The Gated Community

Hello! I hope you didn’t have any trouble at the gatehouse. I did call to let them know you were coming. I like your hair. Is that style what you young people call dreadlocks? We don’t see that much here, so the guard might have been a little concerned. So, you’re studying scientology? Oh, sociology! You’re doing research on why people choose to live in gated golfing communities? That is so nice. Come and sit down and we can chat.

   Annie, dear, could you bring the tea to the sitting room, por favor?  Her name is really Araceli, but that was just too hard for me to say. I did learn to say por favor and gracias. I thought she might not feel homesick if I spoke a few Mexican words to her. I had to speak very loudly to her at first, because her English wasn’t so good but it’s getting better. This young man is interested in life in our little community. Sorry, Annie, what did you say? You’re from Honduras, not Mexico? It’s all much the same, isn’t it? Where am I from, young man? I’m from South Carolina, a true Southern belle. No, of course, I wouldn’t like it if someone assumed I was from Massachusetts. Don’t be absurd, dear. No one would make that mistake!

    Here we are! Isn’t that a lovely view of the golf course? I don’t play myself, but my late husband Hubert did. It was his passion, after me, of course! Just my little joke, dear. I was quite the beauty when I was young. He was a third, you know. Hubert Albert Barking III, from an illustrious line of Barkings. His ashes were scattered on the green there, according to the wishes in his last will and testament. The gentleman who was chairman of the club at the time objected. He said it was against the bylaws or some such nonsense. Why, I had to get my son Hubert Albert IV to have a word with him. Can you believe he had to take time from his Wall Street bank just to make sure his daddy’s wishes were carried out? Could you pass me the tissues, dear? Thank you. It makes me emotional just thinking about it. Yes, it does get a little confusing with all those Hubert Alberts, but the Barkings are very traditional. No other name would do. My husband was Hubert, our son is Hubie and our grandson is Hubby. He doesn’t like that name though, and we’re not allowed to call him that when his friends are around. Here’s a picture of him. Isn’t he handsome? He’s in a little spot of bother at the moment because of a misunderstanding with some young lady at a party at his fraternity house. I think it’s his father’s fault for sending him to that fancy Yankee prep school. If he’d gone to a nice military academy in the South, he wouldn’t have fallen into bad company. Hubie had to take time off from the bank to sort that out too.

   But you wanted to know why we chose to come to a gated community like this. Well, there are such fine people here. What’s that? Does the community digress? Oh, is the community diverse? Pardon me, dear, but my hearing is not what it used to be. That word is in the news a lot these days. It means all kinds of different people, doesn’t it? Oh, yes, we have retired bankers, doctors, lawyers, military, officers of course. There’s even an accountant. You mean, their backgrounds and ethnicity? It’s mostly Episcopalians, but there’s a few Baptists and I think there’s a Jewish family up near the club house. He wears one of those little berets. Racial background? You mean colored people? Not that I know of, dear. Now they do find good jobs here, like Chef Jamal at the club. His wonderful Sunday buffet is to die for! And old Davidson has been a beloved caddy here for as long as anyone can remember. He’s so old now that they can’t call him boy anymore. Why, he’s as old as I am. Written rules about it? Don’t get me started. When we wanted to scatter Hubert’s ashes on the green, suddenly there was a written rule. But I told you that already. No, I don’t believe there’s a written rule about who can live here. Not now anyway. We move with the times, dear, and you can’t do that anymore.

  I don’t want to be unkind to anyone, but the houses here are awfully expensive, so I don’t think many of them could afford to buy. I think they like to live with their own people. Yes, I know there are black lawyers and doctors too. Hubert’s urologist, Dr Freeman, is black. Hubert had some problems with his boy parts, as my dear late mother used to call them. She did detest vulgarity. Dr Freeman did a wonderful job. It wasn’t his fault Hubert died. He didn’t prescribe that Viagra that Hubert took when he was seeing that man-eater Shirley-May Ramsbottom, the hussy that lives in that house overlooking the sand trap. As a matter of fact, Dr Freeman specifically warned him not to try it because of his heart. Of course, Hubert didn’t listen and got some anyway. Collapsed on the night before his seventieth birthday in her house. And to think I mentored her in the Junior League. I was president then, though I don’t brag about it. I even taught her to play bridge.

   Her story was that he had gone to see her to advise her where to plant her rhododendrons. I told her where to put her rhododendrons, bless her heart. We Southern ladies are brought up to be polite, but it does not do to cross us. However, I do dislike unpleasantness, so I did not tell her what to do with her casserole when she had the nerve to show up here to offer condolences. I waited till that night, took it up to her house and dumped it out in her garden for those foxes that have been around lately. Then I washed the dish before I returned it to her. We did give Hubert a lovely funeral. Hubie took more time off from the bank to come. His wife couldn’t make it because Hubby was in the hospital. He’d had a mishap with that new Mustang they gave him for his birthday, but luckily, he recovered.

   A few weeks after the funeral, we had a little ceremony on the fairway to scatter Hubert’s ashes. It was a bit windy that day. I’m not sure if I was crying because I was sad or because a speck of ash got in my eye. Lots of members of the community came and his golfing buddies told long stories about bogeys and birdies and I don’t know what-all golf shenanigans. Hubert would have loved it. I seem to have talked your ear off, young man. Does that answer your questions? I have enjoyed your company. I don’t get many visitors these days. Good luck with your studies, and y’all come back soon now, you hear?