Broody Mr. Baker

Mr. Baker used to be friendly. Now I'm not so sure...

Broody Mr. Baker

I don't know what to think about Mr. Baker. He has always been a kind and very pleasant neighbor. I've only lived next door for a few months, but he's always been friendly and approachable. He doesn't complain about our occasionally obnoxious dog, who thinks he is a cat and should be able to climb the fence to chase the squirrels. I've never even thought twice about letting my kids go over by themselves to ask if they can retrieve a rogue frisbee from his backyard. But now, I'm not so sure.

For the past week, I've noticed Mr. Baker sitting on his back porch. All day. From sunrise to sunset. Seeing Mr. Baker sitting out on his porch is not necessarily out of character. He has been known to sit out there in the morning while he enjoys his coffee. Or take in a little vitamin D in the afternoon while he reads his mail. But not anymore. Now he just sits there and broods. All day. He doesn't wave. If I holler a greeting over to him, he doesn't appear to hear it. He is lost in his anger.

If that weren't bad enough, as he sits there, he just stares out at his storage shed that sits in the back corner of his property. At first, I wasn't sure if that's what he was looking at. But there is no doubt. Something in that storage shed has him very angry.

It's not a large structure. As I sit and watch him, I try to imagine what it could be? He couldn't have much more than his push mower and a few tools inside the structure. It's nothing fancy. It has no electricity and is made of plastic, like the type they often sell at the large home improvement box stores.

My mind races as I imagine what it could be. What could possibly have completely changed the behavior and personality of this previously kind and friendly old man? I've seen all the true crime shows about horrible neighbors or people who do terrible things that shock everyone around them. I try not to let my mind go there...but I just can't help myself.

Could there be a body? No, that's not possible, right? After a week, it would certainly have started to smell. But I can't shake the feeling. Since he sits out there all day, I wait one night until after dark to creep over into the corner of my own yard near his shed to see if I can discern any foul odors.

Nothing.

As I sheepishly turn to return to my home, now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I suddenly realize he's still sitting there. What the hell is going on?

The following day, I notice that Mr. Baker actually left his house. I haven't seen him go anywhere for at least a week. I know that now is the time and I must take action. I run to the kitchen and pull everything I need out of the pantry. There is no time to spare. As quickly as possible, I whip together a batch of his favorites: oatmeal raisin cookies.

I am relieved to see he has not returned by the time I pull them out of the oven. I prepare a plate and then sit at my front window and wait.

About 30 minutes later, I see Mr. Baker's car turn onto our street.

Gotcha! You're not going to be able to ignore me this time...

I leave my front door just as he is turning into his driveway. And then, I ambush him.

"Hi, Mr. Baker! You seem to have been down lately, so I wanted to bring you a treat. It's your favorite!"
For the first time in what seems like forever, a weak smile creeps onto his face.

"Thank you, dear...that is so sweet. I'm so sorry I have been out of sorts."

"Do you want to talk about it? I'd love to help if I can."

"Well..." he says, hesitantly, "It's Mrs. Baker."

Oh my God, it IS a body! Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm...

"I didn't realize there was a Mrs. Baker." The confusion on my face is evident.

"Well, there isn't. Not anymore. She was a horrible, hateful woman."

I stand there in stunned silence, not really certain how to respond.

"She's dead, you know?"

"Well, I suspected as much," and glanced towards the storage shed.

"You're right. She's in there."

OhmyGod! OhmyGod! OhmyGod!

"We divorced almost 10 years ago. I gave that woman everything. You want to know how she repays me?"

I don't think I want to know...why do I ALWAYS have to butt in to everything?

"With her ashes."

It takes my brain a few moments to process what he said. "Her ashes?"

"Yes. Stupid woman had no family to speak of. She died last week and left her stupid ashes to me. I'm sure it was her way to get the last word. Dumb bitch."

I can't help myself. I start laughing hysterically. "I'm so sorry," I try to say as I'm gasping for air.

Before I know it, Mr. Baker begins laughing also.

"You know what's even funnier?" he asks. "I put her urn in the storage shed because she hated it so much. That's what she gets. Who has the last word now?"

By now I have fully lost control of my senses. We are both doubled over in hysterics.

Just then, the bus drops my kids of from school. They ran over to us, excited to see the plate of cookies. "Why are you guys laughing like crazy people?" my daughter asked.

"Oh, don't worry about," I said. "It's just because Mrs. Baker is in the storage shed. Here...have a cookie."

They give us a weird look, then each grab a cookie and run to our house.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Baker!" I said as I walk back towards my front door.

"Thank you," he chuckled, carrying the plate of cookies. "For everything."