Kooked Out

When I’m not outside managing the rocks, I pace back and forth inside staring at my work on the gravel driveway.

Sometimes a strong gust of wind can toss one of the pebbles over and I’m forced to go outside and fix it despite the weather. The mountains are inhospitable and the snow cruel to my driveway but the order must be kept.

At one point I had a dog and just the two of us shared my cabin. I would watch him tan himself on the driveway day after day.The dark wood porch with a fresh bowl of water would provide relief when the panting became heavy and strained.

The day he disappeared the rocks on the driveway were in this exact order. I’m afraid of what might happen if they’re out of order. His longtime oasis would be completely unrecognizable, marred by time, weather, or my own sloth.

Instead I have to keep watch. I hugging the windows along my front wall, watching. Outside I’m careful. If I have to step into the middle to fix a pebble, I step softly and track any stones that my feet might graze. The tiptoe on the grass is a delicate dance around the edge of the driveway.

My mountain town used to be quiet and untouched but in recent years the tourists have crept further towards the peak. They sightsee at the bar I used to frequent and made day hikes out of a mountain who’s exploration should take a lifetime. The Suburus that drag them around roam in harrowing silence. Without my consent and before I have time to react, their cars decimate my driveway after they realize a wrong turn had been taken on their getaway from the city. I try calling the police but they won’t take me seriously. They can’t comprehend the amount of restoration I do after these attacks. They won’t even lighten my spirit by holding the vagrants accountable.

After years of caretaking the wear has appeared. My teeth have rotted and yellowed. Cheeks, once full, have hallowed with gaping valleys where the fat used to be. I don’t see anyone anymore. Only Tina comes to visit me.

After a fall windstorm this week, I had finally finished putting the driveway back in order. Every rock had been returned to its rightful place. There was nothing left to stop the return of my dog. I could pace and wait.

But the tourists came today, especially offensive ones. I managed to make it outside in time today. I yelled the circumstances at them and mentioned that they couldn’t turn on this driveway. I was more respectful than I should’ve been given the fact that they were on my property.

Instead of admitting their fault and apologizing like civilized people, the thugs in the Jersey plated rental car chirped at me.

"We’re just turning around, relax”

“Call the police then, see how that goes”

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I had an epiphany. If they behaved like bothersome woodpeckers I could treat them as such. I walked calmly back inside, this time past the phone hanging on the wall.

Instead I grabbed my shotgun.