The Community Page

What Joe wanted to do for the neighborhood and what he was doing for the neighborhood were very different things. What he wanted was an online community, where empty-nesters could post hand-me-downs, pet owners could find dog walkers, neighbors could team up to build little libraries! He created the online group for Burnt Branch neighborhood on a whim after last Halloween, when kids sprinted from house to house, and adults mixed beverages, sheepishly admitting they should have introduced themselves earlier.

Now the group was a cluster of tension and drama. Joe imagined himself as an influential hero, administrator of neighborhood camaraderie, harbinger of fellowship. Instead, he mediated angry posts about who was and was not picking up their dog poop, acted as liaison between passive-aggressive neighbors regarding stump removal on a property line, and appeased an outraged Mrs. Kelley who swore that a mom the next street over stole her nanny out from under her. And by “appeased,” he promised to help with her monstrous children whenever she was in a pinch.

There was some good to come of it, of course. For instance, several families put in for a nice Christmas gift for Janet, the mail delivery lady. Though the Adairs were bent out of shape because they donated more than others. The point is, Janet got her gift card. Joe thought she appreciated it, until Mr. Stewart pointed out Janet was vegan. Joe spent two weeks berating himself for choosing a “Sir Meats-a-Lot” gift card.  There were other good things though. Katie Kelley posted about her school fundraiser. She was raking in the dough for new playground equipment at school. Until Maddie Hartford posted that she was raising funds to stop bluff erosion on the Lake Michigan shoreline. Lines were drawn, families torn apart. Joe tried to remain neutral and gave equal dollars to both girls. That incited pointed remarks like, “Yeah, because swings are as important as the environment our grandchildren will inherit!”

With every post, Joe regretted his role as administrator more and more. In fact, he was beginning to regret moving into the hellscape known as Burnt Branch neighborhood. There was only one thing to do: find common ground to bond the residents. His first stop was the pet store.

*

It was the second most terrifying thing Joe had ever done. It fell directly under the time he had to confront Mr. Stewart about his vulgar language on the community thread. If he could do that, Joe told himself, surely he could transport one measly snake home from the store. The man who sold him the snake was surprised when Joe said he didn’t need to purchase a terrarium for the Python. “I have a place for it already,” he explained to the dubious man.

Nightfall couldn’t come fast enough. Joe set his alarm for 2 am, but that was a joke. He could never sleep with an adult-sized reptile in his house. At 1:32, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He picked up the ventilated container, holding it as far from his body as possible, and trudged down the sidewalk. In between the Stewarts and Carlisles, Joe put the container down. In one swift motion he dumped the snake under a dogwood tree and sprinted home, only pausing to chuck the container into the neighborhood dumpster.

As expected, the community page blew up the next day. By noon, the police and humane society were notified. Neighbors were reaching out to one another with snake sightings, Slytherin memes abounded, shared horror was bringing neighbors together in a Halloween-style way. Joe read every comment. He liked each post, popularized the snake emoji, and quipped about the mice population decreasing. The camaraderie continued even after the snake was captured. It was a good week.

And then Marky Carlisle ding-dong-ditched Mr. Stewart. Mr. Stewart posted a profanity-laced jeremiad, listing every wrong he’d ever endured from today’s youth. He ended with a claim that the neighborhood parents better get control of their kids before they wound up in juvie. Many concurred with Mr. Stewart. The others waxed poetic about “kids being kids,” “at least they’re outside,” “it’s harmless fun,” “pull the stick out of your butt.” It was a full-on virtual brawl. Joe was called on to delete comments (but only from the opposing view), pull the thread (or, on the flip side, don’t pull the thread.) He was right back to pre-snake fury.

The next time Joe exited the neighborhood, he eyed the “Burnt Branch” sign. A few weeks ago, there was some debate (understatement) over whether or not everyone should chip in for an updated sign. Joe considered the neighborhood. He considered the name. He considered burning the whole place down. Instead, he drove to hardware store.

Spray paint was much easier to transport than a python. That night, he practically skipped down the sidewalk, shaking the cans. When he got to the sign, he began his work.

The next morning, he woke to a cacophony of notifications from his phone. He smiled. Somebody had posted a picture of the sign. Under “Burnt Branch,” was a new tagline: “Home to the biggest losers in town.” The residents were indignant. They speculated, fumed, put together a team to scrub the sign clean. Joe protested most of all. “Home to the biggest hearts in town is more like it!” he posted. The sign was good as new in no time. Someone even planted some flowers around it, which Joe thought was a very nice touch.

The following week Mrs. Kelley put out a sign that read, “Slow down! Kids at play!” It didn’t take long for Mr. Adair to post a reminder that signs of any kind were against HOA policy. Insults started flying. Joe determined he did not need this toxicity in his life. He decided to delete the community group. He would do it just as soon as the little Adair boy sold all his raffle tickets for the band fundraiser. The Burnt Branch community page would just disappear one day and everyone could resume not talking except for on Halloween.

Joe woke in the morning to a flurry of chirps from his phone. Texts, emails, calls, notifications. He rubbed his eyes, put on his glasses, and opened a text. Joe clutched his heart. “No. Nononono!” It was a black and white video clip. Of Joe. Carrying a large container and looking very afraid. The text read, “Was checking my security cameras to see who rang my doorbell and ran, when I came across this.” The next text said, “And this….” That one was him whistling as he shook the spray paint. He couldn’t stand to read the other messages. But he couldn’t not read them either.

Joe winced opening the community page. He was not surprised to find the incriminating videos posted with a litany of dreadful comments. Horrible insults, cruel remarks, the occasional threat… the people of Burnt Branch hated him. Deeply. Madly.

Unanimously…

He’d have to move. He found the idea thrilled him. Joe closed his eyes, chuckled at himself. At least there was this: he’d succeeded in bringing the neighborhood together after all.