Ethan Rivers took his job as president of the Meadowbrook Villas HOA very seriously. So, when he was driving his Toyota Prius through the neighborhood, he abruptly stopped in front of Delia Owen’s house and stared at the swing hanging from the branch of the oak tree in her front yard. He stared at it for a long minute, as if it were some sort of a mirage.
He pulled his hybrid to the curb and got out, stalking determinedly to the front door and wrapped his knuckles on the front door and then repeatedly pressed the doorbell.
“I’m coming, I’m coming! Hold your horses,” Delia’s muffled voice came from inside. She opened the door, her face fell. “Mr. Rivers,” she said flatly, “To what do I owe your visit today?”
“Ms. Owens, I see you put a swing up in your tree. That is a violation of the statute on external modifications. If you check your handbook, you can see delineated the appropriate external modifications you can do without explicit HOA approval,” he turned a disgusted look to the tree swing, “That most certainly was not approved.”
“Mr. Rivers,” she started, “The swing is for the little girl I see out in the front yard. She told me she wanted a swing.”
“Little girl? Whose little girl? There are strict guidelines on when children are allowed outside to play and never unattended by parents…”
“She’s not a living girl, Mr. Rivers. She’s a ghost.”
Ethan Rivers sighed. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Ms. Owens. And there is an explicit ban on discussing the possibility of any homes in the Association being ‘haunted’” he made air quotes, “lest the rumors lower resale value.”
“Mr. Rivers,” Delia said patiently, “you can believe or not believe in ghosts, but there’s a little girl that visits the front of my yard every morning. She spoke to me and said she wanted a tree swing.” She gestured to the swing, “I put up the swing.”
“Well,” Mr. Rivers said, “it must come down. Immediately.”
“Mr. Rivers, I don’t cross ghosts. She told me she wanted a swing, so I put up the swing. If you want it down, you take it down.”
Ethan stared at her incredulously. “Fine,” he said. I’ll have it removed and you will be cited and charged for the removal.”
“Do what you’ve got to do,” Delia said. “Good day, Mr. Rivers,” and she closed the door.
Ethan stared at the closed door for a long moment, then turned on his heels, marched back to his Prius and called the head of maintenance.
“This is Joe,” the man answered.
“Mr. Taylor, this is—”
“Mr. Davis,” Joe said tiredly. “What is it now?”
“I need you to remove the tree swing from the front yard of 836 Sycamore immediately.”
“Mr. Davis, you know it’s Saturday, right?”
“Yes, of course,” Ethan said. “But she’s in direct violation of the guidelines on exterior modification and she said she wouldn’t take it down. I need it removed now.”
“Mr. Davis, I’m on call on the weekend for emergencies – sprinkler heads blown, windows broken, fences blown down – that kind of thing. Removing a tree swing is not an emergency. I’ll get to it on Monday.”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself!”
“Have a good weekend, Mr. Davis,” Joe said and clicked off.
Incensed, he drove home, parked his Prius precisely in the garage, pulled his own ladder down from the wall of the garage and carried it the two blocks to Delia’s house. He set up the ladder and carefully climbed up and started to untie the knots holding the two ropes to the oak tree branch. As he did so he heard the distinct sound of children’s laughter ring out. He stopped and looked around but couldn’t find the source. Unnerved, but still determined, he untied one side and then the other and let the swing drop to the grass (which, he noted, might be half an inch taller than regulation). He climbed down, folded up the ladder and carried the ladder and the swing back to his house. He placed the ladder back up on the wall of the garage and dropped the swing in the trash.
The next morning, Ethan Davis drove his Prius down Sycamore and pulled to an abrupt stop.
The swing swung gently from the branch of the oak tree in the still morning air.
Ethan knocked on the door and rang the doorbell repeatedly again. When the door opened he started, “Ms. Owens, what is the meaning of this?”
“Mr. Davis? The meaning of what?” she said in her bathrobe.
“This!” he said, pointing accusingly at the tree swing.
“Oh! It looks like the little girl wanted her swing.”
“Are you saying you didn’t put the swing back up?”
Delia shook her head slowly, “No, I did not. I put it up the first time. And I watched you take it down. This one?” she gestured to the swing. “Not my doing.”
Ethan opened and closed his mouth several times without any words coming out. Abruptly, he turned and marched back to his car. Delia shrugged and went back inside. She made her coffee and stood by the front window and watched Ethan set up his ladder, awkwardly climb up and start to untie the swing. He stopped and stared around looking for something, then continued until the swing fell to the ground. Delia turned and went back to her kitchen.
Ethan carried his ladder and the swing back to his garage. He opened the trash to drop in the swing and was surprised to see the swing he had taken down still there. He dropped the second swing in and went about his day.
That evening, Ethan was driving back from Whole Foods and again stopped abruptly on Sycamore – the swing was swinging gently from the tree. This time he didn’t bother knocking on the door, he went home, got his ladder and returned to take it down. While he was untying it, again he heard the child’s laughter and couldn’t see where it came from. Back home, he opened the trash to drop the swing in and noticed only the first swing was in there.
That night he dreamt about the tree swing. There was a barefoot little girl with pigtails and a blue and white Gunne Sax dress swinging on it in the dream. Ethan walked up to her in the dream and told her the swing wasn’t allowed and he would have to take it down. She smiled up at him and laughed – that same laugh he heard when he was taking it down!
“You’re silly!” she smiled.
“I’m not silly,” he said. “I’m in charge of enforcing the rules of the HOA.”
“That’s silly.”
“It’s not—” he started and stopped, flustered. “It doesn’t matter, the swing has to come down.”
The girl kicked her feet and swung back and forth, “Okay, mister. But I’ll just put it back up.”
“Then I’ll keep taking it down!”
“I’ll be here in your dreams!”
Ethan woke up exhausted and in a sweat.
The next morning, Ethan was driving out of the neighborhood early. He deliberately didn’t go down Sycamore. He did see Joe Taylor’s work truck coming towards him. Joe flashed his lights and pulled along side him and rolled down his window.
“Good morning, Mr. Davis,” Joe said. “I saw the tree swing was still up at Delia Owen’s place. I thought you said you were going to take it down…”
“Well, I…” Ethan stammered.
“I was on my way over there to take it down,” Joe explained.
“Umm, no, let’s not. Leave it up there,” Ethan said.
“Uh, okay,” Joe replied. “You’re the HOA president…” Joe drove off.
Ethan could hear a little girl’s laughter.
