Instead, I kept trying to avoid a neighborhood war.
Then came the doctor’s appointment.
It was at 7:30 a.m. on a Thursday.
I’d waited almost two months for it.
I showered, got dressed, grabbed my bag, and walked outside at 6:50 a.m.
Linda’s SUV was blocking me.
I stared at it.
Then I marched next door.
I knocked.
Nothing.
I rang the bell.
Nothing.
I called her.
Straight to voicemail.
I knocked again.
“Linda!”
No answer.
For fifteen minutes, I stood there.
At 7:10 a.m., I called the doctor’s office and explained.
They told me if I arrived more than 15 minutes late, they couldn’t guarantee I’d be seen.
I tried Linda again.
Nothing.
I missed the appointment.
The earliest they could reschedule me was three weeks later.
That afternoon, I saw Linda walking toward her SUV.
I went outside.
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Oh.”
“You blocked my car this morning.”
“Sorry. I was sleeping.”
“I missed a doctor’s appointment.”
She looked mildly annoyed, as if I’d just informed her that her dog had barked.
“Couldn’t someone have driven you?”
“That isn’t the point.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
Then she smiled.
Not apologetically.
Dismissively.
Like the entire conversation was silly.
“You should’ve told me you needed the driveway this morning.”
I stared at her.
“I have to tell you when I need my own driveway?”
She shrugged.
“You barely use it anyway.”
That smile gave me an idea.
Not immediately.
But by that evening, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
I went inside and opened a drawer I hadn’t touched in months.
