While I was away helping my daughter recover from surgery, my entitled neighbor let her teenage son throw a pool party in my backyard. They left behind trash, broken decorations, and a filthy pool. I didn’t call the cops. Instead, I let their own entitlement teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.
Every Saturday morning, while the rest of the neighborhood slept in, Chuck would be outside before eight o’clock, cleaning the pool.
I’d catch him skimming leaves, vacuuming the bottom, scrubbing the waterline, and testing the chemicals.
Chuck would be outside before eight o’clock, cleaning the pool.
By lunchtime, he’d finally lean against the pool net, wipe his forehead, and grin at me.
“Now it looks effortless.”
I’d hand him a glass of lemonade.
“It looked effortless before.”
“Exactly.” He’d point the skimmer pole at me. “That’s because you didn’t see the work.”
“Now it looks effortless.”
After Chuck passed away five years ago, I kept his Saturday routine alive.
Every splash in that pool still sounded like one of our grandchildren laughing.
Chuck built that pool himself.
Every brick around it.
Every flower bed beside it.
It took him nearly two summers.
Chuck built that pool himself.
“Worth every blister,” he said.
Every birthday party happened there.
Every Fourth of July barbecue.
Unfortunately… not everyone saw the pool that way.
My next-door neighbor, Denise, saw it as free entertainment.
“Worth every blister.”
The first time I caught her inside my backyard, she was floating on one of my inflatable loungers with sunglasses on. She smiled when she saw me.
“Oh! You’re home early!”
I blinked. “You have a key to my gate?”
“No.”
She pointed toward the fence.
“Brandy climbed over and unlocked it.”
“You have a key to my gate?”
Brandy.
That was what she still called her 16-year-old son, Brandon.
He was taller than both of us and had the permanent expression of someone convinced consequences only happened to other people.
I folded my arms. “Denise… You really can’t keep coming into my yard without asking.”
She waved one hand dismissively.
“Oh, Abby! It’s only a pool. We just wanted to cool off.”
“It’s only a pool.”
I looked around.
My patio cushions had been moved.
Wet footprints covered the deck.
Three empty soda cans sat beside Chuck’s favorite lounge chair.
“I would’ve said yes if you’d asked.”
“See?” She smiled proudly. “So what’s the difference?”
“The difference is that you didn’t.”
She laughed like I’d told a joke.
“I would’ve said yes if you’d asked.”
From that day forward, it became a pattern.
I’d look out the kitchen window.
There they were.
Brandon cannonballing into the deep end.
Denise reading a magazine beneath my umbrella.
Once, I came home from grocery shopping to find Brandon teaching two of his friends how to dive.
It became a pattern.
He looked embarrassed. For exactly three seconds.
“Hey, Miss Abby.”
“Everybody OUT.”
His friends climbed out immediately. Denise didn’t.
“Oh, relax. They’re good kids.” She sighed dramatically. “You really ARE protective over this pool.”
“Everybody OUT.”
I stared at her. “My husband built it. It’s part of our family.”
She shrugged. “It’s still just a pool!”
That sentence stayed with me.
Not because it was rude.
Because she honestly believed it.
She couldn’t see 40 years of birthdays.
She couldn’t see Chuck teaching frightened grandchildren how to trust the water.
She saw blue water.
Nothing more.
“It’s still just a pool!”
***
One afternoon, I tried a different approach.
I invited Denise over for coffee. She actually looked surprised.
After a few minutes of polite conversation, I said, “I don’t think you realize what this place means to me.”
Denise smiled sympathetically.
“I know you miss Chuck.”
“I do. He spent years building that backyard.”
“Okay, so?”
“I know you miss Chuck.”
“So when people let themselves in…” I searched for the right words. “It feels like they’re walking through my memories.”
For a brief second, I thought Denise understood.
Then she patted my hand.
“Oh, Abby. You spend too much time alone. You overthink things. It’s healthy having neighbors enjoy the space.”
I almost laughed.
