The City Life

Would it kill the weatherman to predict a little rain? Some cooler temperatures wouldn’t hurt either. It’s been so hot and dry in the last several weeks that people are getting ornery and short-tempered. And, considering all the work I've put into my lawn this summer, my grass is starting to turn to a shade of brown that’s hard to look at. I cringe every time I look outside from the living room. The money we've put into the landscaping alone on the house is insane because of the higher prices on everything from fertilizer, seeds, and the tools required to maintain a good-looking lawn. We bought the house in the suburbs about three years ago. It wasn’t exactly a fixer-upper, but we put a lot of work into making it our own private little paradise. It’s a little bit of a drive to get to work, but well worth the effort. After the long days of corporate America's hustle and bustle, we come home to our slice of heaven and can finally breathe a little easier in comfort and style. You know what else? We earned it. We spent many years of frugal living to save enough money for the down payment, waiting for the right house to come along at an interest rate we could afford. Then, bingo, one came on the market. Our offer was accepted, and we've been here ever since. This is the first year it's been so over-the-top hot, though. The local lakes and water supply are drying up, so they banned using sprinklers on the lawn and washing the cars altogether, hence my dirty truck and brown-looking lawn.

 It’s a far cry from the crime-ridden neighborhood we came from in the city. We had a nice enough place there, but the location left a lot to be desired. Neither of us felt safe, especially at night when all the ghouls would come out to roam the streets. It was like the night of the living dead. They weren’t all like that, the people, I mean. There were lots of people just like us who would’ve loved to get out of the city but couldn’t, just like us. They hated the crime as much as we did. As much as they hated how dangerous it became to live in the city, they wouldn’t think about leaving it. Some people love living in the city and accept the other side of it because they think they have to. The city life is a way of life, and that’s what they’re used to, so getting them to change their mind is a big ask, even for safety’s sake.

The ghouls, it seemed, were out in broad daylight, too, but under the cover of darkness, they seemed to be a lot more flagrant about their ill intent. In recent years, we each lost friends to violent crimes in the city that some people would never leave. One was to a carjacking gone horribly wrong. The other was a home invasion where the ghouls took a family hostage so they could steal their jewelry. They ended up stabbing the father five or six times in the chest and stomach because he decided to give them a hard time. That’s when and why we invested in a couple of firearms. We’ve never used them in self-defense, yet, but like it’s been said, it's better to have one and not need it than to need one and not have it—words to live by in my book.

I come from a long line of military veterans who have served in every war since WWI. I appreciate the meaning of freedom and the sacrifices made to achieve it. Of course, that also means the criminals, until they are put in jail, also have the same freedom as my wife and me. So, we decided to take advantage of our right to defend ourselves and our home against the thuggery that exists in the world. You want to mug me or do a home invasion on my house? Well, good luck with that. I hope you’re current on your life insurance and believe in God; you might get to meet him sooner than you think.

We don’t exactly do 911 here, that is, not until we try to take care of things ourselves first. No, we’re not a couple of hillbillies riding around in rusted-out pickup trucks, but generally speaking, we try to solve our issues at home first. You know what I mean; when seconds count, the police are only minutes away. I know they don’t like people to take matters into their own hands, but too bad. We’re not going to give in very easily to some pinhead who decides they want to take something that belongs to us, be it our lives or property. Nope, not happening. They can try, but they’ll be in for a fight, maybe one they didn’t expect. We’re not violent people. In fact, we’re pretty laid back. But if all other means of deterrence or escape failed, neither of us would hesitate for a nano-second to put a slug or two center mass into a jackass trying to steal my car or threaten us with physical harm. You see, they count on you being scared, too scared to do anything about what’s happening. But that would be their fatal mistake. We will defend ourselves. The police won't have much to do but mop up the mess after they arrive.

We believed we got out of the city life by moving out here, but we were smart enough to know that crime is everywhere. Just because you live in suburbia doesn’t mean you’re immune from real life. Over the years, we had been conditioned to keep a watchful eye out for anything that seemed cock-eyed in our new neighborhood and around town. We’re both well-trained to use our weapons of choice to keep potential threats at bay, but you have to see it coming. If you don’t see it coming, there’s not much you can do to prevent it from happening. Random drive-bys might be more of a thing in the big city, but not here where we live. It’s relatively quiet out here. At best, there may be the occasional siren and flashing blue and red lights when the police pull someone over, an alarm is going off, or a fire has started somewhere. But that’s about it. There's not much going on here in the way of violent crime. It's not like it doesn’t exist, but it's rare. To us, it’s a blessing to live somewhere safer than where we were.

