driven,
cursing, back into the house. As I waited for him to reappear, I toyed with
the notion of staking him out for the mosquitos to eat. Was there any way I
could manage it without being charged with a crime? Did I care? I thought the
more pertinent question was, how could I get him to hold still long enough to
stake him out? He was a big guy, and I knew he wouldn’t go willingly. Maybe I
could lure him out, just put a beer in a bear trap. Ha. Sadly, it
probably would have worked on my brothers.
Gary was back out, decently clad, in less than five
minutes. He stormed back over to me, and I ignored him. He was yelling, but I
hit the gas on the saw again, and kept cutting. He finally crowded so close, I
either had to ease off the trigger or risk cutting through his leg. The man
had balls, I’d give him that.
I looked up at him, not even pretending I hadn’t known he
was there. “Yes?” I asked.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. He was breathing hard,
his eyes flashing, and his hair was sticking up in a way that made me want to
run my fingers through it. Even though I was furious with him. Dammit.
“I’m making firewood, neighbor. What are you doing?”
“At 4:15 in the morning?” he demanded.
“Well, you’ve been working loudly at six in the
morning, so I just figured—”
He crossed his arms. “ That’s what this is about? Me
waking you up?” He had a tone , one that said I was a lazy-ass that
didn’t work for a living, because I’d been asleep at six in the morning.
My jaw clenched. I revved the saw, and made another cut
down through the birch.
I moved to make the next, about 18 inches further along, but
I found his foot in the way. I thought about it. Then I looked up at him.
“This is my log,” he said. “Sweet of you to cut it
up for me, but if you could just come back later…”
“Your log?”
“My log,” he agreed, pointing at the colorful bits of tape.
“It’s more than halfway on my property.”
“This log came from a tree growing on my land,” I pointed
out. “Thus, my tree.”
“It might have been, before it fell on my land,” he said.
“But it crossed the line, sweet cheeks. Therefore, it’s mine.”
I propped my chainsaw on my hip, looking at him
incredulously. “What do you need with a log? Can’t you just burn bricks of
cash if it comes right down to it?”
“It doesn’t matter what I’m going to do with my log,” he
said. “Frankly, it’s none of your business what I do with my log, or my
bricks of cash.”
“It’s only halfway on your land,” I pointed out. Why the
hell was I having this argument with him? Was it because it was four in the
morning?
He stepped over the log, put his heel to it, and rolled what
was left the rest of the way onto his land. “There. Does that solve this?
Can I go back to sleep now?”
“No,” I said. “That doesn’t remotely solve this. And by
that logic, you’re standing on my land, and you are now mine.”
He looked at me. And then he did something I will never
forget.
He unzipped, he pulled himself out, and he pissed on the
ground. Right there in front of me, his morning wood in his hand, his yellow
stream splashing onto my land. A couple drops even hit my boot.
I jumped back, absolutely aghast. The man. Was pissing.
Right in front of me.
“There,” he said. “Now it’s mine.”
The uncouth bastard .
I looked up into that smug face, and I revved my chainsaw.
He tucked himself away. “I don’t think you can be trusted
with that,” he said. “Give it here.” He took a step toward me, reaching for
my saw.
I swear to God, the man had a death wish. But as much as I
wanted to give as good as I got, I didn’t want to splatter blood all over my
woods, or have to explain his death. I just wanted him to be quiet in the
mornings until a decent hour. Was that so much to ask?
I stepped away
cursing, back into the house. As I waited for him to reappear, I toyed with
the notion of staking him out for the mosquitos to eat. Was there any way I
could manage it without being charged with a crime? Did I care? I thought the
more pertinent question was, how could I get him to hold still long enough to
stake him out? He was a big guy, and I knew he wouldn’t go willingly. Maybe I
could lure him out, just put a beer in a bear trap. Ha. Sadly, it
probably would have worked on my brothers.
Gary was back out, decently clad, in less than five
minutes. He stormed back over to me, and I ignored him. He was yelling, but I
hit the gas on the saw again, and kept cutting. He finally crowded so close, I
either had to ease off the trigger or risk cutting through his leg. The man
had balls, I’d give him that.
I looked up at him, not even pretending I hadn’t known he
was there. “Yes?” I asked.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. He was breathing hard,
his eyes flashing, and his hair was sticking up in a way that made me want to
run my fingers through it. Even though I was furious with him. Dammit.
“I’m making firewood, neighbor. What are you doing?”
“At 4:15 in the morning?” he demanded.
“Well, you’ve been working loudly at six in the
morning, so I just figured—”
He crossed his arms. “ That’s what this is about? Me
waking you up?” He had a tone , one that said I was a lazy-ass that
didn’t work for a living, because I’d been asleep at six in the morning.
My jaw clenched. I revved the saw, and made another cut
down through the birch.
I moved to make the next, about 18 inches further along, but
I found his foot in the way. I thought about it. Then I looked up at him.
“This is my log,” he said. “Sweet of you to cut it
up for me, but if you could just come back later…”
“Your log?”
“My log,” he agreed, pointing at the colorful bits of tape.
“It’s more than halfway on my property.”
“This log came from a tree growing on my land,” I pointed
out. “Thus, my tree.”
“It might have been, before it fell on my land,” he said.
“But it crossed the line, sweet cheeks. Therefore, it’s mine.”
I propped my chainsaw on my hip, looking at him
incredulously. “What do you need with a log? Can’t you just burn bricks of
cash if it comes right down to it?”
“It doesn’t matter what I’m going to do with my log,” he
said. “Frankly, it’s none of your business what I do with my log, or my
bricks of cash.”
“It’s only halfway on your land,” I pointed out. Why the
hell was I having this argument with him? Was it because it was four in the
morning?
He stepped over the log, put his heel to it, and rolled what
was left the rest of the way onto his land. “There. Does that solve this?
Can I go back to sleep now?”
“No,” I said. “That doesn’t remotely solve this. And by
that logic, you’re standing on my land, and you are now mine.”
He looked at me. And then he did something I will never
forget.
He unzipped, he pulled himself out, and he pissed on the
ground. Right there in front of me, his morning wood in his hand, his yellow
stream splashing onto my land. A couple drops even hit my boot.
I jumped back, absolutely aghast. The man. Was pissing.
Right in front of me.
“There,” he said. “Now it’s mine.”
The uncouth bastard .
I looked up into that smug face, and I revved my chainsaw.
He tucked himself away. “I don’t think you can be trusted
with that,” he said. “Give it here.” He took a step toward me, reaching for
my saw.
I swear to God, the man had a death wish. But as much as I
wanted to give as good as I got, I didn’t want to splatter blood all over my
woods, or have to explain his death. I just wanted him to be quiet in the
mornings until a decent hour. Was that so much to ask?
I stepped away
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