PART 1: There was a fence with a hedge

There was a fence with a hedge

Once upon a time there was a fence. It was a long, well manicured fence that separated two gardens. Both gardens were exceptionally well looked after with seasonal flowers and continuous joy blooming to the joy of their manicurists. The gardens had lawns that were mowed and kept perfectly in order all through the year. Each lawn was connected to a set of stairs that led into simply, yet comfortably decorated homes. They were the type of homes where everything was kept clean, even though things got occasionally messy, as lived in homes do.

The one house was owned by Mary, a spinster by default and through no great flaw of her own. She was a petit, well-figured quiet lady who trained up professionals in personal mastery and holistic wellness. She had a fantastic clientele and worked diligently, kind-heartedly and with great self-discipline for every task that she faced in work and life. She had applied this ethos to her lawn, garden and fence too.

The other house was owned by John, a divorcee due to the course of his life, which had taken a few serious turns that had forced him to learn life lessons the hard way. This had left him tending towards a bitter and cynical approach to everything. He had two beautiful daughters and was an incredible Dad, even if his track-record as a husband and ex-husband wasn’t good at all. John was a perfectionist and an artist. He could spend hours in his studio connected to the stairs that led to the lawn, the garden and the fence that he used to further the expression of his love of beauty and perfection. John was an incredibly attractive man, by any woman’s standards. The right height, a great natural build that he kept toned with his daily exercise routine, sparkling brown eyes and lips that asked to be kissed without saying a word. All the women in the neighbourhood had tried their luck, except Mary. John’s past had branded itself on him erasably, much to the chagrin of the neighbourhood ‘ladies’; he kept them all on the other side of the front fence, except for his daughters who were the centre of his life.

One day, by chance, by fate, by the blowing of the wind months before, these two characters had come to buy the two run down houses on either side of the backyard fence. As it turned out in the first months of their ownership, the sun would always happen to shine gloriously on a Saturday afternoon, when both our lady and gent were not flying around the world training people or exhibiting at art exhibitions. They had allowed workers into their houses to renovate, repair and rebuild where necessary, but for their own reasons the two had decided to make the gardens and their side of the fence their own. At first they had worn their iPods and had worked to the music of their identical choice, which they never knew. They had been there in the garden for months, mowing, planting, redesigning and never knowing the other was there; then each decided of their own accord that it was time to cut back the hedge growing along the fence. Mary started from the top end and John from the bottom end; humming to their music, getting on with the job. At dusk they met in the middle, on their step ladders, with a few branches left between them.

With music in their ears, minds elsewhere and shears at work, the shears clashed. Both took out their ear phones and their eyes met. It was magic, one of those moments in time that become suspended in the cosmos of an individual’s soul. They froze, neither recognizing the other, yet both instinctively knowing they knew the other somehow. John was the first to break the freeze, “Sorry, I didn’t know you were there, hope I haven’t hurt you.”

Mary recovered herself, smiled, “Not at all, these are strong shears,” she replied jokingly holding them up for him to see. He laughed. “I can’t believe I didn’t know someone else was cutting back this hedge. I honestly hadn’t even noticed.”

“Me too. Great that we only had to do half a job and now it’s done,” he said appreciatively.  “How long have you lived here?” he asked, amazed they hadn’t crossed paths before, and trying to figure out why he knew those eyes.

“A few months ago,” she responded, also trying to figure out why she knew him. “Bought it as a fix-her-upper, and it’s been a mission. From the electrics to the foundations and roof. I still have so much to get to, but I’m enjoying having a purpose. Once I’m done the plan is to move on.” She told him without knowing why she was sharing all this information.

“No way,” he said surprised, “I’m the same, fixing this one up has proven to be more of a mission than I had expected too. Still, it’s a great place and I can see it being very hospitable when it is done. I needed a family place while my girls are growing up, not sure if I’ll keep it after that, but time will tell.” He shared this far more voluntarily with her than he had with anyone of the women who’d been pestering his door since he moved in; why?

“Girls?” There was no wedding ring and she’d never heard animals.

“Yes, two daughters. Six and eight years old. They live with their mother a few roads away and I wanted to be near them after the divorce.” Why was he saying all this, he was supposed to be laying low and avoiding all women, nasty creatures they had turned out to be.

“Wow,” Mary was impressed, “that takes guts to be so near your ex. I don’t think my ex-brother-in-law would live anywhere near my sister for all the money in the world! That takes a lot of sacrifice I would guess?”

“No, not sacrifice, humility.” He’d never said that out loud, ever, what was going on? “I was the one who made the mistakes, not my ex, and our girls shouldn’t have to pay the price for it. I like that they are in walking distance to get to me if they need to.” John, he chided himself, shut up, you look like a loser now!

