FRANK [PART TWO OF TWO]

[2] HIGH NOON
I never felt like a father, but Lord knows I felt like one on that Saturday morning. My yard was number 16. I had a little flag stuck in the lawn, and I watched fondly as it fluttered in the wind. The winning number. I’d have my picture in the paper and they’d ask me intricate gardening questions, and I’d say, “Well, you see, Derek, that’s an interesting question,..”
I put my arm around my wife and felt complete. She smiled and we stood together in the sun, watching the little crowd of judges make their way down the street, taking notes. My yard was ready to be seen. Eden couldn’t compare to it. Nice try, old man, but this was the real McCoy. Adam and Eve would’ve had a ball here. It was immaculate-- sublime. I had mowed the lawn, raked the leaves, trimmed the bushes-- I even put up two little plaster statues of dogs by the entrance for more of an effect.
“I didn’t know Frank joined these sort of things,” my wife suddenly said, looking over the fence.
I turned my head, and sure enough, there was a little flag stuck in Frank’s lawn. Number 17.
I shook my head. “That’s embarrassing. I’m never talking to that jerk again.”
But on second thought I decided I might as well go over and gloat. Never pass up a chance to brag.
“Frank!” I called, waving over to him.
“Oh,” he said looking up, coffee steaming into his face. “Chad, how are you? Is this about that night when you came over and sang Beach Boys songs? Because it’s all right. I know what the old bottle can do to a man. You really don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“Hell, I had a great time! How’s the dental business goin’?”
He looked at me kind of strange. “Uh, great. Great.”
“Good. And what’s that little flag doing in your lawn?”
He laughed. “Oh, I thought I’d give it a shot.”
He thought he’d give it a shot. Cute.
“That’s interesting, Frank,” I said. “That’s really interesting, seeing that you don’t have a yard.”
He looked around himself. “Well, this is all my property here, Chad. I’m sure that counts as a yard. It’s not much to brag about, but it’s a yard.”
“You don’t have a yard. Believe me. You have a swimming pool.”
He did. He had a swimming pool the size of Texas.
“I have a bit of wholesome green over there in that corner.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I have more wholesome green in my shit than you do in this yard.”
“Well, it seemed like a fun thing to do on a Saturday.”
I turned and walked away. His optimism was freaky. I couldn’t take it. Besides, I’d done my duty. I tried to save him from humiliation, but if he was so gung-ho about being an idiot I certainly wasn’t going to interfere. Christ, he sure had more than his fair share of confidence. He was actually going to let his little flag sit there, next to a swimming pool, and stand beside it all proud and probably rippled up inside.
Four o’clock. The judges strolled into my yard and I was so nervous I didn’t know whether to breathe through my mouth or my ass.
“Hi! Hello there! Come right in!”
They moved in like a flock of misguided sheep that didn’t know what to do. Each of them had little clipboards and pens and began to look around, ticking things off on their papers and scribbling. They hardly looked at the yard, but one of them was the Mayor and he knows what he’s talking about. We knew each other pretty well from the Hedge Society. He was a fanatic, like myself.
“A magnificent hedge,” he said first thing. I knew I could count on him. He’s a decent man.
“Oh, look at the dogs!” cried his wife, pointing to my goddamn plaster dogs. “Aren’t they adorable, Larry?”
“Yes, they are,” I said, smiling and leading her away from them. “However, this hedge-- this magnificent sample of the Plant Kingdom-- is indeed the center attraction of the yard, as your husband already noticed. If you would just take a closer look,..”
“Oh, it is lovely,” she said.
Everyone gathered around my hedge and began to admire it.
“Wonderful,” the Mayor said, leaning very close to examine one of the small leaves. “Fascinating!”
His wife nodded. “Yes. And look how long it is. Such a long line!”
She complimented all the wrong things, of course, but I didn’t expect anything from her-- it’s a known fact that she has more brain cells in her liver than in her brain. Hell-- she was the Mayor’s wife.
“It’s a beauty, Chad,” said the Mayor. “That hedge really is something.”
My eyes suddenly shot up for some reason, as though the devil had tapped me on the shoulder. And what do you know? There was Frank and his coffee, standing on the other side of the fence, just smiling and blinking away in the strong sunlight. Watching. I became nervous, but I told myself, “It’s a free country.” I continued answering hedge questions, but every time I looked up, there was Frank and it threw me off. Why wasn’t he on the toilet or something?
“Well, Chad,” said the Mayor. “You’ve got a fine property here.”
I was about to pretend to feel honored and smile and say something about there being plenty of other fine yards around town, but before I even had a chance to open my mouth, there came a voice from the other side of the fence.
“You know, technically,..”
I couldn’t believe it. I knew there was a reason for Frank’s existence.
“...technically that hedge is on my property.”
The Mayor looked confused. “Then it’s your hedge?”
“Oh, no!” said Frank, laughing. “It’s his. It just happens to be on my property.”
Where’s a harpoon when you need one?
That afternoon I was a lonely man, deprived of everything God had given me. The little flag was still lying on the lawn. Frank had won. Frank McDermon had won the Silverstream Yard Contest and I had nothing to show except two plaster dogs. Life no longer held any meaning. Frank was crowned “Yard King” and rode through town on the big float with a brass band. He was interviewed and asked intricate gardening questions while I was lying on the couch, paralyzed, surrounded by empty beer bottles and watching the weather report.
The thing is, God had given me that hedge. He had placed it into my hand and curled my fingers around it-- and suddenly he ripped it away, gave it to Frank and curled his fingers around it.
I stood up and got my gun. I wrapped a newspaper around it, put on my brother’s cowboy hat and staggered over to Frank’s house. The festivities were over and he was sure to be home. I was right.
“Howdy!” he said, appearing in the doorway, and pointing to my hat with a wink. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing much.”
He cleared his throat and began looking solemn. “Hey, about the contest-- I had no idea they were so particular about property divisions. I really--”
“No, no. I understand, Frank. It’s perfectly alright. You deserve it.”
A surprised look flashed across his face.
“Really? Are you hiding a gun under that newspaper?” he asked, grinning.
My heart jumped straight up into my throat and I had to swallow it back down again.
“No,” I said. “It’s just a newspaper-- all bunched together into a big,..thing!”
Frank laughed. “Well, listen, we’re having a weenie roast tomorrow. You guys are coming, aren’t you? It just wouldn’t be the same without you.”
I felt the trigger. “Sure, sure. What time?”
“Well, officially it starts--”
And then it happened. The good Lord reached down and did his business. Frank’s shiny shoes slipped on the steps as he was coming down. And before I knew it, he was lying on the ground like a fish, staring up at the sky, his mug rolling away and everything covered in coffee. I waited patiently for something to happen.
“Uh, Frank?”
Well, my trusty pal in the newspaper wasn’t needed after all. Frank had managed it all by himself. Instant death by marble steps. Marble. You see, that’s the kind of asshole he was-- putting marble steps in front of his door. And look where it got him.