk by herself, and didn't do much better with one arm over my shoulder and my arm around her waist. She did say a few things on the way to her house though, but what she said was more like just rambling than anything else.

"He'd like see'n me now, would'n he."

I said I didn't know.

"Well, he would. Would'n do him any good though. I hate him."

I stopped to lift her back up a little and she wasn't happy I'd done that.

"Stop grabbing my boobs. Wo'n do you any good either. I hate men."

I was getting tired of this.

"Well, you could help a little more, you know. If you didn't keep sliding down, I wouldn't have to keep pulling you up."

She straightened up and pulled her shoulders back.

"I'm fine. Lemme go."

It was cruel, I know that, but like I said, I was getting pissed at her. I pulled her arm from around my shoulder and turned loose of her waist.

"Suit your self."

She took one step and fell flat on her face.

"Ow, that hurts", she whined as she rubbed her forehead.

"Well, you wanted me to let you go."

"Well, don't jus' stan' there like an asshole. Help me back up."

She wasn't that heavy but she was mostly dead weight, so getting her back on her feet was one hell of job, but I finally managed. I put her arm around my shoulder again and put my arm around her waist.

"Look, we're two houses away. Try to at least help a little."

When we got to her door I asked her for her door key. She rummaged around in her purse and then looked up at me.

"I can't find it. I know I put it in here, but it's gone. You probably took it so I'd have to go home with you, didn' you?"

That was the last straw. I didn't mind helping her get home, and I didn't mind her falling on her face and then accusing me of touching her when I picked her back up. That was just a drunk woman talking. This was basically accusing me of trying to get her into my house so I could molest her. I leaned her against the door and then held her there with my hands on her shoulders.

"Look, Miss or Mz. or whatever you call yourself, never in my life have I ever done anything like you just accused me of doing. You have two options. You can give me your purse and I'll find your damned key, or I can go home and leave you sitting here on your ass. Right now, I don't really give a damn which."

She looked at me a little funny, but she handed me her purse. I found her keys in an inside pocket under her billfold. After putting my arm around her waist so she wouldn't fall down, and then pulling her away from the door, I tried two different keys before I found the one that worked. I pushed the door open and pretty much dragged her inside her house. The closest seat I came to was her couch, so I dropped her ass in the middle of it and then tossed her keys on the coffee table.

"I'll lock the door on my way out so you won't have to worry about me doing anything to you tonight, not that I would. I liked my ex a lot more than I like you right now. Have a nice night."

I was still pissed at the woman when I went to bed. I could understand that she must have had problems with men, but she didn't know me well enough to lump me in with all the rest, and she sure as hell didn't have any reason to think I'd have done anything to her.

It was a shame, really, and I felt a little sorry for her...not much, but a little. Like I said before, she was a nice looking woman. She didn't seem to dress up much -- she'd been wearing jeans and a T-shirt at her house. At Dick's she was wearing jeans that were a little dressier and a nice blouse. Both told me she had a pretty nice ass and more than ample breasts. Her face was pretty too, but then I like blonde hair and a round face with pretty blue eyes.

I saw her again on Sunday afternoon and she was a wreck. There was a red scrape on her forehead she'd tried to hide with her hair, but it still showed a little. It looked like she'd sort of piled her long blonde hair on top of her head, and she wasn't wearing any makeup at all that I could see. She had her eyes squinted almost shut too.

When she got in her car, I wondered if she could see well enough to drive, but I wasn't about to ask her if she needed help. She turned too soon when she backed out onto the street and ran over the curb, and when she drove off, she wasn't going very fast.

I knew she must be hung-over like hell, but it served her right. If I'd helped her get home and she'd acted like she appreciated it even a little, I might not have felt that way. As it was, I hoped her head kept aching until at least tomorrow morning.

I didn't see her for the rest of the week and since I was still pissed, that was fine with me. Her car was always in her drive when I left for work, and it was always gone when I came home, so I figured she must have a job of some sort that started later than mine. I'd usually see the flash of her headlights in my living room windows about seven or so when she came back home. I never went to look then, because I really didn't want to see her frowning face.

That Friday night about six, I walked down to Dick's Bar. The fish sandwiches at the fast food places usually suck, but the fish sandwiches Liz makes are actual fish fillets and they're pretty fantastic, and on Friday's that's usually what I'd have. Mary sat my beer on the bar a minute or so after I sat down and then smiled.

"You get Blondie home OK last Saturday?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I left her in her living room on her couch."

"You didn't try anything? Most men would have."

I shook my head.

"No, and if you'd been there, you'd understand why. When she couldn't find her house key in her purse, she accused me of taking it so she'd have to come home with me. I never gave her any reason to think something like that and it pissed me off. I wouldn't have done anything then if she'd begged me."

The bell on the door dinged again, and after Mary looked up, she looked back at me and grinned.

"Looks like you might get another chance tonight. She's back."

When the woman walked to the other end of the bar, she glanced at me and then quickly turned her head, but not before I saw the scowl on her face. Trudy brought my fish sandwich then, so I didn't keep looking, but I did see Mary roll her eyes at me when the carried a double vodka, neat, down to the woman.

That night, she only had two, and though she looked a little unsteady, she made it out the door by herself. I had a couple more beers and then headed home myself. Dinner had been great like it always was, the company better, like it always was, and I was ready for a little TV and then bed.

Most of Saturday, I worked outside. I mowed my grass and then did a little fixing up on some siding that had come loose on my garage. I finished up the siding fix about four and I was ringing wet with sweat because it was hot as hell outside.

I was thinking it I was probably going to have to put new siding on my garage this fall when it cooled off a little, when a guy on a riding mower drove into her back yard and started mowing. That seemed a little odd. I mean, it only took me about fifteen minutes to mow my backyard with a push mower and the front only about ten. Paying some guy around fifty bucks to do that seemed pretty wasteful. I figured she must not be strapped for cash if she was doing that.

The guy got done in about five minutes and drove his mower around to the front. After he left, that was no more activity from her house, not even her looking out her window.

About five, I took a shower, dressed, and walked down to Dick's for a burger. I was a little tired but feeling pretty good. My siding fix looked like it would hold for a while, so I wouldn't have to spend the money to re-side my garage that year. Mary sat my beer on the bar, said "Hey", and a couple minutes later Trudy walked up and asked me if I wanted a burger like always. When she brought it from the kitchen, she grinned.

"Liz put extra cheese on this one. She said you'd probably need some extra energy when you take that blonde home again tonight."

I grinned back.

"Well, I took her home, but to her house, not mine. She said she hates men, so I doubt she'd interested in anything like that, even if I was. She's pretty much a bitch."

Trudy winked at me and said, "You never know", and then walked away. About that time the bell on the door dinged and the woman came in, walked up to the bar, and sat down.