No Parking

It was the last Friday before Memorial Day, and I was an hour late getting away from work. A new project was starting the next Tuesday, and a lot of last-minute bullshit to cope with. The problem with being in charge of the company is I had to stay until it was all done. When I got on the highway, rush-hour was over but enough Friday night pre-party traffic to make it interesting.

I got home to an unpleasant surprise in my driveway: a strange convertible parked right up against the garage door. This happened many times after the new dance club opened a block away, and I'd seen this particular car many times before. There was a parking sticker from a college in Iowa. "Who the fuck do these kids think they are? I never got away with this kind of shit." There was only room in front of my house for a car to park, but I didn't want let the twerp get away with this. Feeling mean, I parked my car in the driveway right behind it, coming up as close to the fender as I dared. Then I went inside and shook off the cares of the day.

At 1 o'clock in the morning, there was a frantic knocking on my door. I answered it to find a 5 foot tall redheaded spitfire demanding I move my car so she could leave. "No," I said, "you'll have to pick it up in the morning. This is my driveway, You are trespassing, and I don't have to move my car if I don't want to."

"You just wait, Buster!" she snarled. "You just wait." She raised her phone to her lips, and I shut the door in her face.

I was considering calling the police myself when I saw red and blue lights pulling up outside. Darting back to my kitchen, I pulled a beer out of my fridge and opened it before I went out to the driveway, where the girl was haranging an officer of the law. "This man won't move his car so I can leave," she was screaming at the officer, who was taking down information."

" Can I help you officer?" I asked, casually taking a swig of my beer.

"Whose car is this?" he said, indicating my parked car.

" This is my car, my house, and my property," I remarked. "All of which I can prove. The car of the person parked next to my garage door is trespassing."

" That's a lie! This man is holding me here against my will," the spitfire shouted.

I responded calmly. "You not being held here against your will. You may leave anytime you wish. I do not have to move my car on my property if I don't want to"

"Sir, would you be willing to move your car so the young lady can leave?"

"I would love to, but I've been drinking all night and not in proper in proper condition to operate a motor vehicle. It's a long weekend and I'd like to relax, drink, and enjoy the sports channels until Tuesday morning. Is there any reason I can't do that?"

The officer gave me a smirk and turned to the young lady. "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do to make him move his car. If you try to tow the car without his permission, that would be a crime. He has said you were free to leave anytime, so you are not being held here against your will. Have a good evening." He got back into his cruiser, turned off his red and blue lights, and left.

I looked at the young lady in her college T-shirt, shorts, and sandals, fuming in frustration. I murmured quietly: "You should know this is a neighborhood watch area, so if any strangers show up here and hang around, it will be noticed.." I went back into my house, and locked the door.

The next morning, I woke up mid-morning, and after breakfast decided to trim the hedges around my yard. Around 11 o'clock, a Lexus pulled up, driven by a distinguished looking man in his early 60s. He got out of the car and waved at me. " Excuse me, sir, is this your house?"

"Yes it is."

"I'm Melanie's father. I'd like to know what I can do to get her car back."

"What's your name, sir?"

"My name is Jim Parkinson."

"My name is Jim Hoover. As one Jim to another, I've had a lot of strange cars blocking my driveway ever since the club opened down the street. My neighbors have had this happen to them. Yesterday, work was hell on earth and I come home to find that car in my driveway. I hope you understand why I did what I did."

"I can see your frustration, and if it were my house, I'd be frustrated as well. It's been tough to get Melanie to visit me ever since she went to college, and if she's not at her mother's house on Monday, there'll be hell to pay. Is there some compensation I can give you?" He started reaching for his wallet.

"I'm divorced too, and my college kids rarely stop by. However, I think my neighbors would want me to make a point here that we're not an extension of the dance club's parking lot. She gets her car back when I'm ready to let her get it back. Everybody about here will be watching."

Jim Parkinson gave me a wink and a smile. "What kind of business are you in?"

"Construction."

