What Neighbors Are For

Chuck walked across his yard, to the adjacent yard of his neighbor Bill, on that most pleasant of Saturdays. Bill was toiling underneath the summer sun, spreading lawn fertilizer.

“How are ya neighbor?” said Chuck.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?” replied Bill.

“Damned fine day. And a damned fine yard ya got here too.”

“Well thank you. So what can I do for ya?”

“I was wondering if I could trouble ya for some super glue.”

“No objection to that, neighbor.” Bill tipped his surf style khaki hat, which was filled with fishhooks, at Chuck and curtly went into his brown, two-story home and retrieved a tiny package of super glue.

“Thanks neighbor, I’ll see ya later.” With that, Chuck returned to his blue, cape cod house.

***

“How are ya neighbor?” said Chuck.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?” replied Bill who had removed his fishing t-shirt because of the heat; sweat coursed down his hirsute back.

“Damned fine day.”

“So what can I do for ya?”

“I was wondering if I could trouble ya for a pair of slip- joint pliers.” Chuck stood there complacently, bearing deep grass stains on the knees of his new jeans.

“No objection to that, neighbor.” Bill promptly went into his house and grabbed some slip-joint pliers for Chuck to borrow.

***

“How are ya neighbor?” said Chuck.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?” replied Bill.

“Damned fine day.”

“So what can I do for ya?”

“I was wondering if I could trouble ya for a can of bug spray.”

“No objection to that, neighbor.” Bill waltzed up to his home and went in to get a can of bug spray.

***

“How are ya neighbor?” said Chuck. Rain cascaded over his body making it hard to see Bill, who was working in his yard as always. The sun was obscured by clouds, and the afternoon was a shade of soaking grey.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?” replied Bill.

“Damned fine day.”

“So what can I do for ya?”

“I was wondering if I could trouble ya to use the Angel of Death for the day.”

“No objection to that, neighbor.” Bill stopped his pruning, and spit out a mouthful of rain water that had run down his face. Then he went inside his house and got his mother ready to go over to Chuck’s place for the day. He brought the 99-year-old woman out and walked her over to Chuck. Her long, gray hair was unwashed and twisted in natural nappiness. She was adorned with a long, black cloak; its bottom edges were dragging behind her across the flooded yard. When Bill gave the blind woman’s hand to Chuck so that he could lead her to his home, she looked up into Chuck’s eyes; dead-white orbs regarded him from a shriveled head, and she smiled a semi-toothless smile.

“Take good care of her, neighbor,” said Bill.

“Thanks neighbor, I’ll see ya later,” Chuck replied as he led the woman to his home.

***

The next day, Chuck brought the Angel of Death back to Bill.

“How are ya neighbor?” said Chuck.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?”

“Damned fine day. Say, here’s the Angel of Death back.” Chuck gave the old woman’s hand to Bill.

“Did you have fun with Chuck, mother ?”

“Blaaaaaghhhh, arrrggghh, goooggggorrr, blag,” said the Angel of Death.

“Well that’s good. Say, neighbor...what’d she tell ya?”

“Well, neighbor, she cast the bones as always, and she told me, ‘blag arooor cuonk sooommmttooootann gargnathin’,” replied Chuck.

“Sounds like you have a lot in store for the future, huh neighbor?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to know what kind of prophecy she might predict before I made my decision to run in the upcoming ‘Suburban Block Lord’ election,” said Chuck.

“So you’re gonna run this year? Ya know, Jim’s a pretty good debater. But then again, if my mother told you that it is so...then it’s so.”

“Oh that reminds me, I was wondering if I could trouble ya for a cup of sugar.”

“No objection to that, neighbor.”

***

“How are ya neighbor?” said Chuck, who was looking a bit ragged today.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?”

“Damned fine day,” responded Chuck.

“So what can I do for you today?”

“Well I was wondering if I could trouble ya to borrow me that autopsy bone mallet of yours.”