The house is great: two and a half stories on a corner lot, four bedrooms, three and a half baths, cathedral ceilings, a large window wall in the living room, central A/C, fireplace, finished basement, attached garage, and a big fenced-in yard. Except for the yard this year, it’s a beautiful place to live. The brown grass does nothing for the curb appeal, and it’s one of the reasons we bought the house, but I guess it's just temporary. I wish it would hurry up and rain to make it green again. I’m tired of all the heat; it’s been ninety-plus for the last seventeen days, and it wears me out quickly when you add in all the humidity. It also seems like all the crazies come out of the woodwork when we have extended heat waves; there’s nothing new there. On the news, we've noticed the uptick in violent crime in the city we moved away from for that reason. There was even a shooting on the street we lived on, not two houses away from where we lived. I think about how lucky we are to be out of there. I cringe every time I hear about the latest victims in my hometown. I've been doing a lot of cringing lately. If it's not over my brown lawn, it's hearing about the latest crimes in the news. I have found myself paying close attention to see if the victims are anyone I know.

Thank God the kids are all grown up, married with kids of their own, and far removed from there. We didn’t want to raise our kids in the city, but things were a lot different then, and we really didn’t have much of a choice. It was safer back in the day. Now, it’s like everything exploded into a frenzy of lawlessness and out-of-control crime waves. It’s insane how bad it’s gotten with all the stupid crap society has to put up with now. We miss our kids, but glad they're gone and living in a safer place. I want to say safe place, but that place doesn’t exist anymore. They’re much better off where they are out in the country. We don’t need to get that one phone call every parent dreads from the local PD or a hospital somewhere telling us the bad news about one of the kids or grandkids. Stuff happens, we know that, and we can still get that phone call that may have nothing to do with violence. Accidents happen every day, the same as the emergence of some random disease that could rear its ugly head when we least expect it. But it’s just as likely we’ll be blessed with good fortune as we’ll be struck by a disaster looming around the next corner. So, we pray for the best but prepare for the worst. It’s not up to us what happens, so all we can do is try to be smart. So far, so good.

We’re older now. My wife has me beat by a few years, but we’re both in our mid-sixties and getting closer to retirement by the day. Our careers have taken us far over the years, but working is starting to get old. Neither of us wants to put up with the same old crap that we used to thrive on. Now, it just makes us angry and tired. A younger crowd has moved up in the ranks and has a different way of doing things, which is not how we did them. The other day, some young punk in the office called me Grampaw. I laughed out loud, but in reality, I just wanted to slap the living shit out of the little wise-ass and put his head through a wall. I would have in my younger days. But in my younger days, he would have never called me Grampaw. But a guy like that would’ve just had some other kind of unwarranted wisecrack that would have made me slap the living shit out of him and then put his bone of a head through a wall. But hey, what do I know? I’m just a guy, and I’m not a violent man, I swear. His remark did make me think, though. All that I've achieved over the years, and all that I have done to better myself and the company, were summed up in a single word: Grandpaw. Is that how the next generation sees me? Is that what they think? I'm just some old man ready to be put out to pasture? I don’t think so, sunny boy. I can still run circles around you any day of the week. I was bringing my A-Game to this job when you were still pooping in your Underpants. So, bring it on, ya little turd. It’s going to take a lot more than a disrespectful comment from the likes of you to get me to retire early. But wouldn’t you know it, a lot more did happen shortly after that.

As I lay here in my hospital bed, I'm trying to piece together what happened. It's still kind of a blur right now. I can't feel anything below my neck. I mean, nothing. I can't move my arms or legs. I seem to be dressed in a gown of some sort. They said the surgery would take place as soon as the test results came back. What test results? What surgery? I asked someone appearing to be a nurse what happened to me. The answer was one I wasn’t expecting. She said I was working out in my yard at home when I was hit by a stray bullet, shot from a car being chased by the police. I must have noticed the chase and watched as they went by. They were firing at each other, and I caught one in the stomach. It was still inside me, lodged in my spinal cord. The surgery was to remove the bullet, but it was very risky. The paralysis could be permanent if it didn’t go well.

I asked for my wife, and they told me they were trying to contact her, but they hadn’t gotten hold of her yet. I was alone at the house when it happened. One of my neighbors saw the whole thing go down and called 911 and came to give me aid in the meantime until the paramedics showed up. You’ve got to be kidding me. My neighbor thought I was dead lying there on my brown lawn. I might have expected this if I was still living the city life, but not here. I moved here to get away from all of that stuff. Damn. What do I have to do to be safe? Do I have to live on the moon? But then I thought, with my luck, if I lived there, I’d probably get mugged by an alien.

They came into my room in a hurry, unhooked all the cables from the machines, and told me we had to go right now. What’s the damn hurry, I thought. After we got out into the hall, my wife appeared. She was frantic and called out my name, so I made them stop the gurney just long enough to speak to my wife. I told her not to worry, but she had already started to cry. She grabbed my face with her hands and kissed me gently on the lips. Don’t you die on me, she said. She told me she’d be waiting for me. I hated seeing her cry, but there was nothing I could do. Whatever drug they injected in me was starting to kick in, and I was getting a little woozy. All I could see were the lights in the ceiling panels going by as they rushed me to the operating room. It reminded me of the street lights I'd see driving home at night, back when I lived the city life. After that, everything slowly faded until it went dark.