Location, Location, Location by Roy Dorman

When the sexual tension finally became just too much for him, Albert decided the only thing to do was to sell the house. He would rent a one-bedroom apartment downtown while he decided what to do next. He placed an ad in the real estate section of the local newspaper’s want ads that read:

For Sale By Owner:  Nice three-bedroom cape cod at 1130 Jackson Street.

Has attached garage and large backyard. Neighbor lady most often does her Saturday gardening naked.

Asking price is $175,000.

Call 555-3750 for appointment.

 

Saturday morning came and Albert was not at all surprised when he stepped out onto his back porch and saw ten or twelve men lined up along the fence that separated his lawn from his neighbor’s garden. There was quiet conversation going on and Albert supposed it was speculation as to whether they would or wouldn’t see his neighbor, Melissa Logan, naked. There was some shushing and then complete silence as Melissa stepped out of her back door carrying a hoe, dressed in a tight fitting lime green running suit with a matching lime green baseball cap. As she walked across her lawn to the garden, there was murmuring and muttering to be heard coming from those gathered along the fence. Melissa stopped as if noticing the group for the first time and looking over at Albert, gave him a theatrical shrug and an exaggerated look that said, “What’s this all about?”

Albert sighed, shrugged, and walked to his front yard where the “For Sale By Owner” sign was planted. He pulled it out and deposited it into his trashcan.

Later that afternoon, Albert was mowing the lawn in his backyard wearing only some grass stained sneakers. Two could play at this game. Mowing back toward the house from the far end of the yard, he saw Melissa come out her back door, naked, and start a series of cartwheels into the center of her yard. He left off mowing and applauded wildly, yelling encouragement to her. Melissa was distracted a bit by Albert’s applause and cartwheeled into a stump that was all that remained of an old elm that had been removed last year. Albert looked on in horror as he saw her slump to the ground with her neck at a very nasty looking angle. Running into the house, he called 911 and gave them a sparsely detailed version of what was going on and then quickly put on some clothes. He then retrieved the “For Sale By Owner” sign from his trash can. He replanted it where it had been and sat down on the curb to wait for the rescue squad.

When the emergency vehicle pulled up, Albert was startled to see that one of the EMTs, a young woman, wasn’t wearing any clothes. A twitching started in his right eye as he watched the EMTs load the lime green running suit-clad Melissa onto the rolling stretcher they had wheeled through the back gate.

© 2014 Roy Dorman

Roy Dorman is retired from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader for almost 60 years. At the prompting of an old high school friend, himself a retired English teacher, Roy is now a voracious writer. He has had poetry and flash fiction published recently in Burningword Literary Journal, Drunk Monkeys, The Screech Owl, Crack The Spine, and Lake City Lights, an online literary site that he has just agreed to be the submissions editor of at the request of its publisher.

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