35
It doesn’t take long for me to see the issue because the street I have to go down shows the big hole and the broken wood panels in the fence where the deer had blasted its way through.
That definitely had to be a buck.
As a matter of fact, judging from the way it looks, I would almost believe that it was a whole moose that went through it.
Going through the front with my tool bag, I ring the doorbell and wait for someone to show up. Through the little stained glass rectangles on the sides of the door, I can see someone making their way to the door, and it’s Sister Aaliyah who opens it.
“Brother King! Thank you so much for showing up,” she says with a bright smile, her hair in a puffy Afro as she leans forward to hug me. Hugging her as well, I feel my tool bag clinking as I do.
Aaliyah’s mother, a slightly older version of her that still looks young enough to be her older sister, comes to the door also and smiles at me, reaching out to shake my hand in a friendly and inviting gesture. Shaking her hand too, I then get to work on the fence.
Walking around to the damaged section, I set my tool bag down and start by pulling out the broken panels and twisted wire.
The deer had smashed straight through several posts, splintering the wood and bending the metal. Measuring the gap, I cut new pressure-treated boards to fit and secure them with fresh screws and brackets. Replacing the torn wire mesh, I stretch it tight and staple it firmly into place.
By the time I finish leveling the posts and reinforcing the whole section, the fence looks solid again, like the deer never came through.
Aaliyah and her mother bring me cold water and thank me repeatedly while I work.
The physical labor feels good. It keeps my hands busy and my mind from drifting too far.
After fixing the fence for a while, I pull out the broken panels and twisted wire, then remove the splintered posts.
I measure the gap carefully, cut new pressure-treated boards to the right length, and set them in place.
Using fresh screws and brackets, I secure the boards firmly to the remaining structure.
Next, I stretch the new wire mesh tight across the section and staple it securely into the wood.
Finally, I level the posts and add extra reinforcement brackets so the whole section stands solid and straight again. It takes me about an hour and a half to finish everything.
Then I survey my handiwork.
Aaliyah’s mother’s yard has nice green grass with a little garden closer to the house, a small stone fountain in the middle, and now, her big, almost seven foot tall wooden fence around it is once again restored.
As the sky starts to darken, Aaliyah comes out with a glass of cold water.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling at Aaliyah as I continue working.
“It looks beautiful already,” she replies.
I smile back. I’m grateful to have something to do.
When I finish, Aaliyah and her mother come out to look at the fence.
“It looks even better than before,” Aaliyah’s mother says. “Thank you so much, Brother King. We really appreciate this.”
“Yes, it’s perfect now,” Aaliyah adds. “You did such a good job.”
“It’s no problem,” I reply. “Glad I could help.”
Her mother tries to hand me some money. “Here, please take this for your time and materials.”
“No, please don’t do that,” I say. “It would be very insulting to me.”
“Well, at least please stay for dinner,” her mother insists. “Please, King.”
“I’m all dirty,” I tell her.
“No, please. If you want, I can give you a shirt, but please stay for dinner. Don’t insult me.”
I smile at that. Her mother smiles back.
Finding myself at dinner with them, I sit around the table with plates clinking softly as we pass food. Aaliyah’s sister is there too. I’m not sure if she’s younger or older than Aaliyah, but she’s just as beautiful, with a little lighter complexion than Aaliyah but still darker than Erica.
We small talk and talk about God. A part of me feels guilty as we all chat at the table. The sister, who seems a little more reserved, mentions that her church is having this big theater thing. The conversation settles down as the mother mostly carries it.
Watching the cute little banter between the mother and her daughters, I wonder where Aaliyah’s father is in all of this, but I don’t want to ask and be nosy. Nobody offers the information.
The last time I heard Aaliyah mention anything about her father was that he used to be a truck driver, but she never said anything else.
I know how it is when it comes to fathers, I never knew my own, so I don’t take it upon myself to ask about anyone’s father unless they share that information.
As a matter of fact, for me it was always a sore spot when people would ask,
“So what about your father? Isn’t he in the picture?”
I would just stare at them with barely held-back rage, as if they thought they were better than me just because they had fathers. The male figure I had in my life I don’t count as much of one. Anyway, I’m grateful to God because God is the only Father I need.