Chapter 5 - THE MAIL
Helen started crying the moment the envelope with my name appeared.
That would have worked better if she had not spent the previous year insulting half the street.
“I can explain,” she said.
Nobody asked her to.
Officer Martinez photographed the tote where it sat.
Then he asked me whether I recognized the envelopes.
I did.
Three were mine.
Two belonged to Carl.
One belonged to a woman named Denise who lived four houses down.
The notebook contained addresses.
Not a diary.
A list.
House numbers.
Pickup schedules.
Notes.
Mine had a star beside it.
The printed complaint forms were the part that made my hands go cold.
Several were HOA complaint drafts.
Against me.
Overflowing trash.
Unsanitary driveway.
Improper waste storage.
At least two matched warnings I had actually received.
One had a printed photo attached.
My driveway.
With Helen’s garbage bags piled beside my bins.
The same bags she had been dumping.
She had created the mess, photographed it, and reported me for it.
I looked at her.
“You filed complaints?”
Helen wiped her face.
“You wouldn’t cooperate.”
“With what?”
“Being neighborly.”
Carl muttered, “That’s a felony-level definition of neighborly.”
Officer Martinez gave him a look.
Carl shut up.
The phone kept vibrating inside the tote.
Officer Martinez told me not to touch it further.
Helen suddenly said:
“That’s not mine.”
I almost laughed.
“You just said your phone was in there.”
“I was confused.”
“Convenient.”
“It’s not mine.”
Officer Martinez asked:
“Whose is it?”
She looked away.
That was answer enough.
A second patrol car arrived.
Then Denise came out because Carl had texted his wife, his wife texted Denise, and suburban information networks move faster than emergency dispatch.
Denise saw the envelope with her name and turned red.
“Why does Helen have my mail?”
Helen snapped, “I don’t.”
Denise pointed.
“My name is literally right there.”
Helen looked at Officer Martinez.
“I want a lawyer.”
That was the smartest thing she said all day.
The tote was collected properly.
Statements were taken.
Helen’s two garbage bags remained on my driveway until the trash truck came.
She never took them back.
When the truck arrived, the driver looked at the officer, then the bags, then me.
“Same lady?”
I stared at him.
“You knew?”
He shrugged.
“We just pick up what’s curbside.”
Of course.
Everyone had known enough to keep moving.
May you like
No one had known enough to stop it.
Until one bag rang.
