"My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors."~Robert Frost
Shadows were hiding behind trees, and crouching secretly on the back-sides of hedgerows. They stuck to the broad sides of houses, flattening themselves as prostrate criminals hiding from the mid-day spotlight, waiting for the ideal moment to infiltrate each houses cracked foundations. Will mimicked every twitch and stride of Peanut, becoming a noon-time shadow of awkward grace himself. He sulked languidly, being tentative and offering no audible reason for Peanut to transform his now inward ire into an outward expression of rage. He simply lagged, silently, and glanced every so often at the imprisoned lanterns, who were curled torpid victims of sun stroke, hiding underneath the tiny leaves of brittle golden rod, catching only a knifes edge of shade. His sorrow for them was dulled though. It seemed like he had gained an advantage with his, as Peanut referred to it "insubordinate" remark about Peanuts phraseology. Frankly, such an urge had always been lingering behind Will's cowardice, but today he had made himself become to real, expressing personal beliefs. Such a thing should have been liberating, but becoming human only showed weaknesses, which Peanut exploited with new found ferocity. Peanut did not believe in grace, everything was conditional, everything.
Will stayed in his thoughts, locked himself in the hall of day-dreaming and swallowed the key. A wise decision for the most part, but Peanut was also locked in thought, nothing he would call daydreaming though. Daydreaming seemed a trivial word for his thoughts. Peanut remained only vaguely aware of Will's presence; he could feel his partner dragging his feet, memorizing the map of cracks in the cement. Like a child holding phantom hands with his mother, not touching, but always aware, Peanut memorized Will's aura and could feel it distort with even a slight wind.
The wagon jangled and bounced on the uneven sidewalks causing the empty jars to clang together with a vibration that uttered failure into Peanut's ears. Failure echoed, the idea lingering in the open spaces, reverberating defeat. Peanut seethed. Damn that Will, and damn this sun. His comb seemed to crawl out of his pocket and into his hair. Back and forth, straightening the frizz of a summers day from his head, which fell from his comb and gathered on the sidewalk, and leaked into the gutters.
Soldier Beetle Field lay 10 minutes in their wake, bunched together in the distance with the magical dust of an estranged and alone habitat glistening in the sun. The sparkles of a snow globe that no one ever shook and rarely thought twice about. It was at least another 10 minutes to Peanuts' house, and Will's house, which stood adjacent to Peanut's and cast a large shadow that enveloped Peanuts house in the summer. Peanut was not to fond of this fact. The neighborhood was unusually quite for noon on a pristine day, but neither Peanut nor Will were bothered by the fact. They shared no alternative friendships, apart from the warped coalition they already had with each other.
Each house was separated by a nipping and frosty privacy glacier, which seemed to move an inch every year, making the gap of freedom smaller between each house. The fences barred the view of any outdoor activities and kept all pets within their own boundaries. A sort of strangled hospitality. There were boisterous flowers planted against the foundations of the houses, screaming color and vividness that the house otherwise lacked. Tiger Lilies reached their spindly hands out of the mulch and exotic ferns, grasping for clean air and blue skies. Petunias were potted, cacti were lined along doorways in the shade, Queen Anne's Lace mocked the lush, 1 inch grass blades by hovering above them, glaring down. Butterflies were shewed away with hush tones and waves of hands and birds had brooms hurled at them for perching on decoration bird houses, attempting to consort in a myriad of twitters and perfect middle C's with the wooden Cardinals and Chickadees. Porches were for scenery and yards were for lawns.
Peanut and Will strode down the left sidewalk, lost in their own troubles and dealings, Peanut remaining less aware of his surroundings than Will. All they had to show for a days work was four lousy, coma lanterns. Just the thought of it made Peanuts throat tighten and his knuckles clench. Our pride is lost, MY pride is lost. Home base must be reached before any of his rivals caught a whiff of their failure in the air. He was sure they all had their noses out the window, waiting for that satisfying stench to come wafting by. Peanut cursed under his breath. His comb still sliced through his hair, comforting him. Perhaps it was only a set back. Yes, just a set back. Napoleon lost a few, Patton didn't win everything, even General Lee lost the war. Even a genius can have a set back. So Peanut smoothed a balm of rationalization over his wounds by way of his comb, and his cunning.
A cul-de-sac of home was soon approaching, a growing dot, which incited hope in Will and Peanut. Will was walking in the world of the living again, glancing at the four lanterns, and then looking ahead to where his house sat. He cringed at the sight of Peanut, whose hands were methodically combing and then smoothing his hair. Peanut was in a state of thought, which he referred to as nirvana, even though Will had tried to tell him that nirvana was a state where you thought nothing at all. Peanut simply humphed, as he always did, and made a wise-crack about Will being in that state constantly. An unknown glare was up ahead, a blur of faces and chatter with a green back drop. Will squinted, held his breath, and then winced. The sun became eclipsed by a chimney for a brief moment, enough time to allow Will to see that it was a gaggle, or perhaps a more fitting term would be "murder" of children spread out across a nearing lawn. They all had real, genuine smiles carved on their faces, like they were waiting for someone to take a picture. Will cleared his throat, partly to fragment the sharp pieces of fear that were jutting into it and also in hopes of jarring Peanut from his state of "nirvana". It worked, thankfully.
Peanut awoke from his daze instantly, seeing the forthcoming trouble he stopped on a crack that most likely killed his mother. Will, who had had his eyes pinned to Peanut, stopped abruptly, which silenced the jars and made room for his maddening heart to pound out its rhythm of discomfort. Peanut slipped his comb into his pocket and straightened his collar, which was already straight and began dealing out instructions.
