I met my first Rose thirty years ago. She asked directions to the nearest store that would have a leaf blower. It was Saturday evening, so I directed her to the only place I knew would be open, Meijer in Jackson. Since that exchange, we’ve averaged one conversation per year, but that’s been plenty.
For the first six or so years, Rose and her family came up on week-ends. They averaged one or two a month. Most of the time the house stood empty. One August morning a fellow superintendent, John, drove to our house and dropped off his Ford Ranger. We were headed to a three day conference and I offered to drive. He would leave his truck behind. Ruth knew of our plan, and as we readied for our departure, John asked where he should leave the truck. I told him to park in the neighbor’s driveway because “they’re never here during the week”. I went into the house, told Ruth of our plan, and took off. I went so far as to tell her, “John left the keys under the back tonneau cover in case you need to move it.” When we returned three days later, John’s truck was gone.
I asked Ruth where she put the truck. “What truck?”, she asked.
“John’s truck. We left it here three days ago.”
That’s when it hit her. Rose had come to the lake during the week for the first time in years and found an unexplained truck in her driveway. She came over to speak with Ruth to see if she knew anything about the truck. Ruth said she didn’t. Our discussion of John’s truck was one of those half listened to conversations between spouses, and Ruth forgot about the truck. Rose called the local police who advised her to have it towed. So she did.
After some investigation, we found the location of the impound yard. The truck was in a facility a few miles from our house. Embarrassed by the turn of events, I drove John to pick up his truck and offered to pay the $50.00 towing fee. He declined my offer. He said over and over again, “It’s not a big deal.” But I thought it was.
By the weekend Rose and her husband had installed two large posts at the end of their driveway. A heavy duty chain with a padlock was linked to both ends. Although there was no posted sign, the chain screamed “Trespassers Beware”. That set the tone for the remainder of our relationship.
We interacted with Rose and her family sparingly. We offered pleasant “hellos” across the yard, but most of the time we ignored one another. We were privy to her obscenity laced calls to her two kids, her equally reclusive husband, Dean, and the boaters that dared travel too fast in the “no wake” zone. She could swear like a sailor.
While the trespassing truck may have soured our relationship, Rose just wasn’t a friendly person. I can’t say I miss her.