Rosewood Home Owners' Association

According to the social definition, Peg and I were DINKs or dual income, no kids.  It was a quaint descriptor that does not always do us justice, but when we decided that the city was no longer a safe place for us to reside even after twenty years of living in an upscale apartment in the Village, moving to Fairfield, Connecticut was a huge step for us.  As a contractor. I could set up my office in a spare room in our new house since most of the offerings in the neighborhood we wanted to live in, were one story ranches with three bedroom dwellings and a quarter acre lawn. Looking at the pictures on our computer, it was obvious that this neighborhood was the ideal picture of suburbia and Peg and I decided it was time to move.  We had accumulated a good deal of savings since we did not have any children.  In place of progeny, we had two Afagan hounds named Rosemary and Thyme who were extremely spoiled since we treated them like the children we did not have.  It had been decided they would have a room for themselves and I would take over the other room as my office where I would provide services to my clients using the internet and other modern devices that made it all possible.

On a Sunday afternoon, we were scheduled to meet the real estate agent, Mr. Micheal Brady who according to his website was the agent that would offer us the best deal.  We were excited to meet with him and arriving at the address, we both waited in anticipation to meet him.  Driving up in a Cadillac sedan, he stepped out dressed in a full double breasted pinstripe suit looking as if he had just bought the New York Yankees. 

“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Bundy.” His smile could have sold us ice in Alaska.

“Yes, I’m Al and this is my wife Peg.” I took a hold of his hand and gave a firm handshake.   

“Welcome to Rosewood, a progressive community looking toward the future.” He sounded like a television commercial, but looking at the lawn and house, we knew we were about to enter our next home.  The perfection of this place could not be described by mere words as it seemed to have everything on our checklist. The floor plan offered easy access to all rooms and the kitchen was open to the living room area with molding where the ceiling met the walls in fancy baroque style flourish that really appealed to Peg who oohed and ahed at the amenities. The kitchen was decorated in muted tones offering a nook at the corner for us to enjoy breakfast while having a view of the backyard garden which featured two well trimmed rose bushes and a stone path to a water feature. 

“What do you think?” Mr. Brady said as he sat down at the kitchen counter on one of the stools.  Peg sat on the one across from him while I stood behind her.  For the next three hours we talked about the financing details and some of the facets of the neighbor that centered on the HOA.   While both Peg and I were not familiar with such an organization living in the city, as it turned out, neither of us were ready for what was to come in that detail.  

Without warning, Marsha showed up at our door as soon as the moving van parked in the street.  She was wearing a conservative dress and blouse carrying an angel food bunt cake frosted with whip cream and strawberries she said had come from her garden that morning. As Peg put the offering on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, Marsha entered the room fluttering like our fairy godmother.  I invited her to sit on one of the boxes the movers had put in the room just a few minutes ago.

“As the president of the Rosewood Home Owners’ Association, I would like to welcome you to our humble community.” She smiled as I felt a cold shiver shoot up my back.  Her smile was not in any way natural, but it was too early to judge.

“Thank you.” Peg smiled back, but her smile was much more genuine. 

“My sisters will be along shortly to present you with the rules of our association.” She continued to display that smile that made me suspicious of her intent.  

“Sisters?” I shrugged.

“Jan and Cindy.” Her smile turned into a polite giggle of sorts as I nodded. “As you may have noticed, this community has become a model community thanks to our efforts.” 

Marsha made it sound like a wish being granted with a wave of a wand, but wishes can have a double edge to them as I had found out in the past.  

“Our first priority is to keep everything to standard.” She smiled again, but this time she appeared to be gritting her teeth, but still it was too early to suspect anything. 

“Standard?” I raised my eyebrows which was my habit when I felt I was about to be pushed into a closet before having the door shut behind me. 

“My sisters will explain some of the standards.  Really nothing to worry about.” She sang as if ending a sacred hymn. “Here they are.”

At the door appeared two young ladies dressed in almost identical fashion as if there was some hidden agenda lurking.

“This is Jen.” Marsha introduced the first young woman walking through the door, “And this is Cindy.” 

“Cynthia.” She corrected Marsha with a roll of her eyes.

“This was Peterson's old place.” Jan commented running a white gloved finger along the mantle of the fireplace before turning her finger to view it with a noticeable grimace. “They were not compliant.” 

“Compliant?” I repeated as if there was an unpleasant flavor in my mouth. 

“Yes Mr. Bundy.” She nodded her head with a jerk.  

“How did you know my name?” I shook my head.

