Living next door to Joanne was more of a challenge than a well-deserved rest
From the plain, identical streets of this rural area where I’ve built my little nest.
It wasn’t much, a wife, two dogs, a C-class Mercedes and A-class depression
Which was a trustee friend ever since the start of this mind-boggling recession.
With a mortgage and jobs that set fire under our feet with each sudden firing
Our little family slipped into the hands of an unspoken sadness, slow and tiring.
But Joanne was different, 6 inch heels and a concentrated personality to match –
Her loud and never-ending parties didn’t let our sleep escape without a scratch.
We tried to befriend her, we tried to scold her, we tried to execute a revenge.
For the most part it was just us yelling over the music, leaning on the picket fence.
One November day I was home alone brooding and I saw Joanne leaving her house.
The lady left her key under the mat. She didn’t have kids, didn’t have a spouse.
I saw a chance and I took it, snuck over the lawn and unlocked the heavy door.
Whatever her family was doing, I was convinced – they weren’t struggling or poor.
The lavish carpets and drapes, artwork to match the design – it all told a story
Of a rich woman taking over a rural street and claiming it as her territory.
The kitchen was spotless, no dirty dishes from the outlandish parties she held.
There was also a garden with curious plants, the smell so strong I was repelled.
A sudden movement in the kitchen window threw me off guard, was it her?
As I hid behind the plants in the garden, a cat appeared, green eyes and white fur.
Should I feel relieved or should I wait it out? My gaze began to wander.
Joanne’s face was pressed against the window. I fled, there’s no time to ponder.
But there’s no way out, the gate’s locked, so was the little side wicket.
I slowly stepped back into the garden as she walked outside, calm yet wicked.
My body hit a bush right beside the fence and I noticed a tiny, handwritten note.
I realized why we never saw her guests leave. She grinned and reached for the remote.
With the first beats of the rhythm I was in so much pain I curled up like a fetus.
The last thing I saw was a bloody note saying:
“Run if you see this.”
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 