Rules are Rules

Marjorie Marchand believed in order above all. Not everyone appreciated this trait—but it made her a perfect HOA president. Usually, walking past the rows of cream and beige vinyl-sided houses with their perfectly manicured chartreuse lawns filled Marjorie with peace. But today, her anxiety grew with each step closer to the Cleatons’ house. 

She averted her eyes from the red rocking chair where little Clara Cleaton had spent so many hours wrapped in that gaudy unicorn blanket. Neighbours and school friends had gathered around the frail girl like daisies leaning into the morning sun. Twice, Marjorie had to leave warning citations when the noise from the porch had reached unacceptable levels.

Today, she rang the bell twice before Charmaine Cleaton appeared. Dark shadows parked under her puffy eyes, cotton robe sagging on the sharp angles of her slumped shoulders. 

“What is it now?” 

“You’ve now ignored three warnings regarding your mailbox violation, so I have no choice but to issue this formal citation and fine.” Marjorie held out a piece of Sagewood HOA letterhead. “Payment must be made through money order. No cash or cheques.”

“You heartless bitch!” Charmaine Cleaton crumpled the paper and threw it at Marjorie. “Clara’s only been dead two months. Those ribbons were tied on by her classmates.”

            “Rules are rules! Even for you,” Marjorie replied, bending to pick up the paper, “The clauses around yard decor leave no room for interpretation.” 

“Fuck your rules!” Charmaine slammed the door shut, leaving Marjorie on the porch, crumpled notice in hand.

Marjorie was not a monster. She’d ignored the red chair until now, hadn’t she? Perching herself on the little rocker, she balanced her clipboard on her knee and began to write a warning that the chair did not meet the outdoor furniture colour requirements.

Sharp needles poked through her polyester slacks. Marjorie jumped up. The seat of the rocking chair was covered in slivers of shredded wood. Marjorie tossed the notices on the rocking chair and limped back to the sidewalk, desperate to return home and assess the damage. 

“Marjorie, you ok?” Bonnie Bader was tying another red ribbon to the Cleatons’ mailbox; there must be three dozen now, along with some of Clara’s favourite toys strewn on the lawn.

Frustrated and in pain, Marjorie snatched the ribbon from Bonnie. “Stop vandalizing the neighbourhood!” Marjorie shouted just as she caught her foot on a jumprope, rolled her ankle, and tumbled to the ground. 

  She reached out a bleeding hand to Bonnie, but the smiling woman just crouched down and whispered,  “It wouldn’t cost you anything to be a good person one time.” 

Marjorie gasped at Bonnie’s audacity, but before she could respond, the woman stepped over Marjorie and in a sweet voice, said, “You should probably go home and rest. Besides, you’re dripping blood on the sidewalk and I’m sure there’s some clause about that in your HOA handbook.” 

Marjorie leaned on the mailbox, pulling herself up. The faint sound of children’s laughter reached her on the breeze. Marjorie scanned the empty street, but all was exactly as it should be. She limped home, fuming about her treatment. Why live in a place like Sagewood if you can’t follow simple rules? Marjorie refused to feel guilty for upholding her presidential obligations. 

Relieved to reach her own pristine home, Marjorie immediately stripped off her pants to find the backs of her thighs covered in blood, oozing from dozens of puncture wounds. 

Tring-tring… tring-tring… She hobbled to the phone, grimacing at the trail of blood dripping onto her plush cream carpet.

M. Marchand flickered on the caller display. 

“Matty! Hello? Is that you, son?” A child’s high-pitched giggle tittered through the phone before the line went dead. Marjorie looked at the meticulously framed graduation portrait of her son above the mantle. She hadn’t heard from him in 14 years. Not since that terrible Janine got her claws into her boy and he decided the mother who’d sacrificed everything for him was ‘toxic’. Marjorie replaced the receiver, flinching at the pressure on her scraped hand.

The stained carpet filled her with rage; she needed to clean it soon, but now all Marjorie wanted was to slip her aching body into a steaming bath. She ran the water, hesitating for a moment before filling the tub up all the way.

            Two Tylenols and a glass of pinot later, Marjorie closed her eyes, hot water lapping at her chin. She dreamt of a young Matty sitting next to her on the couch, in his perfect Sunday suit. Dream Matty twisted and morphed into Clara, velvet ribbon knotted around what remained of her once-thick blonde hair.  The girl clung to Marjorie. Her body—frail from the cancer eating her bones—convulsed with sobs. Drip.. drip.. drip.. 

            Marjorie’s eyes popped open, and she pulled herself from the tub, catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Clara stood beside her. The pale girl untied the ribbon from her hair and looped it around Marjorie’s neck.

“Ms. Marjorie, you broke a rule.” Clara’s sing-song voice, punctuated with giggles, lowered to mimic Marjorie’s presidential tone. “Sagewood HOA ordinance 37.4 limits water use to eight inches in residential bathtubs.” 

The ribbon tightened. Marjorie’s hands flew to her throat, clawing to loosen the girl’s grasp. 

“Rules are rules, even for you, Ms. Marjorie.” 

            The bathroom blurred around the edges. The last thing she heard was the tinkling laughter of Clara Cleaton.

#         

Charmaine held a comically large pair of scissors. “Clara loved parks, and finally having one right here in Sagewood would’ve been her dream come true.”

“I’m thrilled to have Clara’s mom here to dedicate Clara Cleaton Park!” Bonnie Bader, the new HOA president, assisted as Charmaine sliced through the giant red ribbon.

 Dozens of laughing kids streamed past them to the jungle gym, swings, and monkey bars. “No speech for the Marjorie Marchand restrooms?” Charmaine whispered.

“HOA rule 67.8 allows for only one public gathering per day.” Bonnie smiled. “Marjorie always said Rules are rules!”