Slowly drops of rain descended for the first time in months on a Saturday evening, in that moment. Mary felt them first, “Oh dear, look at that, it’s raining. I need to get all my gardening stuff put away before the skies open and everything ends up rusting.” She started to cut the last branches quickly.

John responded likewise, “Two shears are better than one,” he joked and the two of them finished the job together. With the fall of the last twig, there was a silence, then unsure, but excitedly pleased smiles as they nodded at each other, descended their ladders and packed up the equipment before heading in through their respective doors as the rain danced down from the heavens.

Life took over for the next few months and their timing was never quite in sync again for a while, yet both worked on their gardens when they could, neither with Ipods on, both listening for life on the other side of the fence. Both put up bird baths and feeders with seeds and fruit to attract birds to listen to. Their own choice of the same music was played quietly indoors.  Both longed to know what the other’s name was. Both spoke to the neighbourhood ladies and learnt something about each other over the months that followed. John learned her name was Mary, and Mary learned ‘John’. John came to know Mary’s career, that she was a dedicated spinster and that she was as quiet with ‘the ladies’ as he was. Mary learned that John was a painter, internationally renowned and not interested in women. John’s imagination wove a tale that Mary was a feminist and against men, that her ex-brother-in-law had probably turned her off men all together or maybe it was a father figure who had done that. He believed it quite a pity as her blue eyes were ones that would bless the soul of any man to know real love. Mary’s mind used the information to create her story about John, that his mistake was to marry a woman when he was actually gay, like most artists; and he got on with his ex-wife because she had forgiven him for caving into society and denying his true state of being. Mary felt that it was truly depressing that a man so gorgeously made could never be appreciated in his entirety by a woman.

As the winds changed and the hedge grew the two of them returned to the top and bottom of the hedge to trim it again. This time, however, they were both alert and heard the other.

“Hello?” Mary called.

“Hello,” came the reply from the other side. Mary froze. She knew that voice, the timbre of it, why did she know that voice? She was silent as her mind flashed through the people, faces and voices of her past and present, she couldn’t place it, “Anyone there?” Oops, she must have gone into her own time-zone again.

“Yes, sir, it is I, the neighbour,” she said with laughter at herself for being so silly, she couldn’t know his voice, it was impossible.

“Hello, I the neighbour. Does I have a name?” John asked, not wanting to give away that ‘Mary’ had been on his mind and in his dreams for the past few weeks, and that he couldn’t turn it off.

“Oh, yes, sorry, didn’t I tell you last time? How rude of me, it’s Mary, I’m sorry but I don’t’ recall yours?” Mary replied; she didn’t want to sound like an eager teenager, or like the desperate housewives who had been spilling all they could about the man who had turned them all down. The new gay in the neighbourhood, she guessed.

“That’s because I was rude and didn’t tell you. It’s John,” he said as she heard his voice moving nearer, she climbed the ladder as he climbed his and they ended up at the top of the high branches. Mary was startled to see him face to face again, she hadn’t realised that his smile was that gorgeous, she thought her imagination had made it up, clearly it hadn’t. “Hello,” he said grinning, “long time no see.”

“Yes,” she said, recovering from the startle, “months I believe. How are you? How are your daughters?”

“I’m doing swell thanks,” he said, relieved that the fence was there to hide just how ‘swell’ seeing her had made him feel. She remembered his girls, his smile had to grow too, “Jenaiah and Zara are very happy campers right now, literally; they are off with the girl guides this weekend, which is why I could get out here.”

 “I remember going on those camps, we had a ball,” how wonderful that he encourages his girls to be outdoors. She realised he was at the top of the fence too. “Um, won’t it be easier if you start at the other end like last time, then we can meet in the middle again?” She really wanted this job done as quickly as possible; she had to get out and buy some groceries before the shops closed in 2 hours.

John stood there, in the moment he wanted to tell her that no, he’d rather be right there next to her than all the way down the other end of the fence, but he knew he couldn’t say that to her, that would be too forward and she already didn’t like men. The moment’s thought ended, “Right you are Mary, right you are.” He moved himself to the other end of the fence and began cutting the hedge back. The two of them worked silently, neither sure of what the right thing to say would be. Not sure how to say what they were feeling without sounding insane. Mary spent most of the time trying to place his voice. He spent most of the time trying to cool his masculinity and figure out what to ask without intruding or looking like a ‘typical’ male that she would have connotations for. Lost in their own minds, time and work went quickly and before they knew it the middle had arrived. John had figured it out by now: work, stick to pleasantries for now, he was sure he could charm around her feminism soon enough. “So what do you do when you aren’t trimming hedges?”

