Beloved

Priscilla had just started sipping her morning tea when she caught someone staring at her through the screened porch windows.

She jumped.

“The hell?”

She squinted.

She quickly pulled away in disgust. What was Sammy Sandores doing outside her house first thing in the morning? And why was she looking into Priscilla’s windows while she was in her bathrobe?

Mrs. Sandores fumbled in her coat pocket a little, her aged hands not listening to her much these days. Finally she got it, a pair of pliers that fit clumsily in her hands. She bent down towards Priscilla’s garden. 

Snip.

Snip. Snip.

Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip-

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

Sammy looked up to see Priscilla hanging out the window. Time to go. She steadied herself on her electric scooter and started down the road.

“That old fart probably hasn’t gardened in 100 years,” Priscilla grumbled as she rushed to get some clothes on. “What does she want with my dahlias? Does she even know the work I put in?” She tripped as she wriggled into a pair of flats. Flats aren’t that great for running, but how hard could it be to catch Sammy? Out the door and down the steps and onto the sidewalk and- were scooters really that fast nowadays? They ought to consider making them street legal.

Priscilla briefly considered yelling. She briefly considered running. She briefly considered giving up and moving on, but those were her dahlias! And although it was too early for a sprint, she could reach Sammy with a brisk walk and tell her she needs to get her ass in a home before defacing more personal property.

Priscilla was so focused on the chase that she stumbled on two feet sticking out from under a parked car.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” Priscilla was hoping that would be the end of the conversation, but she was stopped by a muffled response from below.

“Oh, uh, it’s alright, I guess. I mean, as long as you’re ok. Are you ok?” Jimmy O’Neil from three houses down pushed himself out from under the car and peeked at the mess caused by his feet.

“I’m fine. Just- are you really working this early in the morning?”

“It’s when the least amount of people interrupt me.” He started shimmying back under the car. “Usually.”

“Well, sorry to bother you. I’m just trying to catch Sammy.” Priscilla tried to leave again.

“You just missed her. She asked me for, uh, some, um, some…” He looked around as if he could find the word he was looking for on the ground, “Some pliers. She said she’d give them right back.”

“She took your pliers and she used them to cut herself a bouquet from my garden! And she’s well halfway down the street by now.”

Jimmy came back out with an incredulous look on his face. He got up, grunted and dusted his hands on his jeans. “Alright, let’s go get our stuff back.” And the two hurried together towards their target.

On the way there they watched Sammy veer towards Jenny Bosneck, who was clearly late for work. She was rushing around her car, frantically looking through her purse, stomping in and out of the house. Finally, Jenny came out of her house with a big ring of keys held high like a trophy and a cup of coffee held close to her chest like a treasure. She remote-started her car and took a celebratory sip of coffee at the exact same time she swayed out of the way of a speeding electric scooter. She missed the scooter but lost her coffee on the front of her shirt.

Both women erupted like a group of startled chickens. There was a rhythm of high pitched yelps and apologies and groans of embarrassment until finally Sammy invited Jenny over. 

“I have the best detergent to get that stain out,” She coaxed through Jenny’s protests. “But if we don’t do it right now that stain will be there forever.” 

Jenny conceded. She was already late, she reasoned, and this was a very expensive shirt that deserved to be properly restored. She unsuccessfully suppressed the joy in her voice as she called her boss to say she wasn’t coming in today. It was hard to focus on the phone call while two of her neighbors were calling for her to stop. She hung up the phone.

“What? What’s so urgent, you two?”

“Get Sammy!”

“I’m going over to her house right now.” Jenny pointed at Sammy, who wasn’t there. She was further down the road. “What is going on today?”

“She stole my flowers!”

“She, um, forgot to return my pliers.”

“She’s gonna help me clean up. I hope.”

And the three raced after the hum of the scooter, wishing that they had scooters of their own.

