Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
The clubhouse swallows me into a beige-washed version of Fall. My nose wrinkles at the pungent artificial scent of cinnamon apple while harvest plaid bows and garlands of pastel silk leaves draped over every horizontal surface assault my eyes.
I let out an audible gasp when I see cream pumpkins.
Cream. Pumpkins.
It's like they managed to suck every ounce of Halloween out of Halloween, leaving behind this beige-washed nightmare.
Not a ghost, goblin, witch, or nary a jack-o'-lantern in sight.
The candy dish is filled with those little strawberry hard candies my grandma always kept in her purse instead of candy corn.
It's like Halloween Hell in here.
I tug at my Spooky Bitches shirt. I was brave when I pulled it on, but now I’m feeling so out of place. Exposed. Raw. I’ve never felt like more of an underdog than I do here at this moment.
With a shudder, I pass through the entryway and into the all-purpose room currently housing the emergency meeting. I sit in the last row between Dawn and Never.
Lois stands and proudly raps the gavel calling the meeting to order.
“She has a gavel? This really is preposterous,” I whisper out of the side of my mouth to Dawn, who snorts in reply.
“Welcome fellow Homeowners Association leadership members,” she says, bestowing a glowing smile on the people seated along the table she is presiding over. Her smile falls as she looks out over the crowd and says, “And…neighbors.”
When her eyes land on my face, hers goes stony.
“We are here today to discuss an amendment to the association rules as they pertain to holiday decorations outside of inflatables. While we certainly want everyone to,” she pauses as chooses her words, “express themselves, we must all do so in a manner that is respectful to our neighbors and our values as a community.”
Community values? This is exactly why I hadn’t wanted to purchase a home that had a HOA, but clearly I had lost that battle with my ex.
And now he’s gone, and here I am, staring down the very ramifications I had been concerned about—interfering, nosy busybodies sticking their bony little fingers into everyone's business.
She grimaces at the crowd in an attempt at a smile and then sits down. I see Never texting out of the corner of my eye, followed by an audible chant that goes up from the crowd outside.
“Hey, hey! Ho, Ho! That H O A has got to go!” drifts into the room.
Lois’s face undergoes an amazing transformation through every shade of pink, red, and magenta I’ve ever seen. She raps her gavel loudly on the table and grits out, “This is a closed meeting. It will be respectful and orderly, or everyone will be dismissed.”
Dawn stands next to me, gives a slight bow, and says, “Esteemed Madame Chairwoman of the venerable Autumn Acres hallowed Homeowner’s Association."
A wave of laughter passes through the crowd. Even some of the members seated up front laugh.
Dawn continues, “Could you please tell me, under the HOA charter, what section one point three paragraph four states?”
Lois’s face mottles and she huffs out, “Of course I can. It states that meetings should be open. But that doesn’t mean they have to be.”
Dawn raises a finger. “Actually, no. It states they, and I quote, shall be open to residents. You see, ‘shall’ is very different from ‘should.’ You are correct, if someone had used the word should, then it could go either way. But whoever wrote it used the word shall.”
Lois stands up, her chair screeching back in the process. “I wrote them.”
Dawn gasps, dramatically placing her hand over her heart. “You did? Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware. Then you clearly know the difference between should and shall, and your intent was for open meetings.”
Dawn sits down, a pleased smile on her face. She leans over and whispers without moving her lips, “I knocked her off her game. Go in for the kill.”
I stare back at her. There is no doubt in my mind that Dawn will not in fact be the next state Attorney General. She will be so much more.
“Let’s get on with this,” Lois grits out. “I propose an amendment to qualify that any individual holiday decoration, not just inflatables,” her mouth twists on the word showing her disapproval of said items, “be limited to a reasonable four feet in height.”
Pam throws her a simpering smile and raises her hand, then says, “I second that.”
Lois continues, “We will now open for community comments. Each speaker gets ninety seconds to make their point. You must state your name and address for the record. We have thirty minutes scheduled for comments.”
Almost every hand in the room shoots up and my heart sinks. We are never going to get to all of these comments, and I’m sure she will save mine for last, when we’re already out of time.
The first ten people are all clear allies of Lois’s. They each give a similar rehearsed statement about neighborhood values, property values, blah blah blah. But then I notice all the remaining hands in the air belong to the people we marched with.
The first one to be called on goes to the podium, states their name and address, followed by, “I yield my time to Tori Graves.”
As they walk back to their seat, Lois bellows, “You can’t do that.”
A quiet man at the end of the association table pushes his round glasses up his nose and says, “Actually, they can. It’s in the charter.”
Dawn gives me a smile and a nod. “Lois wrote the charter to favor herself. I’m just using it against her. She knew her friends would always make enough time for her to get her opinions out. Now we’re turning it against her.”
Several more people give the same statement until finally it's clear that Lois has no choice but to call on me.
I approach the podium at the front of the room, gripping the edges with sweaty palms. I had been so nervous to come up that I forgot my notes in my purse. No help for it now. I clear my throat and say, “Uh, hi. I’m Tori Graves.”
The microphone squeals, and everyone winces.
I adjust it and keep speaking. “So, I’m the one with the twelve-foot skeleton on Harvest Drive.
I know to all of you, he’s just a big plastic skeleton.
