Green thumb, yellow eyes

I'm obsessed with yard work.  I could spend hours outside, carefully trimming my already perfectly manicured grass and pruning my perfectly shaped trees.  There's something about being outside that I absolutely love.  Some people golf, others hike.  Some take jobs digging trenches or working on a freeway crew.  Me?  I'm an accountant with a green thumb.  

My neighbors don't compliment my yard anymore.  When we first moved in they did, but now they give me angry looks, as though how I treat my yard forces them to do work they normally wouldn't have done.  To be honest, I don't care about their yards.  I don't do it for them or to be better than other people. I do it because I enjoy it.  Its good exercise, gives me a feeling of accomplishment, and the end result looks great. 

Our neighborhood isn't huge.  I don't know anyone with a riding lawn mower, we all use push mowers.  Its not uncommon to hear multiple engines going simultaneously on a Saturday morning, so I didn't think anything when I heard the lawn mower running at my neighbors.  Our yards are divided by an 8' privacy fence made of inexpensive wood slats, and if you get close you can see into his back yard.  I normally don't look, but it seemed odd that the engine of his lawn mower had been running for several minutes, but he wasnt moving through the yard.  I stood up from the garden box where I was weeding my carrots and moved to the edge of the fence.  Peeking through the slats I could see him standing there, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle.  His back was to me, so I couldn't see his face, but he seemed as though he was staring off into the yard.  

"Perhaps he's thinking" I thought to myself.  Our argument about edging around the fence line last month left us not speaking, and I didn't feel overly eager to strike up a conversation about his behavior.  I went back to my weeding trying to put his stasis out of my mind.  

I heard the engine sputter as though it was running out of gas.  It had been nearly 20 minutes and he was still standing in the same location.  What was he doing?  I began to worry that he had some sort of stroke, something that caused his body to move into some sort of paralysis mode, and immediately a sinking feeling entered my heart.  I hoped I hadn't caused him permanant brain damage or something.  I walked over to the fence, calling out to him.  "Mike, you okay?" I wasn't sure he could even hear me over the noise of the engine.  "Mike!" I yelled louder.  Still he stood silent, like a great stone golem waiting to be awoken.  

I moved to the fence gate on the edge of the yard, debating whether I should open it and trespass.  If it was a medical emergency he would forgive me, right?  I unhooked the latch and pulled the heavy gate open.  "Mike, I'm coming in" I called out as loud as I dared.  I looked behind me to see the couple across the street watching me.  I gestured toward them to come over, hoping that together we could reason with my habitually grumpy neighbor.  They didnt move, whispering to each other from the safety of their position in the distance. 

The lawn mower sputtered again, and I moved closer.  "Mike, are you okay?" I didn't know much about him other than the fact that he was recently divorced, had joint custody of a single boy about 10 years old, and worked as some sort of mechanic for one of the airlines at the local airport.  His hulking shape intimidated me, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my head raise as I came closer.  The engine sputtered again, this time cutting off.  The silence was almost deafening.  Suddenly, I was keenly aware of the sounds all around me.  Birds chirped in the trees, a car drove by on the street behind me, and my footsteps crunched the grass below my feet as I stepped toward the silent man frozen in place.  

"Mike?" I called out, trying to push the shaking from my voice.  Something had me spooked, and I couldn't figure out why.  I kept my distance from him, moving in a circle to see his face. I gasped as I saw his eyes.  They were covered in a thick yellow puss, like massive cataracts caking his corneas.  A wasp was sitting on his left cheek, chewing on his lower eyelid.  He stood there unmoving, unaware of me, oblivious to everything.  "Mike?" I heard the quiver in my voice.  "What happened to you?"  

I reached for my phone in my back pocket but realized it was sitting back in my house on the charger.    I cursed myself for not being better prepared. Moving back to the fence gate I called out to my neighbors across the street.  "Something's wrong, call an ambulance!" They looked worried and pulled a mobile device from a pocket.  As they dialed a look of horror split across their faces and I turned just in time to see Mike's massive body barreling down on me.  He tackled me to the ground and everything went black.  

Sal's Eats

The small places always have the best food.  Big restaurant chains sacrifice quality for uniformity, adopting recipes that may taste good, but never compare to the originals that made them a success in the first place. If I am traveling to someplace new I always ask the locals for the "best place to eat" making sure its only got a single location.  In my experience. The moment a place does well enough to have more than one building you can kiss the taste goodbye.  

Sal's Eats seemed like the perfect dive.  Stuck in a strip mall built 20 years ago it was built in what was once a record store, the walls were decorated with the sleeves of old vinyl.  Pink Floyd, Europe, and Pat Benetar faded on multicolored thumb tacks, and the graffiti of decades of teenagers decorated their once vibrant covers.   The dining area was a mix of old metal chairs with plastic covers and booths that looked like they were converted from old church pews.  

The smell was instantly familiar, a mix of old wood and fried food.  The few patrons that ate here did so quietly and seemed to distance themselves from each other.  Odd, because in my experience great little places like this often were the gathering place for the locals, passing on town gossip and re-living better days.  Good food seemed to bring people together like that.  

There were, of course, the places that looked like dives because they really were.  Perhaps this place was one of those, held together buy the sheer will of its owner and the few coins gathered from a disheveled clientele. I breathed in deeper, searching for the familiar scent of culinary success.  I could smell onions cooking, and something with garlic.  Peppers mixed with cheese, probably a Philly style steak sandwich, and something else...  Something... Off.  I hesitated, wondering if I had made a mistake. I almost turned to leave when a woman in a dingy apron approached with a notepad.  "Hey sweetheart" she said, smacking a wad of gum in stereotypical waitress style, "Just you?" I nodded, looking down at her heavyset body almost bursting out of a uniform that was meant for someone with not so many pounds and a few less years.  The name "Lucy" was embroidered above her pocket, the threads unraveling after years of washing and gastronomic abuse.  

