Roadside Talk of Gardening

"I just wanted to stop and ask if your daddy was okay," she said out the window of a late model Ford Explorer.

     The dog had just stopped to cop a squat. It whined a bit, also annoyed that our neighbor had taken this moment to pull over to the side of the road and ask about the family.

     "He died," I said. "Just after Thanksgiving."

     She pulled her robe tight against her chest with one hand. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Will you be doing anything?"

     "We had a small funeral over the weekend."

     "He was such a quiet guy. Always out in the yard. Busy busy busy. I'm sorry to hear that."

     The dog finished her business and pulled at the leash, eager to get on to smelling new and interesting things. A school bus passed by us, the neighbor in the car and me and the dog standing over a newly minted pile of shit.

     I said, "He'll be missed. Thank you for saying so."

     She let her hand free. I noticed she had on a blue bathrobe, yellow top underneath. No wedding ring as she waved her hand. "Of course. Y'all doing okay? We got a couple casseroles in the freezer I could bring over."

     "We're fine. Got a few from the church. But thank you."

     "He was always out there. We felt like we never did enough as him. He kept it all clean and nice. I’ll tell my husband. He’ll be sad about that. How long you in town for?"

     The sun was coming up now and a bit of dew on the grass and the pile of shit started to drift up into the humid air. More noise from the primary school down the street. The roar of buses. Laughter of children.

     "Til after Christmas. Get through the holidays."

     "My husband will be sad. He's offshore, gone a lot, and after I drop the kids off it's just me. I always saw your daddy out there raking or mowing or digging in the garden and thought 'I should do more.' He was inspiring. Are you gonna be out there?" She gave a broad smile, fingering the collar of the robe.

     I smiled and said, "I don't think I'll be out there as much as him. He was dedicated."

    "Well, I hope to see you. Tell your momma I'll stop by. Give y'all my number just in case. I'm in the house on the corner, the one with the yellow fence, you know."

    "I think that sounds good. We appreciate it."

     Another smile and she drove off. While I was picking up the crap in the gray bags I had for the occasion, I realized I had no idea the neighbor's name. Mom would know.