“No objection to that,” Bill went inside and got his bone mallet off the wall, from over the fireplace and brought it back out to Chuck.

“Thanks neighbor, I’ll see ya later,” Chuck said as he stumbled back across the yard to his home, while caressing the shiny surface of the mallet.

***

“How are ya neighbor?” gasped Chuck, who was out of breath from hurrying over. His hair looked like the long dirty bristles of an old broom and his shirt was soiled.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, sure is a fine day out today?” replied Bill.

“Damned fine day.”

“So what can I do for ya?”

“Well I was wondering if I could trouble ya for a freshly severed goat’s head?”

“No objection to that, neighbor.” With this said, Bill went inside and took a double-headed axe down from above the fireplace.

“Blag razoo ” the Angel of Death said from her rocking chair. Her sightless eyes were turned toward the TV that was showing reruns of Scooby Doo.

“Yes mother, tea is almost ready,” answered Bill as he walked out back, to the goat pen. There he opened the cage door and selected one of his finest stock. Bill tied its neck around an old wooden chopping block and, in one feral swing, lopped the head clean off. Blood from the squirting neck garnished his khaki pants, as he grabbed the head by the horns and walked it back through the house. Out in the front yard, he handed the severed goat’s head to Chuck.

“Thanks neighbor, I’ll see ya later.” Chuck’s demeanor brightened as blood ran down his dingy, white t-shirt. He hastily ran home with the goat’s head.

***

“How are ya neighbor?” Chuck bellowed; his voice had become that of a giant’s growl. He was much taller now as well, towering over Bill’s 6’3” height by two feet. Bill turned off his weedwacker and set it aside to give his full attention to the giant. Chuck’s features were hard to make out. It was 2 a.m., and the night was pitch-black. They were out of range of Bill’s yard light.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?” replied Bill.

“Damned fine day.”

“So what can I do for ya?”

“I was wondering if I could trouble ya to borrow your Fleming MP5K-A3 machine gun and five clips?” the giant roared.

“No objection to that, neighbor.” Bill went inside and grabbed the MP5K-A3 machine gun from beneath his pillow, five clips from his night stand drawer, and brought them back out to his neighbor. Chuck walked into the yard light to get the gun. Bill could see that his white t-shirt was hanging on by a thread, no doubt from his rapid growth, and that his pants had completely ripped off. He stood there, naked from the waste down, and received the gun. Chuck’s arms were long and spindly and bore stretched fingers; his size made the shiny, sub-machine gun look like a toy. His face had a simian look to it.

“I have to get a new robe and some slippers from the big and tall shop. I have nothing comfy to wear that will fit anymore.”

Bill nodded in agreement and watched as Chuck lumbered back to his house.

“Thanks neighbor, I’ll see ya later ” Chuck shouted.

***

Chuck came over to visit Bill one last time prior to the election.

“How are ya neighbor?” said Chuck.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?” replied Bill.

“Damned fine day.”

“So what can I do for ya?” Bill asked and halted his flower planting.

“I was wondering if I could trouble ya for some furniture polish...my altar is dirty as hell. I’ve gotta clean it up so I can use it before the election.”

“No objection to that, neighbor,” Bill replied. He went into his house and got a can of furniture polish from the closet. He then hurried back outside to give the polish to Chuck.

“Well I sure wish you good luck, neighbor.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it,” said Chuck as his dirty, unshaven, 8’ tall, completely nude body shuffled back across the grass to his house.

***

Three days had passed. Bill got up early that morning and shaved as usual; he accidentally nicked his face once and applied a dot of toilet paper to the cut, where it absorbed the blood. Then he went to his window and waited patiently while reading the newspaper. He knew that the election would be today; he could feel it. Others on the block were out in their yards, attending to choirs undone. The Angel of Death sat in her rocking chair facing the TV, which, as always, showed reruns of Scooby Doo. The day was tense, and it elapsed slowly.