“Mr. Brady told us.  He tells us everything.” Jan’s expression was of exasperation as she spoke.

“Forgive my sister.” Marsha smiled again and again I felt the cold run up my spine. “The Petersons were...how shall we say it…” 

“Belligerent.” Jan said with a definite hint of disgust. “Several times we reminded them of the standards and they simply shrugged us off.  Eventually action had to be taken.” 

It was almost as if an icy wind had blown in.  I shivered and Peg glanced at me with a “you’ve got to be kidding me” look.  

“I like the Petersons.” Cynthia finally spoke up.

“Figures, you like everyone.” Jan snapped.

“Sisters, let’s get down to business.” Marsha took out a thick bound document labeled “Standards of the Rosewood Home Owners’ Association.” and plopped it heavily on the counter.  “Here are the standards of this community.”

“And why we have become a model community.” Jen added quickly. 

With over twelve pages devoted to the upkeep of the lawn, I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach that the model for these sisters was not the same for what Peg and I had come to expect. Still Cindy sat across from us smiling sweetly as if this was normal procedure in Rosewood.  Marsha went over the highlights of the standards, making sure we understood some of the finer points laid out in the thick packet of Rosewood Standards.  Peg and I looked at each other with that “What the heck did we get ourselves into” look.  

A couple of young men appeared at the door, Marsha checked and greeted them, “Hello Greg and Bobby.”

Before I had a chance to ask who or why they were here, Bobby seized my hand and shook and with a wink, said, “Welcome to Rosewood.  Are the gals going over all the standards?”

“They are quite efficient.” Greg nodded his approval, “ Peter is parking the car.  Ah here he is.” 

Another young man looking very similar to the other two appeared at the door, but this time Bobby opened the door and now there were six people sitting on boxes in our living room all talking at once about some of the expectations of the Rosewood Home Owners’ Association.  Peg looked at me, that same befuddled expression chiseled in her face and whispered to me over her shoulder, “Al, there is something very strange about these people.”

“Mr. Bundy, for a fee, I will get your lawn up to standards.” Peter declared proudly.

“I think I can manage it.” I let a little bit of my apprehension invade my voice, but he just grimaced.

“I think you’d be better off if I handled this for a while.” He said through his gritted teeth.

“It’s alright, I can do it.” I assured him.

I don’t remember when the six of them finally let us alone, but I knew I had been overwhelmed by their presence, all six of them, all talking at once about the standards of the Rosewood Home Owners’ Association.  The internet service would not come and hook us up until the following Monday, but using my phone, I Googled “Rosewood Home Owners’ Association” and there in small print was the information with a single star colored yellow.

“Yikes!” I exclaimed as I read the less than favorable review.

“What?” Peg leaned over my shoulder.

“It reads like the association is some kind of cult.” I pointed to the first line of the second paragraph which said that this HOA provided a cult-like atmosphere to all its members. As I read on, it got even more concerning to me mentioning ritualistic ceremonies that involved animal sacrifices and even hinted at possible human sacrifices as well, but offered no solid evidence.

“It reads like Stephen King plot.” Peg shivered next to me.

“What would happen if we decide not to join?” I wondered.

We camped out that evening in our new home since our bed was in several pieces and neither of us had enough energy to put it together.  So we got our sleeping bags and slept on the floor of the master bedroom. It was quite romantic waking up next to Peg like we did when we were dating after high school, but when we went to kiss, we were reminded why we had not done this in quite a while.

“Lemme go brush my teeth and maybe then we can zip the bags together.” She said.

“Wonderful.” I lay on my back as she scampered into the bathroom, “I’ll go next.”

It was a luxury not having children, being able to walk around the house in your underwear, not having to worry about appearances as even Rosemary and Thyme were oblivious to our general state of undress.  

The doorbell rang.

“Who could that be?” I heard my wife ask from the bathroom after she spit out the toothpaste into the sink.

“I will go find out.” I said as I wiggled into my pants and found a shirt laying on the floor that did not smell too offputting.  Skipping out of the room, the doorbell rang one more time before I was able to get to the door.  Opening, I saw Cindy, Marsha, and Jan holding a cake, all three dressed in very conservative dresses with blouses with wide collars that had long gone out of fashion.

“We heard you were thinking about not joining our HOA.” Jan scowled.

“That, Mr. Bundy, would be a mistake.” Scolded Marsha.

“Mr. Bundy, we pride ourselves in this community.” Cindy added pushing the cake into my hands.  I could feel Peg enter the foyer, dressed in her robe which drew an expression of disapproval from the three young women.

