"Have you been reading on the neighborhood list?" Zelda asks while we watch kids run and bike and scooter up and down the sidewalk during this "Missouri Trick" of a warm February week. I thought she was talking about the nearby high school's plan to tear down one of their buildings. So I agree before I really know--I don't get those emails because that mailing list makes me crazy.
"About the drum line?" she encourages. No. I shake my head, puzzled.
"Well, there's a man named Stan Jarvis on that list, and I think Len knows him, and now I think I don't like him very much."
"What, because Len knows him?" Valerie catches only part of the conversation.
"No!" Zelda corrects. "Don't start rumors!" And we all laugh before Zelda continues. "No. From what he posted. The drum line, you know, have you heard them?"
"Oh, the drum line?" asks Jen.
"Yeah, the drum line," Zelda confirms again. "And this Stan Jarvis posted on the list that they were right outside his house and all through dinner and putting his kids to bed and they were highly annoying and he called the police TWICE!"
I try to envision what my response would be to a drum line practicing outside my house. Ah, city life.
"He really could have talked to them. The police let him know that they had a permit until 9 o'clock."
"That's amazing," I say, stunned.
"I know!" Zelda agrees. And now my whole inbox is jam-packed with messages about the drum line, about Stan Jarvis' response, about how so many neighbors were up in arms about, yup, African-American teens hanging out on the corners causing trouble."
"It's hard to break into houses when you're practicing in a drum line," Jake points out.
"Exactly," Zelda agrees.
"I mean, though," I try, "if it were outside my house every night or something? That would be a bit much."
"But would you call the police?" she asks.
I wouldn't, no. "No. I think I'd talk to them."
"Unless it was like," Valerie cuts in, pretending to play a drum, "Can't hear you! What? Can't HEAR YOU!"
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