When 2 p.m. rolled around, Chuck emerged from his home. His blue-slippered feet stepped down from his porch; from the big and tall shop, he wore a long, matching robe, tied in front. Atop his head, worn like a helmet, was the goat’s head; everything below the upper jaw had been cut away; dried blood had turned black on the sides of his temples; the head was suspended by a strap tied through the empty eye sockets of the goat and underneath Chuck’s chin. A long, dark beard, with streaks of gray, hung from beneath his mouth. Bill could see something was dried in that disheveled clump of hair. In Chuck’s right hand was the Fleming MP5K-A3, and the clips were tucked into the chest pocket of his robe. The bone mallet was held securely by the robe’s belt. He trudged into the middle of the street and looked down it. Chuck angled his simian head to the sky and roared.

The street’s entire population looked up and realized that today would be the day of election. They rushed inside to get their voting ballots. Neighbors from around the block heard the calling and knew instinctively that they too should take out their ballots. After doing so, they swarmed to Chuck’s position.

From somewhere down the street, Jim, the reigning Suburban Block Lord, roared in return; he was thundering his way toward Chuck. Bill watched in awe. He didn’t get to see this every day. Jim wore a golden robe and a gold-painted crown. His height was 5” over that of Chuck’s; his nature was more ominous. Tucked into his robe was a machete, and his right hand held a sawed-off .10 gauge.

The two giants charged each other, blazing bullets. Both opponents became decorated with new orifices. Their screeches were terrifying, speaking much of violent hurt. Chuck’s bloody wounds weren’t regenerating as quickly as Jim’s, which presented him with a disadvantage. Jim slammed Chuck to the concrete with an earthquake’s fury, sending cracks through the asphalt. The watching neighbors gaped at the action, trying to decide who to vote for. Chuck withdrew another clip, clicked it into place, and aimed for Jim’s machete-wielding hand. The bullet spray completely severed the hand from its wrist. Jim howled in agony; skeletal fingers began to sprout from the wrist, attempting to regrow the hand. Next Chuck aimed for Jim’s shoulder. Squeezing the trigger, he sent hot metal into the deltoid; the arm hung limply.

Now that Jim was weakened, Chuck took a desperate chance and ran in. He withdrew the bone mallet from his blue cloth belt and brought his arm back over his shoulder; once he had a sufficient wind-up, he hurled the mallet at his nemesis’ forehead. The shiny, silver tool sung through the air and connected with Jim’s head. There was an audible crack, and everyone could see the concavity in the middle of Jim’s forehead; this changed their vote significantly. Jim timbered to the ground, sending tremors through those watching.

The group of assembled neighbors made their final decision on ballots made of dried squirrel skin. The ballots were in turn thrown into the street. As the votes were counted, Chuck doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Jim lay in a coma while his shoulder muscles stitched themselves back together.

When the vote was over, Chuck was found to be the unanimous winner. Just then, Jim sat up and heard the news. He rubbed at the concavity on the front of his skull and moaned deeply. Chuck raised his weaponry in the air and shouted his victory; the neighborhood cheered for their new Block Lord.

Eventually, Chuck helped Jim to his feet and shook his still skeletal hand. Jim walked home, staring down at the ground in defeat. Chuck dragged his battered body back into his house with a triumphant grin on his face.

***

“How are ya, neighbor?” said Chuck.

“Oh just great neighbor Say, isn’t it a fine day today?” replied Bill.

“Damned fine day.” His height had reverted to normalcy, and his voice had changed back to its regular tone. He was clean but still naked.

“So what can I do for ya?”

“Well, actually, I wanted to thank ya and give all your stuff back. Here’s your MP5K; I cleaned it too and bought you some more bullets. Here’s your mallet, all polished, and your slip-joint pliers. I would give you that rotting goat’s head, but I didn’t reckon you’d want it.” They laughed.

“No, no, plenty of goats in the ole back yard.” Bill stuck his thumb out and motioned over his back shoulder.

“I really can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh, no problem. I never did like Jim’s politics anyhow. Glad ya beat him. And anyways, that’s what neighbors are for.”