After leaving town with groceries in her rear-wheel bicycle baskets, an elder, Ms. Neddleton, again soon found peddling up the steep incline on the way home too difficult. Just before rolling backward, she clutched the handlebar, slid off the seat, then pushed her rust-covered sole means of transportation uphill.
Near the top of the rise, a gal riding a tractor-style mower shut off the engine and called to her neighbor. “Ms. Neddleton, hold on!”
Ms. Neddleton halted her trudging, ran a hand through a crop of white hair, then turned toward the approaching fortyish woman, Babet, while wiping sweat from forehead with a forearm. Because she’d never exchanged more than a brief wave with the woman, Ms. Neddleton, who greatly valued her privacy, was wary.
“Guessing your mower is on the fritz, I’m wondering if you’d let me see if my new toy is as good as it’s supposed to be by allowing me cut your grass with it?” cordially offered Babet.
“You’re politely telling me my property needs upkeep. I’ll get to it,” assured Ms. Neddleton.
“I could get to it this afternoon,” pressed Babet.
“Again, thanks, but no thanks,” answered Ms. Neddleton while turning away.
“The truth is I’m not the only one concerned,” continued Babet. “You see, as a member of the town council, I’ve had to listen to grumbling neighbors and realtors worried about property values sinking.”
Ms. Neddleton turned back to the woman. “But my cottage is on a neighborless stretch of road,” she pointed out.
“People take notice when they ride by. Whataya say I follow you home on my mower,” suggested Babet.
“What are the griping faultfinders planning on doing, having me thrown in jail?” asked an annoyed Ms. Neddleton.
“There’s a hefty fine on the books. It’s a battle you can’t win!” warned Babet.
Ms. Neddleton shook her head, then begrudgingly gave her assurance. “It’ll be taken care of soon!”
A string of career disappointments, a divorce and, most devastating, the loss of her only child due to a drug overdose had left Ms. Neddleton feeling sure she preferred to remain detached from the world. I won’t be left alone unless I cut the dang grass, she privately fussed as she began the peddling-free glide home.
Feeling pressured, Ms. Neddleton began a three-step grass-cutting process soon after grabbing a bite to eat. First, she swung a weed cutter—a double-edged blade with a three-foot wooden handle—over a section of front lawn. Next, she raked what was slashed out of the way in order to tackled an even more toilsome task: pushing a motorless hand mower over the portion of grass she’d crudely chopped.
After two hours under a sweltering summer sun, a sweat-soaked Ms. Neddleton hadn’t stopped to rest. Having to steer the mower over the same patch of ground three or four times to complete a small section meant progress was very slow.
During one of her hardy shoves forward, a twig jammed the blades, prompting Ms. Neddleton to come to an abrupt stop. After unsuccessfully trying to snap the wood with a forceful thrust, aching arms fell to sides as legs wobbled. Swaying while leaning against the mower’s handle, she tried in vain to remain standing. Falling to knees, she closed eyes and flopped onto her back.
With no idea how much time had passed, Ms. Neddleton opened eyes and found herself looking up at far more than blue sky. Seeing two sleepy-eyed fury animals hovering over her as if about to introduce themselves, she laid still, too taken aback to rise. With curiosity complementing astonishment, she eventually managed a half-serious question: “Angels or aliens?”
Further surprising the elder, a girl, 12 or so, standing behind the animals spoke. “Neither,” answered the youngster.
Propping herself onto her elbows, Ms. Neddleton spotted the girl. “I’m joking,” said Ms. Neddleton as she struggled to her feet, then took a staggering step backward.
“Better lean against something,” said the girl, wearing jeans, sneakers, a red shirt and blue ball cap.
“That’s good advice,” said Ms. Neddleton as she shuffled to her front door stoop, plopped down and leaned against a metal railing.
“Need help?” asked the girl as she and two llamas moved closer to Ms. Neddleton.
