The Sisters Over the Hedge

Over the mile-deep hedges with their squared sides, under the sun as orange as the same-named fruits in our Caribbean market, behind the never-divided white shades, lived two girls from another world, or at least in my young mind, I behaved as if they were.

We grew under that rich island sun. The almost oppressive heat with sea salt so thick on warm winds you tasted hints of it with each long breath, though it never did more than tell you it was there in whispers and touches. Most days in those bright rays, my brother and I walked in knee-high forests of emerald, the little kings of our hilltop estate. Far below, in the aqua blue coves, the cruise ships were reduced to toys our small hands could not hold, guiding bright-eyed passengers to our little island with promises of escape. But we never needed that freedom.

We knew the sand they met for the first time was ours, the beach they adored was our endless playground, those moments of shade from the trees with their round thick leaves were truly waiting for us to sit beneath them. Our paradise revealed itself to the benefit of our lives and we did not give it a second thought; that was the way of the island, and we loved its attention.

But one day, my focus on a life so filled with the certainties of a seven-year-old boy changed. Not enough to discern at first, but enough to make me take notice over time that there was more than my family in the world, and things would not always occur how I thought they would.

The first of these moments came as I sat watching the lovebirds nestled in the large cages of our neighbor down the road. I thought their prisons a luxury with their high ceilings and shaded perches made from winding sticks our neighbor picked up during long hand-in-hand walks as his wife. The rainbow feathers of the birds fluffing as they splashed water, dancing like colorful children in the ocean before nestling next to each other to dry in the light.

Down the road, a dented truck turned into the driveway of the house I thought a castle. Divided by the hedge too tall for me to peer over, in the lot between ours and the birds, the bleached white house had sat empty since we had moved in and I thought it always would be. It seemed too big a home for anybody but those who must have discovered they were actually royalty and wanted to summer away from their palace to get closer to the commoners.

With the curiosity of any boy my age, I swung a stick at the gravel, dragging my feet as a walked home but craning my neck the whole time to see. A group of men carried furniture and boxes inside. Their dark skin showing under sheens of sweat as they toiled in bright shirts with stained pits. Among them a man stood out, seeming a head taller, and walking around the working men as they toiled with this or that. A moment later a woman joined him by the back of the open truck, white dress reminding me of the folds of a closed cloth umbrella on the beach. She rested a loving hand on his chest, whispering something in his ear that made him smile.

I paused, standing there in my cheap sandals and watching their tender moment as if it was not the same exotic adult affection I cringed from seeing my parents give each other. I was about to keep walking but froze as I saw the two sisters. They marched with the same purpose as the working men, eyes downcast as they hiked up the loading ramp and returned carrying boxes with the tops open. One was older, looking more like her mother but with white plastic beads tied in her pulled-back hair. Her younger sister stepped behind, as if in the snow and following her steps, long single braids clattering with a symphony of shoulder tapping multicolored beads.

As if my fascination vocal, the entire family turned, noticing my observation of them. I did my best to look away, pretending like something at my feet was my point of interest, even going as far as crouching down to stare at a stone I then thought about throwing at a palm tree later.

When I looked up they were still studying me. The parents with calm eyes and welcoming smiles, the girls with blank stares and set lips. I gave a fraction of what my parents would have called a polite wave and walked home like my mother was calling me to come inside.

That night, as I lay in my bed I told my brother about our new neighbors. He asked me the simplest of questions, the things he with his brave demeanor and outgoing nature would have been daring enough to ask, but I knew none of it and did not dare make up anything for fear of him finding out and making fun of me later.

Days passed and my own world pulled me back in like a jungle reclaiming land after a fire. I lost myself in catching lizards, tracking herds of wild goats, and trying to beat my brother at the games he made up and always seemed to win with hidden rules. But then the sisters appeared, this time on the other side of the fence.

Twigs cracking on the other side of the hedge pulled our attention from play and turned us into nosey neighbors. The sound was not of an adult toiling, it was the unsure steps of fellow young explorers, the chatter of siblings giggling over whispered jokes now finally in the open. We willed our eyes through but then failing dropped to our knees to look under the hedge, seeing two sets of legs dancing their way along the thin trunk of a fallen plantain tree, seeing matching mirror black penny loafers trying to step as light as a feather floating.

I thought about going over there. Sliding through the hole in the fence our dogs used to get out. I could say hi, but I never did.

As the years passed the older daughter grew tall, became elegant, and then beautiful just like her mother, but that only made me more nervous. The little sister was more friendly. Waving as she watched us play past the fence. Sometimes it seemed like she wanted to join us but we never asked.

I would see them every now and then, plaid skirts swishing in unison as our car drove by, my parents taking us to our all-boys school as theirs did the same but for girls. I never got less than a nod or more than a wave.

In our yard, I would find a ball or toys we had lost thrown back over the fence by one of them. For a brief moment, those recovered things became trophies, something that showed they cared enough of our fun to not throw them away. A small soon forgotten keepsake of the girls I wanted to know more about but was too scared to talk to.