goes into the house, but it's got one of those stopper things that makes it close slowly. So when you try and close it hard, it just flutters there for a second and then it closes. It's probably pretty irritating for her.
There's some guy standing out in front of the Bells' cottage. I've never seen him before. He's a big, fat white guy dressed all in black, with long white hair and a white beard, and he's talking on a phone with a really long cord, like the one we have in our kitchen, pacing back and forth and talking really loudly. Who pulls the cord outside? Who is this guy?
Dad grabs the handle at one end of the kayak and I get the other and we lift it off the car and carry it down to the lake across the lawn. We don't wave or anything as we walk by, and the guy on the phone doesn't even look at us.
He has a really thick Southern accent, and I can't understand anything he's saying, even though he's talking so loudly it's making my ears hurt.
Dad says, “That's obnoxious,” loud enough for the guy tohear. I'm surprised, because normally Dad would wait to get inside to say something like that.
We get the kayak down to our little beach, but there's kind of a problem. Every year, we bring our lawn chairs down and leave them on the beach. But in the spot where we normally set up our white plastic chairs, there is a whole new set of red-cushioned lounge chairs. You've got to be kidding me.
Dad puts down the kayak on the rocks, turns around, and looks back at the dude on the phone. Dad isn't really an aggressive kind of guy, but he's got the same look on his face like he had the time that I called Mom a bitch, like he's ready to tear the guy's head off.
We just stand and stare at the guy. I'm trying to figure out what's going on here. Apparently, this guy is living in the Bells' cottage, because there are all sorts of bags and boxes of stuff everywhere. There are a bunch of kids' toys out on the lawn, but I don't see any kids anywhere.
He does have two dogs, though—Labrador retrievers, one chocolate, one yellow—that are chasing each other in and out of the house through the sliding glass door. They're running through our yard and the Richardsons' yard. They're pissing everywhere. The chocolate one just squatted and took a dump right in the middle of the Richardsons' lawn. Wow, that is not going to go over well with Mr. Richardson, considering that he spends almost all of his free time working on his lawn.
Mom walks down to the lake, past the guy, and we all stand together, just like we always do, on the shore of the lake. But I can't concentrate because all I can hear is the guy talking on the phone.
I try to skip a stone, but it doesn't skip, and the guy onthe phone starts laughing. I can't help but feel like he's laughing at me. This is really going to suck, especially if he's going to be tying up the party line all the time. I turn around and look at Mom and Dad. They don't look happy. Dad has his arms around Mom from behind, but they look about as pissed off as I've ever seen them.
The Richardsons just arrived. Mom's getting dinner ready, so Dad and I go over to talk to Mr. Richardson about the new neighbor. I used to think that Mr. Richardson hated us, because he almost never said hi or anything. He just mowed his lawn and did his own thing, but now Mr. Richardson seems really happy to see us.
Dad shakes his hand and says, “How are you, Mr. Richardson?” I've never heard my dad call another man “Mr.” before.
“You joining up with the minister over there?”
Dad says, “What's that?”
“Our new neighbor says he's a minister of some church. Got the Bells to sign over their deed to him for tax reasons. Some kind of scam, that is, I tell you what.”
“Is that right?”
“That guy is a con man. I told him to keep those dogs on a leash.”
We all look at the dogs, still running around our yards, chasing and biting at each other.
I say, “One of them went to the bathroom on your lawn
There's some guy standing out in front of the Bells' cottage. I've never seen him before. He's a big, fat white guy dressed all in black, with long white hair and a white beard, and he's talking on a phone with a really long cord, like the one we have in our kitchen, pacing back and forth and talking really loudly. Who pulls the cord outside? Who is this guy?
Dad grabs the handle at one end of the kayak and I get the other and we lift it off the car and carry it down to the lake across the lawn. We don't wave or anything as we walk by, and the guy on the phone doesn't even look at us.
He has a really thick Southern accent, and I can't understand anything he's saying, even though he's talking so loudly it's making my ears hurt.
Dad says, “That's obnoxious,” loud enough for the guy tohear. I'm surprised, because normally Dad would wait to get inside to say something like that.
We get the kayak down to our little beach, but there's kind of a problem. Every year, we bring our lawn chairs down and leave them on the beach. But in the spot where we normally set up our white plastic chairs, there is a whole new set of red-cushioned lounge chairs. You've got to be kidding me.
Dad puts down the kayak on the rocks, turns around, and looks back at the dude on the phone. Dad isn't really an aggressive kind of guy, but he's got the same look on his face like he had the time that I called Mom a bitch, like he's ready to tear the guy's head off.
We just stand and stare at the guy. I'm trying to figure out what's going on here. Apparently, this guy is living in the Bells' cottage, because there are all sorts of bags and boxes of stuff everywhere. There are a bunch of kids' toys out on the lawn, but I don't see any kids anywhere.
He does have two dogs, though—Labrador retrievers, one chocolate, one yellow—that are chasing each other in and out of the house through the sliding glass door. They're running through our yard and the Richardsons' yard. They're pissing everywhere. The chocolate one just squatted and took a dump right in the middle of the Richardsons' lawn. Wow, that is not going to go over well with Mr. Richardson, considering that he spends almost all of his free time working on his lawn.
Mom walks down to the lake, past the guy, and we all stand together, just like we always do, on the shore of the lake. But I can't concentrate because all I can hear is the guy talking on the phone.
I try to skip a stone, but it doesn't skip, and the guy onthe phone starts laughing. I can't help but feel like he's laughing at me. This is really going to suck, especially if he's going to be tying up the party line all the time. I turn around and look at Mom and Dad. They don't look happy. Dad has his arms around Mom from behind, but they look about as pissed off as I've ever seen them.
The Richardsons just arrived. Mom's getting dinner ready, so Dad and I go over to talk to Mr. Richardson about the new neighbor. I used to think that Mr. Richardson hated us, because he almost never said hi or anything. He just mowed his lawn and did his own thing, but now Mr. Richardson seems really happy to see us.
Dad shakes his hand and says, “How are you, Mr. Richardson?” I've never heard my dad call another man “Mr.” before.
“You joining up with the minister over there?”
Dad says, “What's that?”
“Our new neighbor says he's a minister of some church. Got the Bells to sign over their deed to him for tax reasons. Some kind of scam, that is, I tell you what.”
“Is that right?”
“That guy is a con man. I told him to keep those dogs on a leash.”
We all look at the dogs, still running around our yards, chasing and biting at each other.
I say, “One of them went to the bathroom on your lawn
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