Back on the sidewalk, Sammy was heading straight towards Mark Dennis, who routinely ran a mile every other morning. Both seemed unbothered by the collision they were about to encounter; Mark because he was so engrossed with a podcast that he hadn’t noticed it coming, and Sammy because she had gotten off of the scooter and was heading up her driveway. Mark eventually looked up long enough to see the machine, slowed his pace, and managed to maneuver the slowest, most uneventful crash any of the three had ever seen. The force of the collision rocked the scooter and Mark caught it just before it tipped over. He steadied it back onto all four tires. When he noticed Priscilla, Jimmy, and Jenny laughing nearby he pulled out an ear bud. He started laughing, too.

“What’s going on?”

“We would all like to know,” was Priscilla's curt remark. The trio worked their way up the driveway, determined and out of breath. Mark, amused, couldn’t help but follow.

 “She probably shouldn’t be walking without that thing.” Mark motioned at the scooter.

“She probably shouldn’t be out messing with people’s flowers.”

“What are we going to do, stop her? We can’t even catch up with her.”

“Are old people always this hard to catch?”

“Priscilla, that is completely uncalled for.”

“I think, um, it might be inappropriate to fight in front of the children.”

“Children?”

In the commotion no one had noticed Sammy Sandores sneak her way to the fence that separated her neighbors yard from her own. She whispered to some curious little creatures that she had extra cinnamon rolls waiting inside for them. The creatures were on their way over before their mother could protest. Now three young pairs of eyes were looking up at the crowd. Which was scarier, they wondered: breaking past the wall of adults, or missing out on cinnamon rolls? They decided the latter was the worse option and braved their way past everyone.

“Sorry,” came the defeated voice of Hannah Wilkinson, their mother. She pursued her children and passed the group as well. “What the heck is going on today?” She whispered to herself. “Oh, hi Sammy. Good morning.”

Priscilla entered Sammy’s house to find Sammy slowly lowering herself into a recliner. The place was spotless even though it smelled old. The carpet was almost threadbare, and the furniture worn. The walls were decorated with a few crosses, a few porcelain angels, and a whole lot of family pictures. A few postcards were tapped to the walls and some drawings hung on the refrigerator. On the table sat a stack of paper plates, a vase full of big beautiful dahlia blooms, a pair of pliers, and behold, a pack of store-bought cinnamon buns.

“My daughter dropped those off this morning.” Sammy fell the rest of the way into her chair. “Help yourselves. I need to rest a minute.” A woman about Priscilla’s age popped out of the kitchen and greeted everyone. Maria Sandores wiped her hands on a towel and started serving.

Sammy’s kindness had put a pit in Priscilla’s stomach, which only grew as she realized she hadn’t eaten yet this morning. Everyone tried to make room for each other in the crowded walkway and sheepishly started grabbing food. Priscilla took a bite and took a seat next to Sammy, who was lightly snoring.

“Incredible.” Priscilla shook her head. She turned to Jenny, who sat down next to her. “Do you suppose she really has lost her mind?”

“You’re the only one here who thinks that. All because of some flowers, too! Get over yourself.”

“To you they’re just some flowers, but they were a special gift. You don’t understand what they mean to me.”

As the girls talked, the boys goofed off with the kids, being careful not to hurt anything in the house and almost succeeding. Jenny went to the laundry room to wash her shirt and change into one of Sammy’s. It was way too small for her and she looked ridiculous. Everyone laughed as she walked into the room, including herself. Sammy quietly laughed too, although no one noticed.

“What? Sammy won’t care if I borrow a shirt.”

“She might care that you’re showing some skin.”

Sammy didn’t care. She didn’t care if Jen borrowed 10 shirts, or if her stuff was broken by some rambunctious kids, or if Priscilla talked about her behind her back. Maybe she was turning senile. But what was there to worry about when she had a greater treasure right in front of her: a full, loud house? It had been decades since she heard the comforting murmur of a room full of love and laughter in her living room. Besides, Sammy hadn’t been sleeping very well lately. The pain in her hips left her tossing and turning throughout the quiet nights. This was her secret, and it wouldn’t come to much of a surprise to anyone: she was really tired, and she needed a nap. Was there harm done in the bit of chaos she brought to the day? Not enough to nullify the warmth emanating from her neighbors, who would not be dining together otherwise. Everyone needs a break from the norm once in a while. They didn’t need to know it was because Sammy slept best with friends nearby. She rested deep into the recliner and drifted into a nap that would make a cat jealous.