My washing routine was holy for 35 years… Until my new neighbor, who had a grudge and a grill, lit it up as soon as my clean sheets hit the lines. At first, it seemed small. It got personal after that. But I won in the end.
Some people use events or the weather to tell the time of year. I know which ones are mine by the sheets that are on the line: wool in the winter, cotton in the summer, and in the spring, those sheets that smell like basil that my late husband Tom loved. When you’ve lived in the same small two-bedroom house on Pine Street for 35 years, certain habits become important to you, especially since life has taken away so many others.
The last of my white sheets was being pinned up one Tuesday morning when I heard the sound of metal scraping across the pavement next door.
I quieted myself and said, “Not again.” The clothes pins were still stuck between my lips.
That’s when I saw Melissa, who has been my neighbor for six months. Her huge stainless steel grill was being dragged to the fence line. We looked at each other for a moment, and she looked away with a smile on her face.
“Good morning, Diane!” she said with fake sweetness. “Isn’t today a great day for a barbecue?”
I took the pins out of my mouth. “Tuesday at 10 a.m.?”
The sun was shining on her blonde highlights as she shrugged. “I’m making meals ahead of time.” “You know how it is… always busy!”
After one of Melissa’s smokey meal prep sessions, I had to wash a whole load of clothes again because they smelled like burnt bacon and lighter fluid.
That Friday, while I was hanging clothes on the line, she did the same thing again. I had enough and stormed across the yard.
“Melissa, do you grill bacon and light nothing every time I do the laundry?” The smell in my house is like a diner and a campfire.
Her fake smile was sweet, and she said, “I’m just enjoying my yard.” Doesn’t that seem like something friends should do?”
Within minutes, thick clouds of smoke fell right onto my clean sheets, mixing the smell of my lavender soap with the smell of burnt bacon and steak.
It wasn’t cooking. It was wartime.
“Is everything okay, honey?” From her garden, Eleanor, my old friend across the street, called.
I tried to smile. “Everything is fine.” Laundry that smells like smoke is the best way to say “welcome to the neighborhood.”
Eleanor put down her trowel and walked over. “That’s the third time this week she turned that thing on as soon as your laundry was done.”
I fixed it: “Fourth.” “You missed the last-minute hot dog extravaganza on Monday.”
“Have you tried to talk to her?”
I agreed and watched as the color of my sheets turned gray. “Twice.” She just smiles and says, “I’m enjoying my property rights.”
Eleanor’s eyes got very dark. “Well, Tom wouldn’t have put up with that nonsense.”
Even after eight years, just saying my husband’s name still made my chest flutter for a moment. “He wouldn’t have,” she said. But Tom also thought that you should pick your fights.
“And should I pick this one?”
The grill was big enough to cook for twenty people, so I watched Melissa flip a hamburger patty. “I think it might be,” he said.
I pulled down my sheets, which were now filled with smoke, and tried not to cry out of anger. Before Tom got sick, these were the last sets that Tom and I bought together. It smelled like cheap charcoal and they were being rude.
“This isn’t over,” I told myself in a low voice as I dragged my dirty clothes back inside. “Not even close.”
My daughter Sarah said, “Mom, maybe it’s time to just get a dryer.” “They work faster and better now,”
“Sweetheart, I have a good clothesline that has worked great for thirty years.” I’m not going to let a Martha Stewart-like person with trouble setting limits push me off of it.
Sarah let out a sigh. “I know that tone.” What do you have planned?”
“Are you planning? “Me?” The neighborhood association guide was in a drawer in my kitchen. “Just looking at my options.”
“Mom…?! I think I smell rats. “Big ones.”
“Did you know that our HOA rules have rules about smoke from the grill? It seems that something is a “nuisance” if it “unduly impacts neighboring properties.”
“All right?!?” Are you going to tell someone about her?”
I closed the guide. “Not yet.” I believe we should try something else first.
“We?” “Oh no, don’t bring me into your neighbor’s fight,” Sarah laughed.
“It’s too late!” That bright pink and neon green beach towel you used at that swim camp last summer is what I need. Plus any other bright clothes you have extra of.
“You’re going to fight steak with laundry?”
“Let’s just say I’m going to change the background of her Instagram brunch.”
I drank an iced tea on my back porch and watched as Melissa’s backyard changed. Along her fence, strings of Edison lights showed up. A new canopy showed up. Along the edges of her spotless concrete patio were potted plants with flowers that matched in color.
Each Saturday morning at the same time, the same group of women with expensive bags and champagne bottles showed up.
As they sat around her long country table, taking pictures of the avocado toast and each other, they would laugh like hyenas and talk about people who weren’t there. Especially the ones they had just hugged five minutes before.
Because I heard so much of their talk, I knew exactly what Melissa thought of me and my laundry.
She once told a friend, “Living next to a laundromat is like living next to a laundromat.” She didn’t even try to lower her voice. “So tacky.” There were supposed to be rules in this neighborhood.
***
I quickly snapped out of my thoughts and ran inside to get the bright towels and the hot pink robe my mom gave me for Christmas that said “Hot Mama” on the back.
“Mom, what are you up to?” Emily, who is my daughter, gasped. “You said you wouldn’t wear that out in public.”
I smiled. “Honey, things change.”
