Malcolm opened his door to bask in his due adulation.
On the street, a car drove past. Mrs. Singh from the down the street waved and smiled. Malcolm waved and smiled back, pleased that she recognized Malcolm’s day, senior’s day, a true recognition of his value as a person.
The little Sosa boy next door, that sweet three-year-old, was playing on his lawn. Malcolm felt warm, knowing that, even though his own life was nearly over, new life continued. And good life. The Sosa boy was always kind, always friendly, always had a, “Hello Mr. Mahaney!”
The boy stood up with his toys in hand and went running around the lawn, then over to Malcolm’s yard. Malcolm frowned. The boy put his truck down and started to drive it.
Malcolm grimaced. He knew the damaged this could do to his beloved grass. He spent so much time on it, so much money, adding nitrogen and aerating it and tending it and mowing it, vacuuming up the stones after winter, and now that stupid child was going to mess it up?
“Hey! Sosa! Get off my lawn!”
The child looked up in fear. He stood and took off for his house, abandoning the truck on the grass. He ran inside as soon as he reached the door.
Malcolm walked over to the toy and looked down, annoyance on his face. He picked it up, walked it to the yard line, then tossed it into the Sosa yard. He walked back to his door, looked up and down the street with narrowed eyes, then went inside, tired of the outside world.