Fox on Rory

Williamsport, Pennsylvania

Jackson Lee stops his 1946 yellow Willys Jeep at the end of his driveway. He blows the horn as a hunter would use a horn on a fall fox hound in England to get the attention of hounds. The town homeless man Arnold stands there, urinating a long stream into the street. Jackson rolls down his window but he puts away his private, and goes on his way.
Before he rolls it back up he sees something red like an animal, moving in the hedge along the sewer grill. He hears a bark if a 50s doo wop singer made such a sound like doo wow wow wow wow.
On the front porch of the white cottage house he carries a bag of hamburgers, Taylor ham, hot sausage patties, and frankfurters from the German butcher over the bamboo rug. He carries it through their bamboo and stainless kitchen over the bamboo color laminate floor.
His wife Joanie runs sexily to him. She sticks her long nose into the big white bag.
“They’re all there.”
“Yes it all is but I’d like to repress the they if I’m going to lay the meat on the grill over the fire in the fireplace.”
“Tonight I’ll be modeling them honey.”
“Except the frankfurters. I’ll model a hot dog.”
She smiles sensually. He brings the bag out the bamboo French side door. As he steps on the brick pavers his back hurts. He wants to go to the patio inn front of the outdoor room in the shed behind the garage and lay on the chaise lounge in his gray North Face jacket.
But he promised Joanie that her Community Adopt a Pet Club’s annual Oktoberfest could be held in their backyard this year during the hard times. He carries the bag to the wooden blue painted wood table on the side of the red and white stone fireplace. He takes the burger patties out of the bag. He unwraps the deli tissue. He slaps the burger patties with the spatula onto the middle grill recessed in the stone and concrete. He brings out the frankfurters. He takes the tong and places them alongside the burgers. After taking out the Taylor ham and hot sausage patties, he uses the spatula again. He hears like roar soundbites, coming from the driveway.
A few minutes later, the club members walk into the yard, carrying salads and desserts. They go to the wooden picnic table. They set them on the blue vinyl tablecloth. In five minutes more the side door slams in a sound mixing with the roar of leaf blowers. Joanie walks into the yard. She carries a bowl of her own German potato salad. It smells of bacon and ginger. Jason cut the lawn before he left for the German butcher. It smells spicy with pieces of the last blades of the fall in a potpourri of grass and chopped leaves, fleeing from the leaf blowers of neighbors.
Next door Rory Flower rakes the leaves out of her hollyhock border. Joannie sets down her salad. She notices a red flat elongated object on the patio.
“There’s something on the patio.”
Rory keeps raking.
“Jackson could you check to see what that’s up on the patio?”
“Sure sweetheart.”
He sets down the spatula. “The burgers, dogs, and hot sausage are ready but the Taylor ham needs to cook a little longer.”
The club members go to the folding table at the back hedge of red burning bush. They take their paper plates and plastic utensils. They go over to the wooden table next to the fireplace and stab their meats, putting them on their plates.
“Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!” Jackson says.
A howl penetrates the crisp fall air. It seems to scatter the bits of leaves and grass in the air. They look over at the brick paver patio. A big red fox stands like a dog. Jackson walks up the hilly lawn to investigate.
“Don’t go away.”
He runs to the fireplace. He reaches over for the spatula. Joanie stands while the other club members watch from their seats at the picnic table, postponing their first bites. Their hold their hands, holding forks in the air over the salad bowls.
“The fox’s going to eat Jackson and he hasn’t made his will and did I mail his life insurance premium?”
Jackson runs back to the patio.
“Here boy!”
The fox comes to his feet. Joanie screams. He drops the Taylor ham. The fox takes it. She runs up the brick walk along the shed and garage onto the driveway past the Willys into the gutter and down the street into the hedges.
“Thanks for sharing Ray!” Arnold says.
Jackson runs next door. Joanie follows him with a glass of cinnamon apple cider. He holds up Rory by the shoulders on the ground. Joanie puts the glass to her lips. She wets them. Her eyes open.
“The fox changed into Mr. Lee!” Rory says. “It’s going to eat Mrs. Lee!”
“We’re the Lees,” Jackson says. “The fox’s gone.”
The wind blows bathe leaves off her pile back into the garden and on her legs. Joanie shakes her red house dress with her free hand. Jackson straightens her black front button cardigan.
“I’m going to call the animal control and have Berti bring it to the gas chamber!”
Rory’s black sweater always reminded Joanie of the Wicked Witch of the West alias Mrs. Gulch.
“The fox’s alright,” Jackson says.
“It eats my tomatoes.”
“I’m glad something can,” Joannie says.
“What did you say?!”
“It eats the bad ones that don’t ripen,” Jackson says.
“Aw!” she picks up her rake and walks to her side. She sets it against her red shingled house. “I’m raking it in.”
“That’s a good idea,” Joanie says.
Rory considers this but goes up her side steps and opens the side door to her enclosed side porch. She goes to the tan love seat. She sits down and picks up the latest issue of Entertainment magazine. She opens it turns to an article about some star. She starts, reading it.
“That’s where both Mr. Flower and our old neighbor Mr. Steer suffered their heart failures.”
“It’s a good chair for a man to stay off.”
Arnold comes into their yard. The Lees go back over to see what he wants.
“May I have another slice of Taylor ham maybe on a roll with a dab of ketchup and two cucumber pickles?”
“Since he said May I how about it?”
“Come with me by the burning bush.”
“I love campfires.”
“I love foxfire.”
Joanie giggles.