“How did you know…?” I suddenly felt groady in my appearance with my dark five o’clock shadow.  

“Mr Brady knows.” Cindy put her hands on his hips.

“Who?” I was bewildered and the world had gone fuzzy. 

“Mr. Michael Brady.” She hissed. 

“He’s our step-father.” Marsha clarified. “He heard you say you were wondering about joining the Rosewood Home Owners’ Association.” 

“Yeah, this whole thing seems quite-” I was cut off.

“Strange.” Peg filled in the blank.

The three young women all huffed together and crossed their arms across their chest. Marsha's face turned red as she spoke, “This community is one of the top communities to live in and we are the reason for such a standard.” 

“Yeah, but the standards are quite restricting.” I shook my head.

“It is to ensure that those living here are worthy of being a resident.” Jan backed up what Marsha was saying.

“Worthy?  Who decides?” Peg blurted out.

“We do.  All three of us.” Cindy spoke up as the other two nodded in agreement.

“C’mon.  The lawn shall be an inch high and no more than one and a quarter in any one place.” Peg read from one of the pages. “That’s pretty restrictive.”

“As it was meant to be.” Marsha was quick to comment. I felt awkward holding a perfect double layered chocolate frosted cake as the argument began to heat up.  I knew my wife Peg would be quick to jump into the fray and she was proving more than ready to jump into this one.  

“No, you three are just trying to push an agenda that is impossible.” Peg began gyrating a bit which I knew was an onset of a more physical confrontation with me standing in the middle holding this cake.

“How dare you!” Marsha’s face was now scarlet.

“Look around.  What do you see?” Jan pointed to the other houses nearby, “I will tell you, perfection.  All of these houses and yards are perfect and that did not happen by accident.” 

“That’s right.  We used our HOA standards to achieve that perfection.” Cindy pointed to the thick papers in Peg’s hand. 

“This isn’t perfection, this is nuts.” Peg waved the papers in her hand over her head and I felt that any minute this thick volume of paper, nearly a ream thick, would come down on my head like a brick.  I prepared for the blow, but it did not come. 

“I beg to differ.” Marsha stuck out her lip, nodding to the perfect yards surrounding ours, yards on all four sides with their grass cut exactly one inch high, trimmed evenly to the sidewalk pavement, no visible weeds or crabgrass, all grass a natural shade of green according to nature, no flowers planted anywhere in the front, water devices not running during the daylight hours, mowed in even and concise rows, all according to the standards.  It was the first time I actually noticed the regiment of perfection, the unison of compliance, the strict adherence to the standards provided in the Rosewood Home Owners Association. Marsha had calmed down and spoke evenly, “It is no accident and yes, we understand the resistance to standards as most of our members had some reservations and a few even tried to add their own personal touches until we came to set them straight. Usually we send out Greg, Peter, and Bobby to make the necessary adjustments. It is only through compliance and adherence to the rules that we can live in a community that reflects our conformity to the standards.”

It was all coming clear to me now and when I looked at Peg who stood there like a tire that had completely deflated. Conformity, that was the price of living in this community that thrived in the manure of compliance to these ridiculous standards that offered no room for dissent or disagreement.  

“The Brady Bunch!” Peg managed to say out loud as the three of them turned to depart, their work done here.  We would be forced to join this HOA as everyone else had before us.

“What?” I shook my head, but the three of them stopped in their tracks and turned back to look at Peg.

“Peg and Al Bundy, where did you think you were?” Marsha chuckled. “As you get to know your neighbors, you will find out this is the place where old sitcoms come to nest.” 

“You have the Bunkers next door.” Jan pointed the house to our right. 

“Jeffersons are right across the street.” Cindy pointed.

“Once your time is up...you come to Rosewood and join the HOA.” Jan smiled, “It’s what we all do.” 

As they turned to leave, I could swear I heard, 

Here's the story

Of a lovely lady

Who was bringing up three very lovely girls

All of them had hair of gold

Like their mother

The youngest one in curls

With my eyes now wide open, I begin to feel what had been revealed, when our script was written out for us each week, leaving us no doubt as to what we had to say and when we had to say it and all the time we swam in the illusion of the freedom to speak our mind, but then finding out,  whenever we spoke all  we expressed was nothing more than a prewritten script provided to us for our own convenience.  Tell me, what would have happened if we had improvised, went off script to let the viewing audience know what we were actually thinking and feeling?  As I look around, I am beginning to believe the reason for this Rosewood Home Owners’ Association was to prevent that from ever happening.