"I'm a plumbing contractor. Guess we'll have to work together. Maybe she will even grow up." He got in his car and left.

The rest of the day was peaceful, the weather was good, and I had delivery pizza for supper. After dark, faint sounds of the club drifted up into the neighborhood. I watched TV downstairs where I could get a good look through the front window, and around 9 o'clock Melanie showed up with a couple of big boys. She was obviously pissed, and when she looked at me through the window, I made a point of putting my cell phone up to my ear. We stared at each other for a few moments. "God damn it, he's called the cops. The wuss. Fuck you!" Stomping her feet, she stormed off while her friends almost rolled on the ground laughing at her.

Sunday morning I was treated like a local celebrity. Two plates of cookies showed up at my door, and three of my neighbors offered to buy me a drink later. One suggested I let the air out of her tires, but I wasns't feeling that mean.

That afternoon, she and a friend pulled up wearing swimsuits. They got out and stood on the sidewalk several minutes, looking sad. Melanie made it a point to turn from time to time, showing off her body, which was pretty nice. I enjoyed the show while it lasted, but made no move to come out the door. After a while they left.

I thought she would come by Sunday night to make a last plea for her car, but she surprised me. I looked up her license plates and found she had several citations for speeding and fender benders both here and in her college town. It made me appreciate my own kids' good behavior. I fixed myself a huge breakfast the next morning and spent the day watching a women's beach volleyball tournament.

She knocked on my door late in the afternoon. Opening the door, I could tell she had been crying. She was wearing a red halter top which matched her hair, blue shorts, and sneakers. I stood there, looking at her for a long moment before I said, "Yes?"

She was reluctant to start talking.. "Yeah, I guess I'm sorry for parking in your driveway, mister. They said it was all right down the street and I believed them. It'll never happen again."

I gave her a disbelieving look. "Do you even know my name? I know your name, Melanie Parkinson."

A look of wonder opened her eyes wide. "N-N-No, how do you know my name? I didn't tell you Friday night."

"My name is Jim Hoover and I own a construction company. Your father told me, although I learned a lot more running your license plate. I was very honest with him Saturday morning, and although he was kind and generous to me, he understood my point. You are an adult."

A look of fear crossed her face. I felt a bit sorry for her: perhaps for the first time in her life, she discovered her actions had consequences. She stepped in and closed the door, her hands went to her face to cover the tears streaming down. I let her have her silence, and offered her a glass of water.

When I brought it to her, she had calmed down, and drank her water with one hand twirling the end of her hair. She gave me a challenging look. "I bet you're not gonna move your car til tomorrow, maybe Wednesday."

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

"Maybe there's something I could do to persuade you otherwise." A twinkle came to her eye. She handed the glass back to me, then flipped her top back up over her head. Her puppies were pert, proportional, and dominated by large nipples." She smiled, put her hands behind her head, and jiggled.

I smiled and nodded. "Very nice."

She came over and put her hands on my hips near the waist. "Is there something about your name that suggests what I could for you?"

"Is someone waiting for you outside? Is your phone recording right now?"

She shook her head with a smile on her face. "I took an Uber here and I can show you my phone isn't recording anything." And she showed me.

I nodded my head and she sat on her knees, pulling down my pants to release four hours of beach volleyball energy. Her technique imitating a Hoover was a very good, and when I reached down to play gently with her pert peaks (I've got long arms,) her enthusiasm reached a new level. I didn't want the feelings to end when I reached the high part of my day, and shortly after she reached what must have been the high part of her day as well.

Melanie sat back and leaned against the wall, her fingers still between her legs and her mouth touched with froth. I went to the kitchen and fixed sandwiches, which she ate without putting her top back on. After updating me on her safety protocols, I led her upstairs. She was a spitfire in many ways, and I was able to keep up with her. She went to sleep first.

I moved my car after Tuesday morning breakfast only to find it back in my driveway when I got home. I opened the garage door, she pulled it in. After that, we had no strange cars parking in our neighborhood. Melanie never went back to college, but every day with me had at least one high point.