Lucy directed me to a booth by the window, a space almost exactly the same distance from each of the other customers. I wondered if their distance was unintentional on their part, if perhaps Lucy had placed them as far away from each other on purpose.  Perhaps it reduced the odds of hearing another customer complain about the food.  

The cushion under the vinyl seat cover was almost non-existent, and I found myself sitting on a hard surface not unlike bare wood.  Shifting uncomfortably, I finally removed my wallet and keys from my  back pockets in an effort to improve what little cushion I had.  I picked up the ragged cardstock menu and flipped it open.  The corners were dogeared and soft.  Looking over the sandwiches I caught the odd gait of someone walking past the window outside.  He had a soft limp and seemed to be almost dragging one foot along rather than taking normal steps.  My eyes looked up just as he passed and I saw long strings of hair hanging off a pale head.  I could not see his face, but his clothing was torn and hung loosely on his frame as though they no longer fit.  I craned my neck to see further but he was already gone, moved around the corner and into the alleyway behind. 

Lucy returned with a glass of water and sat it down in front of me.  She looked at me expectantly, smacking that wad of gum even louder as her eyes scolded me for not speaking up as she approached.  "I'll have a BLT" I said calmly.  "I assume that's one of the specialties right?" I pointed to the small icon next to the title and description and watched as Sally stuck the end of her thumb in her mouth.  Pulling out a wad of spittle she wiped the "icon" off the menu and looked back at me smugly.  "One BLT, house speciality, coming up."  She turned her back and yelled toward the kitchen. "Sal, a BLT!"

A friendly face popped up from the window and smiled at me.  "You want avocado too?" He asked, pointing a spatula at me.  "They're perfectly ripe." His smile was thick and sincere, and his broad face showed a genuine enthusiasm for what he did.  I smiled back and called out in reply "sounds great, thanks" and watched as the head disappeared behind the wall.  

Lucy barely had time to walk back to the kitchen when a plate appeared on the shelf.  "Order up!" Sal's jovial voice reverberated through the walls.  Lucy grabbed the plate and walked it over, placing it gently in front of me.  The smell instantly hit my nostrils and I knew how it would taste before it even touched my tongue.  I lifted the sandwich to my lips and took a large bite.  

A million sensations skyrocketed across my palette. It was like being in love for the first time mixed with the excitement of Christmas Day as a child.  The bacon was perfectly crispy, breaking off at precisely the right moment and melting into the soft avocado before sending a tingle of bliss down my tongue.  The tomatoes tasted like they'd come right off a plant only moments ago, and the bread must have been home made.  This was EXACTLY why I went to places like this.  

Polishing every last morsel of my sandwich I stood rapidly.  "I have thank him" I said, pleading to Lucy to allow me access to the kitchen.  She smiled and held the swinging door open for me as I walked through the thick doorway.  The kitchen was empty.  I looked back at Lucy who gestured to the back door.  I quickly walked out and pushed it open.  It swung shut hard and I jumped a bit.  

The alley was dark, and Sal leaned up against the wall, smoking a cigarette.  "Those avocados were perfect, weren't they?" He asked, a hint of humorous wisdom in his voice. I nodded, about to pour out a sonnet of bacon and tomatoes when I stopped short.  The same man from earlier was approaching us.  In the fading light we could not see his face, but I instantly recognized the hobbling gait.  He moved slowly and deliberately, advancing on us with quiet resolve.  Sal, noticing my silence, looked over at the lurching figure and called out.  "Terry, is that you?" He approached the man and stretched his arms out to embrace him.  The man leapt on him like a cat, burying his teeth into the soft bend of his neck.  Sal screamed in pain and struggled to push the man away, but the bony hands sunk deep into his arms, gripping him like a vice.  Forcing him to the ground, the monster began to tear at him, using his bony fingertips to lacerate his flesh.  Sal screamed, calling for help, fruitlessly trying to combat the violent attack.  

Frozen in fear, I stood, watching the horrible scene, unable to act, unable to speak.  Within moments Sal stopped moving and the man stood, drenched in blood, and looked directly at me.  His eyes were caked with a yellow film, and he cocked his head to one side slightly as though he was listening for movement.  HI shifted my weight and he instantly moved my direction with a lumbering gait.  I grabbed the door handle, pulling hard.  It seemed to be locked.  I twisted rapidly, hoping that someone would hear my desperate attempts.  "Lucy!" I called out.  "Lucy please help!"  The man was almost on me, his tattered clothing dripping with Sal's fluids.  A gargle escaped his throat and I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.  

The door flew open and a hand pulled me inside, shutting the door behind us rapidly.  "Where's Sal?" Lucy called out, pulling my shoulders toward her.  I couldn't look her in the eyes, not after what I'd done.  I just stood there, frozen, unable to act.  Could I have saved him?  I don't know.  

The crash of glass echoed though the kitchen and I looked up.  Lucy didn't move, instead backing toward the door behind us.  "Wait, you can't..." I started, stopping when I saw the look of terror in Lucy's eyes.  I looked back toward the dining room and saw shadowy figures gathering outside the windows, their arms raised slowly, banging on the glass.