Nobody Knows

1

Nobody knows what goes on in rooms where doors are closed and shades are drawn.

Nobody.

And there were some things that Harlan was sure he never wanted to know. People could be some pretty sick puppies, sometimes.

Of course, he knew about the obvious nut jobs wandering the streets, sleeping under bridges, yelling and cursing obscenities to phantoms in the air. You didn't have to look very hard to find them.

They were out in the open.

Adjusting his straw hat and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Harlan was lost in thought. He spit a sunflower husk, watching it rise and fall in a rounded arch. It bounced once on the pavement and landed in the gutter with the rest of yesterday's trash.

It's the ones who keep their insanity veiled, he mused, hidden beneath a facade of normalcy. Those were definitely the ones to keep your eye on.

Normalcy. Who in his right mind invented that word? Everybody treated others horribly at times. Everybody. Like garbage.

Well, that's alright, Harlan thought, slicing off the head of a frog living in the mulch pile near the curb.

The fine white home behind him stared down with spotlessly clean windows.

Harlan continued weeding the plot. It was work, he thought. Honest work. Although, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why his employer demanded he do the weeding while dressed in a suit. Sure, he looked nice when he showed up for work in the morning, but fifteen minutes after he began his routine, he looked like a pig. A very dirty, hot one at that.

Still, the old lady bought the clothes for him, so he did as she asked. And he was now the owner of not one hand-me-down suit, but three new ones.

No money out of his pocket, but he still felt foolish. The extra twenty-five cents per hour over and above their agreed wage was like an ice pack on his bruised ego, though.

He tossed more weeds into his bucket and carefully stepped over a newly planted specimen.

She spent so much on this garden.

And for who?

As far as he could tell, she'd never had one visitor in the two years he'd been under her employ. But she had a nice place. Even if she was the only one who enjoyed it.

In spite of the suit and the label he wore as the hired help, he couldn't help but feel a little bit of pride when he looked around. Yes, it was an incredibly nice place. He might be just a service person, but it was the plumbers, the maids, the 'help' that kept this piece or proud property from falling to ruin in a heap of ashes.

Ashes.

That reminded him.

Harlan needed to push himself into high gear and finish up fast.

Potash needed to be added to the rose beds.

Harlan shook his head.

Roses in this climate. Totally insane. But the old lady insisted on trying to grow them.

He smiled wryly.