"Now look, we are dealing with Brutus here. I can feel his pompous, enlarged opinions from here. He isn't going to do anything until we show weakness, and he used to be one of us so he knows how we think, well, at least he knows how you think." Peanut took in a breath and glanced over his shoulder at the group of sheep, grazing on the lawn, waiting to unzip and become wolves. "Just don't say a word to him. We have nothing to say, after all he did betray us and forgiveness is only in our disposition facade, not in our real feelings, right?" Will nodded and felt his soul lurch. "He is a lame Godfather, with that worm consigliere Wilbur managing his schedule. Don't be scared of him, and remember, he's like the sun...don't look directly at him." Will nodded his head again, knowing his place when it came to handling their rivals, silence was his gift as Peanut told him. Peanut did his usual crisp about face, and whispered over his shoulder, "If he offers you an apple, for the love of Saint Patrick, don't take it." Will smiled and chuckled. Occasionally Peanut believed in levity, but only in the face of danger.
The tubby, over-bearing child whom Peanut had so mirthfully referred to as "Brutus" and "a lame Godfather" was their former friend and army member, Jacques. Peanut had always called him "JACK" but Jacques had insisted that it was French and therefore should be pronounced jock- quess. Peanut had smiled and said, O.K. Jack. Only a few months ago Jacques had disbanded from the Hellenic Army, commanded by Peanut, and embarked upon the gathering of a new, "more efficient" army. Within a week, Jacques had amassed every exceptional kid from the neighborhood, whom he made dissenters of and started a mass congregation of nay-sayers, or those who "colored outside the lines", as Jacques put it. Jacques had deemed them "The Minutemen", an agile fighting force that was ready on demand, and led by a fearless leader, Jacques, Paul Revere.
Peanut casually strode toward The Minutemen, stroking his hair with his comb thoughtfully, and quietly comforting Will's gyrations of panic with an idle wave of his hand. Jack did not frighten Peanut in the least. He was fat, uncoordinated, and had a mind so tightly wrapped around his pretentious thoughts, that he had no room to be clever. A confrontation would have been fine if Peanut's pride would have been intact, but this recent failure was looming over his head like a dark rain cloud. He was soaked in defeat, and even Jack was keen enough to realize it. His only hope was to distract Jacques through compliments, which he would throw out like candy. Ah yes, candy. He should keep some hard candy in his pocket to pull Jack's mind into his stomach.
The Minutemen arose from their positions and formed a wall across the sidewalk, moving double quick as Jacques pulled on their strings and made them dance and flop. A regiment of soldiers, each one slovenly dressed and blinded by ambition, their smug smiles catching the sun rays and sending them to their stomachs to digest and extract smug nutrients. Arms crossed, a waving sea of arms, undulating and lapping against neighboring waves, barring the road.
Peanut stopped, continuing to comb. Will stood alongside him, hunching over as Peanuts personal Igor, silent and devoted. The empty jars lay behind them, blocked from view, silently empty.
Jacques stood up from his lawn chair, whose legs remained bowed and rammed into the turf, even though a weight had indeed been lifted. It seemed like the lawn had grown the chair, a mutant flower that sprung up and was impervious to every and all "be-gones". Wilbur, Jack's personal planner stayed seated Indian style alongside his leaders chair, scribbling in a Mead notebook; a stenographer, who had an ear for hypocrisy and weakness.
Jacques didn't stand, he hunkered. Like all of the gravity was pushing him down and the earth was pushing back, Jacques bulged in the middle and appeared as if he was seated, even though he was standing. His face was plump, white-washed with naivety, and content with power. He looked at Peanut, not avoiding eye contact, and pretended Will was not there, which Will was also pretending.
"Nice chair," Peanut said, perhaps a little to playfully. Jack's cohorts were already up in arms at the flippancy of the statement, but Jack simply smiled, or rather kept smiling and glanced at his chair. "Yes, fit for me I think. I don't settle nowadays, ever since I left you and your measly two, well, man and a half army." Will said and expressed nothing. Peanut smiled and carefully traced a word path, as you do with unstable leaders, "We always did need a lawn chair for you. I always felt bad for the ground you had to sit on. I still fall in those holes you made in Soldier Beetle Field." Jack was already tired of the games, his outer shell only absorbed compliments, and it did not reflect irreverent jabs. He frowned and used the ground to push himself toward Peanut. Will grimaced for the ground. "Whatcha got in the wagon Peanut?" Jack pointed with a stubbed finger at the empty jars. Peanut displayed no fear, and kept his head on an even keel, which he knew Jack would balance against his predisposed plumb line. "Oh, just scouting out the field today, and brought along some jars in case we saw anything interesting." Peanut knew that Jack wouldn't buy the lie, but from his expression, he had persuaded Jack to drop the subject. Jack began smiling again, "Oh yea, well I think we are going to head over there tonight to find some lanterns. Hopefully you didn't snatch them all up." Jack laughed, and his minions snickered, respectful laughs, but also laughs that spoke of their legitimate hatred for Peanut and the Hellenic Army. Peanut laughed, and put his comb back in his breast pocket. "Nice seeing you Jack, good luck with the lanterns, we left a few lame ones for you." Jacks' face contorted at the mention of his name, such a disgusting, mangled pronunciation. The waves of arms parted, and Peanut strolled through unscathed. He could only hope those waves would envelop those Egyptian bastards if they tried to follow him. No such luck, but his pride remained intact, and he now knew the enemies plans. Tonight, Soldier Beetle Field.
"Why don't you run over to your house and get the appropriate attire for, um, sleeping at my house. I have some things we need to discuss." Will assumed his vow of silence had been lifted but only nodded his head. His lips glued together as a result of perennial silence. "Good, we are going to tempt that plump, witless, bone-head of a Judas with 30 silver pieces of our own." Will nodded again, relenting to the fact that he could not decipher what Peanut meant until he explained it.
