Life in the Burbs

It was raining last night when I took the trash can to the curb. I took the can down and left it in the normal place. I get wet in the process. No big deal. As I turned and headed back to the garage, a small sports car pulled up and parked in front of my neighbor's house. This is not abnormal. I did not recognize the little white rag top. The car just sat there for a long time. I made an effort to be noticed standing in the mouth of my garage and keeping an eye on the street.

A minute or so after the car pulled up, a man, that I believe was someone I have noticed at my neighbor's house before, walked up towards my driveway from Westheimer's direction in the rain. He seemed upset. He shouted something like "... Going to fuck-up my shit!" and ran from my road, beside my house, along the fence line. I do not know where he went from there. He sounded stressed.

Now I was determined to be noticed paying attention to the antics unfolding in front of me. A couple minutes went by and someone got out of the little white coop and got something out of the trunk I believe. Maybe it was the other seat. He was standing there in the rain like he was wondering what to do next.

I went inside.

I have suspected that there is a body buried in our backyard ever since meeting the past owner. I think she buried her husband out there. Now, I wonder if our neighbor has followed suite. Remember the movie "The Burbs"? I'm feeling the weirdness. I waited to see if the guy would throw the thing in the neighbor's trash can and smash it down with a shovel.

I'm tempted to peak over the fence and look for fresh dug up spots. The truth is, I don't want to know. Just like I do not want to know if we indeed have a previous owner in the still taking up residence in the back forty.