Nobody stopped me.
Monica’s Tesla was gone.
Probably out running errands on electricity I’d paid for.
I put the gnome beside my garage outlet.
Then I arranged things so I would know if Monica returned to my property again.
The gnome looked perfectly innocent sitting there.
That was precisely what I wanted.
Around lunchtime, Diane called.
“Mom, you sound too cheerful. What are you doing?”
“Just tidying up the yard, sweetheart.”
“You’re plotting something. I can hear it.”
“Only if Monica gives me a reason to.”
“Mom…”
I laughed.
For a moment, while watering my tomatoes, I wondered whether I’d become ridiculous.
I was sixty-four years old and spending my afternoon preparing to catch my neighbor trespassing.
Was I being petty?
Or had I finally decided I was tired of being invisible?
I chose the second answer.
My husband used to tease me about that contradiction.
I could send back his wrong restaurant order without hesitation.
I’d argue with a mechanic who overcharged Diane.
I’d defend anyone who needed me.
Anyone except myself.
Somewhere along the way, “keeping the peace” had turned into permission for other people to decide what I should tolerate.
I looked toward the garage.
“Not tonight,” I whispered.
After sunset, I switched off the porch light, poured myself a glass of iced tea, and waited inside where I could see the driveway clearly.
All Monica needed to do was stay off my property.
Eventually, the Tesla rolled into her driveway.
A few minutes later, Monica appeared carrying her charging cable.
Yoga pants.
Slippers.
Completely relaxed.
She walked toward my garage as though the outlet belonged to her.