She must be a bumkin of sorts, thought Ms. Neddleton. “No. What’s your name?” asked the elder.
“I’m a kid,” answered the girl with a shrug.
“A kid is what, not who, you are,” noted Ms. Neddleton.
“My friends have names. The brownish one on the right is Touche. She’s somewhat of a know it all. The whitish one on the left is Fussy. As you might guess, she’s a fussbudget,” shared the girl.
“I have a fond childhood memory of petting llamas at a zoo,” recalled Ms. Neddleton as she stood to gently stroke each of her four-legged visitors. “They must be fun to ride.”
“Riding them wouldn’t seem right. We always walk or run side by side,” said the girl.
“You must be new to the neighborhood,” assumed Ms. Neddleton.
“I understand why you’d think that,” answered the stone-faced girl.
Again perplexed by the girl, Ms. Neddleton became concerned. “Your parents know where you are, right?” she asked.
“My buddies and I are here to help you wrap up,” replied the girl.
“Wrap up?” wondered Ms. Neddleton.
“I suppose some people scoot quickly, while others tidy up first,” answered the girl.
“Where would I run to?” asked Ms. Neddleton.
The girl smiled, then headed for the mower in order to take over grass-cutting duty. Touche and Fussy, meanwhile, strolled toward a section of high grass, where they began munching.
“What’s the charge?” asked Ms. Neddleton.
“A drink of water. . . . We’ll finish the front lawn this afternoon, then do the backyard tomorrow, OK?” replied the girl before getting the painstaking patch-by-patch work underway.
“A drink of water isn’t pay,” answered Ms. Neddleton before leaving to fill a bucket for the llamas and a jug for the girl.
After returning with the water, Ms. Neddleton again sat on her stoop. A few seconds later, following a huge yawn and stretch, she leaned against her front door and fell asleep. Waking up some time later, she found her front lawn cut and her helpers nowhere to be found.
Later in the day, after finding she was out of needed medication, Ms. Neddleton again set out for town. On her way back from picking up the pills, she again let her bike glide to a stop on the incline that brought her past Babet’s property.
Out trimming her driveway with her gas-powered weed-whacker, Babet shut off the noisy gadget, then marched to the side of the road. “I can be quite a pest when a get a bee in my bonnet. How about letting me look like a do-gooder who oughta remain on the town council by letting me mow your place?”
“No need. The front lawn’s been mowed, and the back yard will be attended to tomorrow. . . . I had three helpers show up. A girl and her munching chums. I’m hoping to have our new neighbors over on a regular basis,” informed Ms. Neddleton.
Babet folded arms. “Please tell me those munching chums aren’t livestock.”
“Just two lovable llamas,” said Ms. Neddleton.
“Llamas! We have an uninformed resident that’s gonna have to be given a written notice,” declared Babet.
“What’s the big deal?” asked Ms. Neddleton.
Babet had a bad-news answer. “No livestock within town limits. What direction did the trio come from or head to?”
Feeling protective of the girl and llamas, Ms. Neddleton let her bike fall against her hip as she folded arms. “What you’re saying doesn’t make sense! How can it be OK to use horribly loud, air-polluting gas mowers, weed-whackers and leaf-blowers, but wrong to use four-legged docile grass chewers?”
Babet wasn’t sympathetic. “Livestock devalues property. There’s no way the town council is gonna change the zoning,” she insisted!
“Give me a few days to meet the girl’s parents, and then try to help them find a county farm, where the animals can board. There’s gotta be a pasture nearby—one the girl can visit,” insisted Ms, Neddleton.
“You’ve got three days!” said Babet.
Wanting to quickly make plans with the girl’s parents, Ms. Neddleton peddled the neighborhood streets in search of the girl and llamas. To her dismay, two hours of hunting was in vain. Yet more disheartening, each time she found someone to approach, the mention of two 5’8″, 400-pound llamas walking beside a girl in an orderly fashion prompted a snooty chuckle.
