"Good Fences Make Good Neighbours"
The garden wasn’t nearly as young and pretty as it once was, but then again, neither was I.
It was the first warm spring day— when the warm sunshine on your face makes you think anything is possible. I looked around my garden and noted the tall apple tree bursting with blossoms, the path choked with weeds, the spring tulips shooting skyward and the collapsing shed. The day I planted the apple tree sapling I was a newlywed, and I could remember it as if it were yesterday. Turning down a different memory lane, I could picture my four children chasing each other in the garden on a summer day.
Looking at the fences, one side was falling down, the other was a posh brick wall. I didn’t know much about either neighbour, but then again, I didn’t want to get too attached. Living in the same house for 59 years meant I’d seen a lot of people come and go— both in my own house, and in the neighbouring houses in our Victorian terrace.
I heard the back door opening next door, with the screams of delight that come with the irrational exuberance of children who have spent all day being well-behaved at school.
A few minutes later, a tennis ball flew over the fence and landed at my feet. I groaned a little— my 82-year-old bones were enjoying the respite from movement. A note was attached to the ball with a rubber band.
“Will you be my friend?” the note asked in penmanship that was unmistakably young.
I reached inside my apron pocket for the little pencil I always kept there. “YES!” I wrote.
I threw the ball back, hoping that a new game would begin.
This is my Flash Fiction story that was awarded a prize in the "Writing on a Wall" challenge from Eltham Arts. It was published in the anthology and if you're interested in reading the other winners, you can buy it from Amazon here.
