The lady and the leaves

By Jess Knaus

With perky ears, a mild droop to her mouth and ginger wisp for hair, Mrs Jenkins’ was only a wet nose away from having the same face as her dog, Pooky. Every morning they jaunted around the same block, Pooky barking at the same dogs, Mrs Jenkins silently glaring at the neighbours she disliked. Side by side their walking was mirrored – a mild tilt to the left with very quick feet and paws, as if their stride simply wasn’t long enough for the path ahead of them.

Much to their dismay one morning they encountered an interrupted footpath – it seemed the Reeves family was laying down a new concrete driveway. One of the men laying it stood upright when he saw them approach and presented the palm of his hand faced forward, motioning them to stop.

‘Sorry ma’am, you’ll need to wander via the street, just laying a new driveway,’ he said politely but dryly.

‘Humph’, Mrs Jenkins gruffled, leading Pooky the long way round. She made a point to give each construction worker a pointed expression of distaste before trotting off on the rest of their walk. She would save some of her disgust for the Reeve’s themselves when they returned home.

Adding to her growing frustration, she made it home to discover not only was her driveway blocked by a large removalist truck, but the empty house next door was about to be inhabited, by a family. This family had a child, Ben, who stood cheerfully on the front grass. In one hand he held a plastic toy plane (his favourite) and in his soul he carried the most joyful spirit, something Mrs Jenkins despised in others.

‘Why must everyone be so merry all the time?’, she would ask Pooky, ‘it’s not as if it’s Christmas.’

The two of them wandered up their driveway, heading toward the back gate. Mrs Jenkins didn’t want to be seen, but Ben had a keen eye.

‘Hello,’ he said to her sweetly, ‘we’re going to be your neighbours. I’m Ben.’

Mrs Jenkins faked a smile, nodded and wandered off, leaving Ben a tad confused, but it didn’t dismay him greatly.

Days, weeks, months went by and the family next door carried on with their business. Ben attended school and the parents seemingly went to work. Mrs Jenkins carried on walking Pooky, watering the gardenias and raking the front lawn from the wretched leaves that fell. She’d meant to have some of the trees lobbed, but the quotes to do so had been beyond what she could afford. The best she could do was rake, rake, rake.

She was doing just that one afternoon when Ben appeared on his own front lawn, a yo-yo whizzing up, down and around his hands.

‘Would you like me to rake your leaves? Mum said I could ask you,’ he said innocently.

Mrs Jenkins was visibly irritated but Ben never seemed to pick up on it.

‘No thank you, I can manage,’ she replied pertinently. She carried on with her task, while Ben continued to talk.

‘I’d do it for five dollars a week’, he said. Mrs Jenkins scoffed at the thought, although she was mildly impressed with his confidence.

‘Five dollars, goodness, I can just do it myself–’

‘Alright then, four dollars,’ Ben replied, determined.

Mrs Jenkins continued to rake, ignoring his bargaining.

‘Fine, three–’

‘For goodness sake, fine! You can start tomorrow! Now will you leave me alone?’ barked Mrs Jenkins.

Ben smiled, entirely unperturbed. Tomorrow it was.

Mrs Jenkins set up the system without any instruction, and Ben picked it up. She left the rake leaning on the front side of the house each morning, and every afternoon after school Ben would rake. She would supervise from the nearby window, ensuring his work was of optimal standard. If his performance did not meet expectations she had every intention of ending the arrangement. Was only proper to teach the boy. She would leave his payment in the letterbox, which he dutifully collected at the end of the week.

But one afternoon Ben wandered home from the bus stop, only to realise Mrs Jenkins had not placed the rake where she usually would. Somewhat confused he looked around to see if perhaps it had been placed elsewhere, yet he could not find it.

From inside the house he heard Pooky barking, which was not uncommon, but it sounded more intense and strained than he had heard before. Unsure if it was alright, he decided he needed to check that Mrs Jenkins was ok. He opened the back gate and wandered toward her back door.

It was then he heard the very faint cry for help coming from inside the house. Instantly picking up speed he bolted through the back screen door toward the sound. Just up ahead he found Mrs Jenkins, alive, but injured. She had fallen down a small step and had a cut on her forehead. She was weak, and struggling for breath. 

Ben rushed to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. He had learned in scouts that if people are hurt you should offer them water, and the guidance had proved useful – Mrs Jenkins was very thirsty. While she drank he ran to the phone and called an ambulance.

Once the phone call was done and the ambulance was on its way, he found some water and food for Pooky, who had now calmed down but was getting anxious to eat. Mrs Jenkins was struggling to speak from the shock but tears filled her eyes as she tried to speak.

‘Thank you, dear boy,’ she managed. He smiled.

‘Of course, we’re neighbours,’ he said cheerfully.

The paramedics arrived within only a few minutes and took over from where Ben had left off. Mrs Jenkins was carted off to hospital and Ben wandered back down the driveway to his home.

Several days passed, and Ben had kept feeding Pooky, and wandering around the block with him after school. They made it back to the house after one particular walk to find Mrs Jenkins being transported home in a taxi. She was walking and well.

‘Hello dear boy, and my lovely Pooky,’ she said clearly and with a brightness Ben had never heard before, ‘how has it been without me?’.

‘Well, not quite the same, we missed you. But we are happy you’re back,’ he answered.

Mrs Jenkins wandered slowly inside and made a note to increase the amount she paid Ben the next week. Perhaps ten dollars, instead of three?

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Photo by Oliver Hihn.