When one couple walking their dog responded with an unpleasant snicker, Ms. Neddleton’s frustration showed. Feeling the llamas had been belittled, she blurted a defense of the animals. “Llamas are gentle animals able to pull their own weight by munch-cutting lawns. Can your dog feed himself while mowing your grass?” she asked.
Struggling to fall asleep that night, Ms. Neddleton rose from bed, grabbed a pad and a pen, then plopped down at her kitchen table, determined to prepare a statement that would convince the town council to change the rule preventing residents from keeping livestock on their property.
After a thoughtful moment, Ms. Neddleton veered in an unexpected direction. Instead of listing reasons to present to the council, she focused on the wellbeing of the girl. “An old woman oughta have something helpful to pass on,” she mulled out loud. “What do I wish I had been told when I was a girl?” she asked herself, disregarding the possibility that the girl’s parents might object to advise.
After many rewrites—drafts that kept her up until five in the morning, Ms. Neddleton came up with what follows: What follows are things I wish I’d been told and retold when I was your age. I hope you’ll find them useful: You don’t need a dandy talent, fancy certificate, big accomplishment or cutie-pie appearance to have peace of mind. You only need to be nice. It’s not about excelling; it’s about being kind and fair. You can’t be anything you want to be, and, like everyone else, you’ll have times when you’ll be in over your head—times when taking a new direction makes sense. Above all, keep in mind that healing isn’t something you can finally finish. Instead, it’s something to continually pursue. Reminding yourself of these things over and over will lessen your regret.
Waking around noon the next day, Ms. Neddleton looked out her kitchen window and spotted the girl and llamas putting the finishing touches on the rear lawn. After grabbing two kitchen chairs as well as a bucket and jug of water, she hustled to the shade of the sycamore on the corner of the lot. “Terrific job,” she called out.
Focused on completing the remaining patch, the girl waved briskly. Once done, she brought the hand-powered mower to the rear of the cottage, then headed for Ms. Neddleton with Touche and Fussy in tow.
“Thanks,” said the girl as he reached for the jug, while Touche and Fussy bumped heads plunging toward the bucket.
Though anxious to try to be helpful, Ms. Neddleton was careful. “Your parents must have a barn in which Touche and Fussy can huddle during the winter months.”
“The lawn’s wrapped up,” noted the girl as if she hadn’t heard the mention of a barn.
Ms. Neddleton was blunt. “The town rules say livestock must be keep outside town limits,” she noted.
“That doesn’t apply to us,” calmly replied the girl.
“By us you mean you, Touche and Fussy, right?” checked Ms. Neddleton.
“You, too,” answered the girl.
Ms. Neddleton again tried to gain clarity. “I’m a mile or so inside town limits. . . . How long does it take you to get here?” she asked.
The girl rested elbows on knees and chin on clasped hands. “No time.”
Ms. Neddleton briefly looked up at the sky, then rested forearms on thighs while leaning toward the girl. “I can’t try to be helpful unless I know where you, Touche and Fussy live,” she warned.
“You think we’re visiting you. We’re not,” pointed out the girl.
“Huh?” replied a very puzzled Ms. Neddleton.
The girl rephrased what she had revealed. “You’re visiting us.”
Ms. Neddleton once more tried a common sense approach. “Let me walk you, Touche and Fussy home. That’ll clear everything up,” she noted.
“This is our home. . .for now,” stated the girl.
“This is where I live!” pointed out Ms. Neddleton as she stood.
“Then how do you explain Touche, Fussy and me? . . . We’re helping you wrap things up,” explained the girl while lifting palms.
“I don’t understand,” said a flustered Ms. Neddleton.
The girl looked toward Touche and Fussy, then serenely replied. “This is the big good-bye.”
The unsettling answer prompted Ms. Neddleton to pace back and forth. “You’re not making sense.”
“It seems level of difficulty is about to end,” answered the girl.