And when October is over and all the Halloween decorations are put away, you’re going to forget about all of this.
You’re going to forget about Mr. Bonejangles, and you’re going to forget about me. ”
“But to me,” I turn and spin in a circle, arm outstretched pointing out the crowd around me.
“To all of us,” I correct, “Mr. Bonejangles represents the true meaning of Halloween. Fun. It’s the one day a year you can be anything.
Be anyone. And if candy and jack-o’-lanterns and witches and goblins, and hell, even twelve-foot skeletons bring a person or a community joy, then why is that wrong?
Because the joy is too big? The fun is too much?
Cause I’m going to be real honest right now.
Y’all look like you could use some fun up there. ”
The crowd laughs along with me while the board looks increasingly uncomfortable.
My voice is stronger now. Emotion and truth fuel my words, and the crowd is hanging on every one. I feel the energy in the air shift to favoring me.
“And if you can’t recognize that, then honestly? I’m sad for you. The world is crazy. Life is hard enough. Can’t we just make it a little bit better for all of us? A little more fun?”
I look each of them in the eyes, saving Lois for last. “Thanks for your time.”
I retreat to my seat to a standing ovation and the crowd outside chanting, “We love Tori. We love BJ.”
Lois raps her gavel to call the room to order as her eyes blaze with derision at the double entendre. “All those in favor of the new height limit?”
Seven hands shoot into the air. Every board member except the man with the round glasses who had dared to speak up earlier.
Lois glares daggers at him and says, “Those opposed?”
He meekly gives a little half salute.
An evil smile stretches her thin lips making her face appear more skeletal than BJ’s. She declares with glee, “We have an amendment.”
The crowd erupts into chaos, Lois bangs her stupid gavel repeatedly, but I stand, waving both arms in the air.
“Wait!” I cry, but no one can hear me. “Wait!”
Dawn gives a shrill whistle beside me and the chaos ceases.
I dig a paper out of my purse and wave it in the air.
“This is my mixed occupancy permit for the photography studio I have at my home. I hereby declare that Mr. Bonejangles is not a decoration. He is a business asset that I use for my photos. I already advertised it, and as we speak, there are people waiting for their sessions. Therefore he doesn’t fall under holiday decorations as he will be up year round. ”
The silence in the room is deafening as I repeat, “Year. Round.”
It’s all I can do to hold back from dropping an invisible mic. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to play this card. It's my hail Mary, a desperate last ditch attempt to save Mr. Bonejangles. And I’m not sure if it will work or not.
Lois’s face drains of all color, and her eyes roll back in her head as she faints. The board members scramble to their feet and rush to her aid.
I take that as a sign it does indeed work.
While the other members crowd around her form on the floor, the quiet man with the round glasses still sitting at the end speaks up. “Well, I guess that’s that.”
He throws me a quick wink, and a smile spreads across my face.
Dawn sweeps me into a hug and squeals into my ear, “Tori! You are a Spooky Bitch!”
We laugh and hug and then I let the crowd sweep me out along with them and back to my house. The way back is full of laughs and cheers. So many strangers-turned-friends want a fist bump or a high five. People are asking about the photo shoots with him and if I set up a Go Fund Me yet.
And although the smile stays plastered to my face and I answer their questions enthusiastically, a small piece inside of me is just a little sad that it isn’t just the two of us anymore. Now it’s me and BJ and the HOA and the Spooky Bitches and and and….
Although I want to be selfish and keep him to myself, I’m also still grateful for this incredible outpouring of support.
So when we reach the house, I open the gate, and my yard is filled with an impromptu party.
I guess the sunglasses and mardi gras style beads had been the right choice for BJ today, because now they fit right in.
Before too long, someone rolls a keg into the yard, and boxes of pizza show up. I keep my protective spot standing between BJ’s feet as people bring me food and red solo cups full of warm beer.
My mind is still reeling at the whiplash from standing alone at my kitchen sink to partying with a few hundred new friends. Just as I’m trying to think of how I can get some alone time and convince everyone it’s time to go home, flashing lights announce the return of the cops.
The same two officers from earlier peer over the gate, shining their flashlights at the crowd. Before things can get out of hand, I walk over to intercept them.
“Evening officers. What can I do for you?” I say.
They both look relieved to see me instead of Dawn. The older one says, “Ma’am. It’s ten at night, and your neighborhood does have a noise ordinance.”
I give him a grateful smile. “No problem, officer. We were just wrapping up.”
He tips his hat at me and leaves.
I spin around and spy Dawn in the crowd. I wave her over and say, “Hey, I hate to be a party pooper but it's time to wrap things up.”
“No problem, spooky sister.” Raising the bullhorn she announces, “Come on people. Next stop, 128 Orchard Lane!”
She leads them out like the pied piper, and outside of a few solo cups, I’m impressed at how little the crowd leaves behind. I walk over to BJ and slide my back down his leg to sit between his feet.
“Finally, now that we’re alone, I can tell you what happened,” I say with a jaw-splitting yawn. I lie down so I can look up at him with the starry sky behind him. “What a view.”
I tell him everything that transpired over the past few hours, my yawns coming more often while my blinks are slower. And even though the crowd is gone and it’s just me and Mr. Bonejangles, I don’t feel alone at all.