Paula keeps a garden.
It's not a garden in the normal sense, with a few flower beds and a lawn. This one takes up half of a large space. The envy of the neighborhood, she's quite certain.
Dahlias and roses grow along with peonies, hydrangeas, and foxgloves. A big yew dominates. A brick path winds through the beds, underneath an archway and past a little waterfall and pond. There's a bench, a birdbath, and 12 birdhouses.
A decorative metal fence runs across the property. The front gate opens onto a route to the house, which continues around the side to the back gate.
One beautiful afternoon, she rides Stella home, her beloved recumbent trike named for the Steller's jay and sporting a blue jay kite for a flag. She opens the front gate and rides down the walkway toward the house. While she gets up, she hears voices coming from the back patio.
Several voices. Unrecognized voices.
She walks around the side of the house and pushes open the back gate.
Three women are sitting at her patio table under the umbrella, having a chat. One is carrying a baby in her arms.
Another baby, about a year and a half old, is across the yard in one of her flower beds. The child is holding one of her bulbs and, judging from the dirt around its mouth, has at least been considering it to be a snack.Paula looks at the women.
“What are you doing here? Why are you in my garden? And why is that baby over there digging up my bulbs?”
They all look at one another, slack-jawed.
The queen bee of the three finally responds.
“I just moved here. We saw the park and decided to come check it out.”
Paula takes a deep breath and remembers her vow not to kill anyone today.
“This is not a park. This is my garden. That's my chair you're sitting on, those flowers belong to me, and you need to leave.”
The woman gets up and sniffs.
“We have just the same right to this park as anyone else. How dare you!”
“Leave. Now! Or I'm calling the cops.
The third woman glances at her cellphone.
Lizzie has an appointment at three.
Apparently this settles it. They gather the babies and their stuff and start making their way out. At the gate, the first woman looks back.
“You'll be hearing from our attorneys for chasing us out of a public park.”
“Okay.”
Paula slams the gate on them.
Later that afternoon, someone comes knocking on the front door. It's a man in blue jeans and a quarter-zip, looking slightly apologetic.
“Hi. So sorry to disturb you. Are you aware of what the park hours are next door? I couldn't seem to find a sign.”
Paula stares at him.
“It's a private garden. My garden, and not a public park.”
He glances at the garden, then back at her.“So there aren't set hours, then?”
“No, there are no hours. If I invite you over, then you can come when I tell you to come.”
“Well, it's not fair you have a private park all to yourself.”
“Okay.”
He huffs away.
“You'll be hearing from my attorney.”
The afternoon that followed, Paula is working behind a large rhododendron when she hears voices approaching.
Familiar voices.
Then the front gate clangs.
Footsteps followed.
Then the rattle of the gate behind.
Silence.
Sniffing.
Another rattle.
This is ridiculous.
“You can’t you just lock a neighborhood park in the middle of the day.”
“What kind of human being does that?”
Paula steps out from behind the rhododendron, pink clippers in hand, and looks through the back gate.
The three women turn. The one who seems to be the leader speaks up.
“Oh. Isn't that nice. She got herself a job working here. That explains why she's so bossy about it.”
The others nod in agreement. She points down indignantly.
“You even went on to put a padlock on a neighborhood park?!”
Paula smiles.
“No. Like I told you yesterday, this garden belongs to me.”
“No. It doesn't become your garden simply because you live next door!
She thought soup might be great for lunch.
Paula waits until they're all through the front gate, and heads through the back door.
They yell as they return up the street.
“How dare you restrict a park from a baby? We have as much right to be here as everyone else!”
She goes to the closet and reaches out for a whiteboard that has been blank for far too long.
She chooses the red marker.
Right on the top she writes:
DAYS BEFORE THEY REALIZE
Beneath, in red, she puts an X.