Mary, realizing he was being polite, knowing what she was feeling for him and that he was unavailable and not interested in women, decided she had to protect herself, goodness knew there was no-one else to do it for her, so she decided to keep it all polite and simple too, follow his lead. “I train people.”

“Oh,” John replied, intrigued, “Train them in what, exactly?”

“Personal mastery and holistic wellness.” She rolled off her tongue like she always did, not expecting him to actually get it. Most men did not get anything above the belt, never mind beyond the brain and into the soul and the ‘whole self’ as one.

John, a highly intelligent man by I.Q. alone, and life experience to add to it, responded in a way she did not expect: “Ahh, like in a Maslow’s hierarchy of needs kind of way, or more in line with Johari’s Window?”

Mary was taken aback, “Both actually, they feed into each other as theories to support holistic living. Have you worked with them?”

Yes, John thought, thank the Lord for a sister who used him to practice her psychology studying on. Who would have thought? “No,” he wasn’t going to lie this time, for some reason he felt this woman to be someone who would take on his beliefs and he hadn’t really found any yet, “my sister is a psychologist, I helped her study for all her papers, before she started her research.” Where on earth had all this honesty come from?

He helped his sister, Mary felt her heart melting. No Mary, do not do this again, stay away from those eyes and yet another man you can’t have, go and get your groceries. “That reminds me of when I helped my sister study too. Speaking of whom, I need to go and get groceries in case she stops by this evening,” the chances of which were zero as her sister was out of the country on holiday, still, she may have changed her plans.

“Oh, but it’s late, surely the stores are closed now?” John asked, surprised that he was actually being genuine that he’d rather she wasn’t out on her own at this time. How ridiculous, she was an adult woman, not one of his daughters.

“There’s always the petrol station,” she winked at him and descended her ladder. The wink caught him off guard; he didn’t have time to think. Then he thought: the petrol station? What? She wasn’t someone who should be shopping at a petrol station, he opened his mouth to say so, but she was gone, and he realised that he had no right to tell her that. He felt empty and lost on the top of his step ladder. He didn’t know what to do with himself, frozen, what had just happened? Then his phone rang, he looked at it, no, it didn’t come up with ‘Mary’, he quietly wished it had.

That night Mary couldn’t sleep. She sat with her mind buzzing over what had occurred that afternoon. Eventually the anxiety and confusion of it all took her to prayer. She prayed for God to tell her what to do, and the familiar loving voice spoke to her: “Wait, stay and wait. It will be good. I have a future full of love and hope for you.” Her heart stopped, her breath caught, that was it, she had placed the voice. It couldn’t be, surely not? Surely not? Her Lord, her God, the centre of her world, love in its rawest capacity had the same voice as her neighbour? How had that happened? How could that be? “All things are possible” love spoke into her being. Mary changed her prayer: “Lord, please bless me with sleep, please…” and it was granted, a wonderful, deep peaceful sleep.

That night John couldn’t sleep either, so he painted, he painted like he hadn’t been able to paint in years. Free, open, exact, the brushes worked around the canvas… her, her eyes, her smile, how he imagined her body, a petrol station, a person on a tight-rope balancing and back to her. He completed three drafted canvasses that night and spent the rest of the week indoors finishing them. Within the month they had sold to cover his girls’ school fees and his bond repayment, and he had begun another three…

Mary flew the world, training a ‘John’ in every group she went to. On every flight she sat next to two little girls around seven years old. All the email groups she was connected to began to chat and discuss papers around Maslow and Johari’s Window. By the third country with the third waiter called ‘John’ she was cursing God. God calmly, in a voice Mary didn’t want to be hearing anymore, sent her to … the Book of John. 1 John 4 v 18: “There is no fear in love; perfect love drives out all fear” and 5 v 18: “We know that no child of God keeps on sinning, for the Son of God keeps him safe, and the Evil One cannot harm him.” Ok Lord, Mary told her God, I live in love and must not fear, and You will protect me. Thank-you Father. Amen. Mary found peace and let it be.

12 paintings later, John was near desperate to see Mary again, months had gone by and he hadn’t even seen her car, which he now knew was an old ford. Why hadn’t she bought herself a posh car to match her job, he wondered. Looking at the work he was producing, the inspiration he had found and his obsession with her, he figured that she had to be his muse. He knew he needed a refill. For the first time since he was a young boy in his grandmother’s home, he prayed: “Lord, please let her be at the fence tomorrow, please Lord, I’ll do anything.” He prayed his prayer all night until he fell into a deep sleep and dreamt of her.