Neighborhood Watch
Miss Dorothy lived on Jackson Street for thirty years, and in all that time she had perfected the art of knowing everybody’s business but her own. At fifty-two, she wore her black bonnet like a crown, even when she was expecting company.
It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon when she was watering her plants by her window and noticed her neighbor had backed his truck in up under his carport. A man—younger than her but not by much, maybe in his late thirties or early forties—was sitting in the driver’s seat.
Dorothy: “ (adjusting her bonnet) Now who is this parking under my neighbor carport?”
Then it happened. The young man started taking his shirt off changing his shirt, probably coming from the gym or work. Dorothy’s eyes went wide like two golf ball’s. She grabbed her chest gasping for air, nearly dropping her watering can on her cat, Precious.
Dorothy: “Lord have mercy!” (catching her breath, fanning herself with her hand). “That man is… he’s got muscles! And he’s got a big… oh my!”
From that moment on, Dorothy became a woman on a mission. She didn’t know his name. Didn’t know nothing about this man. But that didn’t stop her.
Day one: She “happened” to be checking her mailbox every time his truck appeared.
Day three: She started timing her grocery store trips to coexist with his comings and goings.
Day five: She had borrowed some tree clippers from her next door neighbor just to have an excuse to walk by his truck. (She not a person that’s does yard work.)
By week two, Dorothy had compiled what she called her “research”:
• He liked Hawaiian punch (she saw him drinking it).
• He drove a blue Ford (duh)
• He parked at 2:47 PM exactly (she’d timed it)
• He worked somewhere (warehouse or construction-wears a work uniform )
Her best friend Beatrice came over for their weekly card game and found Dorothy standing in a chair posted by the window with binoculars.
Beatrice: “Dorothy Jean Washington, what the hell are you doing?”
Dorothy: “Research, bitch. Just… some good old community watch.”
Beatrice: What are looking at? And what are you looking for?
Dorothy: The man next door.
Beatrice: “Chile, you stalking that man!”
Dorothy: “I am NOT stalking. I’m being… observant.”
Beatrice: “Bitch with binoculars? You still got that bonnet on?”
Dorothy took offense to her bonnet being brought up.
Dorothy: “This bonnet is silk-lined. My edges are protected while I spy on my neighbor.”
The situation reached ridiculousness when Dorothy decided to leave a note on his windshield. She spent three hours writing it:
“Dear Sir, You have been parking your truck next door under my neighbor carport. I am a homeowner and community leader. We should discuss your parking situation. Also, do you like peach cobbler? - A Concerned Neighbor”
She had crept out at midnight in her slippers and her black bonnet, only to drop the note and when she bend over to pick up the letter the wind blew it down the street she chase it down the street, not paying attention to her whereabouts she ran into a garden and trip over a garden gnome, and limp back home with a dirty bonnet and wrote another letter.
The next day, the man from next door knocked on her door.
Dorothy: Coming, Hold on please.
Dorothy’s heart nearly stopped. She opened the door in her bonnet (of course) and her best sitting around the house dress.
Ralph: “Ma’am, I think this is yours?”
Dorothy: Pardon me.
He held up the note, looking confused.
Ralph: “It was stuck on my windshield with… is this duct tape?”
Dorothy’s face looked hot enough to fry an egg on.
Dorothy: “I… well… I was just…”
Ralph: “Ms. Washington, right? Your name’s on the mailbox. I’m Ralph. Yeah my kids and their mother stay next door to you. I’ve been out of town for work.” By the way why are you so concerned about where I park my truck ma’am?
Dorothy: “Oh.” I’m just a concerned neighbor. I didn’t know she had a man I you could’ve been one of family members.
Ralph: “But that peach cobbler offer? I’ll definitely pass on that.”
Dorothy: “You…don’t want my cobbler?”
“No ma’am. Maybe another time.
Dorothy’s embarrassment melted into a smile.
Dorothy : “Well… I suppose we could do that.”
As Ralph left, Dorothy closed the door and looked at Precious the cat.
Dorothy: “Not a word.”(adjusting her bonnet). “Not. A. Word.”
Precious meowed anyway.
From then on, Dorothy still wore her bonnet everywhere, but at least now she had a legitimate reason to look out the window on Tuesdays—Ralph sit in his truck after work to wind down. And she never told him about the binoculars.
Some secrets were better kept between a woman and her bonnet.
Stay tuned for the next part 2 of The Bonnet Stalker.