Saturday morning came with clear blue skies. From my kitchen window, I saw the chefs setting up Melissa’s fancy brunch. Flowers were put together. Champagne had ice on it. As the first guests showed up, each one looked even better than the last.
For a group selfie, I waiting just the right amount of time, until phones were out and mimosas were being raised.
That’s when I came out with my laundry basket.
“Good morning, ladies!” I called out happily as I set down my overloaded basket of the loudest and brightest things I could find.
Melissa turned her head toward me and her smile stopped moving. “Diane!” Wow, what a treat. “Don’t you usually do your laundry during the week?”
I laughed as I hung up a bright green beach towel. “Oh, I’m easy to work with now.” This is a great way to enjoy retirement.
The women at the table looked at each other as I hung up item after item: the SpongeBob sheets for my kids, the hot pink “Hot Mama” robe, leopard-print leggings, and a bunch of bright Hawaiian shirts that Tom loved.
“It’s really ruining the look of our photos,” one of Melissa’s friends said in a stage whisper.
“That’s too bad,” I said, taking extra time to put the robe right in front of their camera. “Almost as bad as having to wash four loads of laundry again because of smoke from the grill.”
Melissa stood up quickly, her face red. “Ladies, let’s go across the yard to the other side.”
But the harm was already done. As they moved, I could hear the chatter and whispers:
“Did she say smoke from the grill?”
“Melissa, are you fighting with your neighbor who lost her husband?”
“That’s not very caring about the community…”
I tried not to smile while I hung up the clothes and hummed loudly enough for them to hear.
Melissa marched to the fence when the brunch finished earlier than planned. From a distance, I could see that even her best makeup couldn’t hide how tense she looked.
“Do we really need to do that?” she hissed.
“What had to be done?”
“You understand what you’re doing.”
“Yes, I do.” The same way you knew exactly what you were doing when you planned your barbecue.
“That’s not the same—”
“Is it?” From where I’m standing, it looks like we’re both just “enjoying our yards.” Doesn’t that seem like something friends should do?”
Her eyes got narrow when she heard her own words being said back to her. “Every week, my friends come here.” These events are important to me.
“And I care about how I do my laundry every day.” Melissa, it’s not just about cutting costs on electricity. It has to do with feelings. When I got my babies home from the hospital, that laundry was already there. It was here when my husband was still alive.
Her phone rang. She looked down at it, and her face got even more serious. “So what.” Just know that your little laundry show made people not follow me today.
I couldn’t help but call after her as she stormed off: “That’s a shame!” We might want to match colors next week!”
For three Saturdays in a row, I made sure that my brightest clothes showed up during brunch. It was clear that Melissa’s guest list was getting smaller by the third week.
Eleanor came over to me with her gardening gloves still on as I hung up a very bright tie-dyed sheet.
She laughed and said, “You know, half the neighborhood is betting on how long this standoff will last.”
I put the last clothespin in place. “For as long as it takes.” I just want her to see me and know that my clothesline is just as important to me as her lunches.
I sat on my porch swing after Eleanor left and watched my laundry move in the wind. I saw prayer flags when Tom and I were in New Mexico many years ago. The bright colors against the blue sky made me think of them. He loved the way they could move with the wind and send prayers and wishes to heaven.
I was so caught up in the memory that Melissa wasn’t there when I looked up to see her standing at the bottom of my porch steps.
“May I talk?” She asked with a rigid and short tone.
My hand went to the empty chair next to me. “Take a seat.”
She stood there with her arms crossed tightly. “I’d like you to know that I’ve moved my brunches inside.” Are you happy now?”
“Melissa, I wasn’t trying to ruin your lunches. “All I did was do my laundry.”
“Every Saturday morning?” “Just by chance?”
“About as random as your grills going off at the same time my whites hit the line.”
Two strong women who wouldn’t give up looked at each other for a long time.
“Well,” she finally said, “I hope you enjoy your win and your tacky clothesline.”
After that, she turned around and walked back to her house.
“I will!” I tried to reach her. “Every single sunny day!”
***
These days, my favorite thing to do during the week is hang out the clothes. I carefully place each item, making sure that the “Hot Mama” robe is in the best spot to get the most light.
Eleanor came over one Saturday morning and helped me work by giving me clothespins.
“Have you seen?” she asked, pointing to Melissa’s yard and the empty patio with the curtains drawn. “That grill hasn’t been used in weeks.”
I smiled as I adjusted a very bright yellow sheet. “Uh-huh!”
Is it also true that she can hardly look at you? I swear, when she saw you coming yesterday at the mailbox, she almost ran back inside.
Melissa had scurried away with her letters clutched to her chest, making me feel like I was carrying something more dangerous than fabric softener. This made me laugh.
As I pinned up the last sock, I said, “Some people just can’t handle losing.” “Especially to a woman who has a clothesline and the time to hang clothes on it.”
After that, I saw Melissa looking through her blinds while I was sitting on my porch chair with an iced tea. She frowned deeply and let the slat snap shut when we looked at each other.
I still raised my glass to her.
All of this would have made Tom laugh so hard. I could almost feel his hand on my shoulder and hear his deep laugh as he said, “That’s my Diane…” Always had a clothesline and strong beliefs to make her point!”
In reality, some fights aren’t about winning or losing. They’re about sticking to your guns when the dust settles… spreading the message that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is just hang your clothes out to dry, especially if they are a bright pink robe that says “#1 HOT MAMA” across the back.