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Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter
© 2003
Bird Woman’s Artistic Urges

“Where were you?” Manager Dave asked.

“Anger Management.”

Dave and Tony laughed a conspirator’s laugh.

“Um. You know. The movie.” I said, shaking my head.

“Oh.” They laughed again.

“I know. I know. I wasted a dollar.”

Tony shook his head. “You missed it.”

“What?”

Dave nodded. “Yup. You missed it. Look at his truck.”

The maintenance man’s windshield had huge spider cracks in it that creped out from a central hole.

“Accident? Drunk driver? Pot hole? Blind bird?”

They laughed again. “Nope. Your crazy neighbor did it.” Dave giggled.

“She’s totally loony.” Tony added.

Yeah. So. While I was watching an awful movie about Anger Management, my neighbor, whom I had affectionately named “Bird Woman” cause she’s so damn flighty, attacked this guy’s windshield with a hammer. They say that there was no apparent reason for the attack, but I’m thinking that it might have been some form of twisted artistic expression.

“Where’d she get the hammer from?” I asked as I ran my fingers over the cracks.

“Her car.”

“Do YOU keep a hammer in your car?” I asked, quickly.

“No.” Dave laughed.

“I keep a baseball bat in mine.” I said, examining the crack. But not for sports. My dad gave it to me years ago to swing at anyone who might try to mess with me while trying to change a flat tire.”

“Great idea.”

“I would NEVER try to change my flat.” I said, insulted. “A hammer?” The Beatles song about the guy with the silver started running through my head.

I left the men downstairs to wait for the police. I tiptoed past her door on the way to my apartment. A hammer? In her car? Just in case she wanted to attack a windshield?

The police banged on her door for half an hour before they got a key and let themselves in. She claimed to be on her way into the shower. She made them wait outside another half an hour before they let themselves in again and gave her a summons to appear in court. It’s good to know that hammering on windshields doesn’t go unnoticed in Denver.

I had tried to find out her story, when she moved in four months ago. “So. Where are you moving from, neighbor?” I said, invitingly.

“Westminster.” She shouted as her door slammed shut.

One day she caught me while I was waiting out front. I was dressed in short shorts and a tank top.

“You’d better cover up.” She warned.

“Is it cold out?” I asked naively.

“It’s sunny. You’ll burn to a crisp.”

I laughed. “I’ve been stuck inside writing all week. Ralph’s taking me on a picnic so I can get a little sun. Don’t worry.” I smiled. “I promise to find a bit of shade too.”

She stared open mouthed as I jumped into the car and we sped away.

The next day my subconscious kept alerting me that my tea pot was boiling. Yeah. I know. I don’t have a tea pot. I started wondering about the ‘Bird Woman’ nickname I had given to her. Cause. The noise coming from her apartment next door sounded like lots of birds screeching. Later the manager told me that she had left the water running full force, then denied it.

Um. Was that her way of getting me back for not wearing sunscreen? By leaving the water running full force so it makes that screeching noise ALL DAY LONG? Because. You know. I’m well aware that my hour in the sun will give me wrinkles. Isn’t that enough punishment? I needed to hear screaming water all day too?

My other neighbor, a twenty four year old, cute-guy has been plagued by Bird Woman visits over the last four months.

“Holly. She knocked on my door again all day.”

“What’d you do?”

“I finally opened it.”

“WHY?”

“I thought maybe she was in trouble.”

“Was she?”

“No. She wanted to give me some food.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you eat it?”

“No. But. I don’t know what to do. She told me that she is learning how to give massages at some institute in town. And. She has signed me up for a free massage.”

“Oh.” I laughed. “She needs some nice young flesh in her fifty year old hands. That ought to be wonderful!”

“Yeah.” He sulked. “For her.”

“Why didn’t you say no?”

“She wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh. That is going to be a GREAT massage.” I laughed. “Just imagine those long wrinkled fingers caressing your BARE skin.”

“I’m not going.”

Yeah. I phoned him. Cause isn’t that what neighbors are for? You know. Taunting?

“Hey. Did you hear about your girlfriend?”

He hesitated. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“You know. You know. My OTHER neighbor.”

“Oh.” He whined. “No fair. I refuse to be linked to the Bird Woman.”

“Too bad. Hey. Did you know that she knows how to use a hammer?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m thinking maybe you better put a note on her door about not wanting that massage… then hibernate till the end of the month when she’s moving out.”

“Good idea.”

“And…” I added. “Do you know that Beatles song about the guy with the silver hammer?”

“Yeah.”

“If I were you…” I laughed. “I might start wearing a helmet on the way to the parking lot. You know. In case she gets any more artistic urges before then.”

Wanna try another column? How about #166 That's Not Disco which is about a grown-up's roller skating party. Um. Remind me... no more skating for a bit, ok?

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