Now quite agitated, Ms. Neddleton spoke with some authority. “I’d like you to take me to your parents!” she insisted.
“Touche, Fussy and I are only real to you,” claimed the girl, remaining matter-of-fact.
The startling remark brought Ms. Neddleton to a standstill. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“No one else can see us,” answered the girl.
Spotting the mail truck approaching in the distance, a bewildered Ms. Neddleton bolted toward the street. Helped by the fact the mailman, Marv, slowed to deliver some junk mail, she was able to get the carrier’s attention. “Will you do me a small favor, Marv?” she called out.
“If I can,” said Marv.
“Just stand next to me so that you can tell me who and what you on my property,” asked Ms. Neddleton.
“Ok,” agreed Marv while stepping from his truck. Soon standing alongside Ms. Neddleton, the carrier described what he saw. “I see a tree, two chairs a bucket and a jug. . . . No offense, but I also see a front and back yard in need of moving,” he answered.
“Look under the sycamore in the backyard,” requested Ms. Neddleton.
Marv made a visor with his hands to block the sun’s glare. “What am I supposed to see?” he asked.
“A girl and two llamas!” declared Ms. Neddleton as she pointed to the tree.
“I still don’t see them. Are you OK, Ms. Neddleton?” asked Marv.
Ms. Neddleton looked down while shaking her head, then offered a half-hearted explanation. “I’m sorry I bothered you. . . . I must have dreamt about the girl and the animals while snoozing in the shade.”
“Some dreams seem real,” sympathized Marv before starting for his truck.
Stunned by the possibility she was conjuring up the girl and llamas, Ms. Neddleton briefly squeezed eyes shut. Reopening them, however, changed nothing. Finding it harder to deny only she could see the girl and llamas, she slogged back to the sycamore willing to explore what the girl had said. “You said ‘it seems level of difficulty is ending.'”
“Yes,” replied the girl.
“Is another about to begin?” cautiously asked Ms. Neddleton.
The girl offered a mild shrug and frail smile. “I’m just a kid, but I suspect what follows depends on what’s been figured out. . . . What you wrote last night seems important.”
Ms. Neddleton was pleasantly surprised. “You know what I wrote.”
“Making niceness and healing important seems like good advice,” said the girl.
A month later, while mowing Ms. Neddleton’s front lawn to keep the abandoned property in acceptable shape, Babet turned toward the road when the mail carrier, Marv, pulled up to request a chat.
“Still no point leaving mail, right?” asked Marv after Babet shut off her mower.
“Ms. Neddleton remains among the missing,” confirmed Babet. “That no one has seen the girl and llamas Ms. Neddleton talked about makes it hard for me not to consider I should have seen her as likely senile and in need of professional help. . . . I’m guessing she’s completely forgotten who she is. . . . She’s likely followed the imaginary girl and llamas far into some no man’s land.”
Marv also had regret. “You’re not the only one who messed up. I should have considered the possibility she was hallucinating when she asked me if I saw the girl and animals in her backyard. . . . I was in too much of a rush to let an alarm bell ring.”
After rubbing the back of her neck, Babet spoke softly. “There’s something I’ve found to be particularly strange—something I’ve been going over and over.”
“What’s that?” reluctantly asked Marv.
“While mowing the backyard, I came upon two large, unfamiliar piles of droppings. My curiosity prompted me to send a picture of them to the gal in charge of the petting zoo in Clirksberg. . . . Wanna guess what she told me?”
Marv paused to take a deep breath, then softly answered correctly. “Something you and I are gonna think about for the rest of our lives: The piles appeared to be llama do-do.”
1. Why should and shouldn’t people be forced to keep their lawn mowed?
2. Should people be allowed to make pets out of llamas?
3. Discuss the statement Ms. Neddleton wrote for the girl.
4. Why was llama do-do left behind for Babet to find?
5. What do you think happened to Ms. Neddleton?