Next-Door Nemesis

A good Michigan joke always lands in Ohio. I’m pretty sure it’s the state’s unofficial icebreaker. So when not a single person chuckles—outside of the brownnoses on the board (cough Nate cough)—I know these are my people. We’re all sick of the HOA’s shit and they’re going to be eating out of the palm of my hand by the time I’m finished with them tonight.

Of course, Mr. Bridgewerth is not deterred. I have to imagine, with a personality like his, he’s well accustomed to open hostility and resentment.

“Most importantly, I know gardening is all the rage, according to the internet.” His words drip with condescension and the whispers turn to groans. “But the Instagram doesn’t dictate the Reserve at Horizon Creek. If you’d like to alter the aesthetic of your home in any manner, including landscaping, you must first seek board approval by going through the steps we have laid out on the HOA website.”

At this point, an older gentleman a couple of rows in front of us can’t hold back his frustration anymore.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud! When I bought this house, we didn’t even have an HOA!” He doesn’t stand up, but Mr. Griffin’s wild hand gesturing allows everyone in the room an easy view of who’s speaking. “Carol, God rest her soul, assured us that if we approved an HOA, you’d just increase amenities and keep the community organized. We were told you’d never try this Big Brother government crap you’re always pulling on us. Now, pardon my language, but if my Alice wants to plant new flowers, she should damn well be able to without asking for your permission.”

Applause explodes around us and the previously sleepy room is bursting with energy only shared anger can provide. Now, this is what I came for!

Mr. Bridgewerth doesn’t react, but Nate begins to nervously fidget beside him. His eyes shift around the room but never meet mine.

“That’s right!” a familiar face I can’t quite put a name to shouts, waving a piece of paper over his head. “I got this letter last week because I washed my car in the driveway.”

“And I was fined because my daughter spent the weekend with me and her car was parked in the street for too long,” Mrs. Long complains.

I don’t attempt to hide my gleeful smile. The louder the crowd grows, the more uncomfortable Nate becomes. At this point, he looks like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. It’s glorious.

“Order!” Mr. Bridgewerth slams the gavel against the table. “If you want to speak, you will be given time at the end of the meeting to raise your concerns in an orderly and organized manner. However, before we get to that portion of the meeting, I have something to announce that wasn’t on the agenda.”

Since this is my first—and likely last—HOA meeting, I don’t realize going off the agenda is a big deal until I see the heads of the other board members snap toward Mr. Bridgewerth with wide eyes and matching confused expressions.

Nate’s bright-red ears can be seen from my spot across the room, and even Janice’s permanently pinched face seems tighter than normal. Curiosity causes me to lean forward in my chair, anticipating what Mr. Bridgewerth could possibly say.

“As you all know, I took on the position of the homeowners’ association board president with the utmost dedication and commitment.” He places the gavel on the table before pushing out his chair and standing up to address the room. “However, it’s with both great sadness and excitement that I inform you that I’m moving to sunny Florida at the end of the week. And so, it’s with a heavy heart that I must announce my resignation from the board, effective immediately.”

“Oh shit!” I don’t mean to swear, but talk about a twist I didn’t see coming.

Luckily for me, my mom won’t get an earful about my language because I’m not the only one unable to contain my reaction. The room erupts in a flurry of commotion.

Ashleigh and I sit, gobsmacked, as everyone around us shoots out of their seats, hurling question after question to the front of the room. Mr. Bridgewerth is still standing, motioning for the crowd to relax, while the rest of the board stares at him with undisguised confusion and frustration.

After who knows how many minutes of continuous yelling and bordering-on-obscene hand gestures, Mr. Bridgewerth has had enough.

He grabs the weathered gavel and slams it against the table so hard, I’m shocked it doesn’t splinter.

“Enough!” His voice cuts through the room. “One at a time or not at all! This isn’t elementary school. Please, use some decorum or this meeting will end now.”

When I told Ashleigh there’d be fireworks, even I didn’t think it would be this eventful. Nobody seems prepared for the wild turn of events tonight, least of all the involved community members filling up Conference Room 2 in the Reserve at Horizon Creek clubhouse.

While my neighbors aren’t pleased, his warning takes hold. The yelling over one another comes to an end. Those with questions, concerns, or both take turns standing up and airing their grievances to the room.

“The letter I received said I needed to bring it to the board within two weeks in order to dispute,” a middle-aged woman with fantastic highlights says from behind us. “If your resignation is effective immediately, then will there be a pause on our ‘violations’?” She uses air quotes around the word violations and I automatically appreciate her and her artistic choices. “How will things be decided until a new president is appointed?”

Echoes of “yeah” and very earnest murmurs of “what she said” travel around the room. I attended tonight with the sole desire to heckle Nate and cause him to squirm in front of an audience, but I can’t help but feel bad for him. It’s obvious that he was completely taken by surprise with this announcement. I’d be furious if I was on the receiving end of all this vitriol because Mr. freaking Bridgewerth didn’t communicate his plans with me.

“Thank you for your question,” Mr. Bridgewerth starts before settling into his seat. “After tonight, Nathanial Adams will be the interim board president. Because of certain bylaws, we must hold an election before that can be made official. You will all receive information on how to cast your vote soon.”

I’m not sure if being a writer with a minimal amount of friends failed to tip anyone off, but I’m not big on peopling. I much prefer the sheets to the streets and would happily spend all my days curled up in bed with a good book or binge-watching my new favorite show.

My involvement in causes I care about usually ends at a standard donation of funds. Tonight is the closest I’ve ever come to participating in an uprising. Sitting in a room as mild-mannered suburbanites unleash their wrath has made me feel more alive than I’ve felt since my world came crashing down around me.

So maybe that’s why, upon hearing that Nate—the person least in need of extra power—is going to get promoted to president, I’m on my feet before I can think better of it.

“Will you also be sending out information on how to run for HOA president?” I ask into the madness.

The room goes silent as all attention shifts to me.

Including Nate’s. He scowls.

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