The Truce

There he is, Maya thought to herself, there’s the rich bastard that has it all. She squinted at her neighbor, Ethan Shepherd, as he pulled into his driveway in his sleek new luxury car. It was his fault she was poor. He’s the one who’d destroyed her beautiful peach orchard, which had been in her mother’s family for generations, costing Maya her livelihood, her sanity, and her pride. He’d plowed down her trees and turned them into a luxury housing development complete with pear tree-lined golf courses and cookie-cutter McMansions with self-centered fat cats and their even fatter egos revolving in and out of them.

Ethan stepped out of his 2021 Mercedes-Maybach S-Class, giving her car-shaped rust a look of disgust as he glanced at it. Maya folded her arms and imagined running over Ethan Shepherd with her rattling clunker, hitting him in the head with her loose muffler as she backed up and rolled over him once more for good measure. For his part, Ethan walked into his house and imagined rolling over Maya Foster with his Mercedes-Maybach S-Class and then cleaning the Maya-shaped smear from the tires with his pristine linen pocket square until they looked shiny and new all over again.

The next day, Maya was kneeling in her garden, trying to coax the dog roses to grow and send their peppery scent wisping into the air. She was despairing at their refusal to do anything but look small and dry, when something dropped from the sky and bounced from her head. She looked down and saw a pear. She looked up and saw the pear tree that it fell from. It was the same pear tree that stretched from the yard of her neighbor, Ethan Shepherd, and reached over the fence onto her property.

Maya stood up quickly, wincing as her tired knees resisted. “Ethan!” she squawked, her voice loud and strident. She marched over to the fence, turned a bucket upside down and climbed onto it so she could see into Ethan’s back yard. There he was in his stiff suit and tie, protective goggles, and a pair of noise-cancelling earmuffs, using his power tools again.

Ethan’s bristly eyebrows plunged in exceeding annoyance as he flipped the switch on his table saw and the appliance froze in the middle of a pine panel. He removed his noise-cancelling earmuffs and let them dangle around his neck. “What do you want, you barmy witch?” His question was punctuated with the clicking of his premium set of dentures as they connected with consonants.

Maya held up a finger. “One, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m extending my deck,” said Ethan, gesturing to the large deck choked with patio furniture, wet bar, grill, and assorted potted plants.

“Your deck isn’t big enough?”

“I need more room for my things,” said Ethan.

Maya rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you get rid of some of that junk instead?”

Ethan tightened his jaw. “I’m doing this because my doctor told me I need to relax and get a hobby.” He scowled at her. “This is supposed to be fun.”

Maya eyed the pile of discarded wood that was cut into all various shapes and sizes. Some pieces had crooked nails protruding from them. “Not so fun after all, huh?” she smirked.

Ethan gritted his teeth. “Was there something else you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh-- yes,” said Maya, holding two fingers now. “Two, I want you to keep your belongings on your own property.”

He was puzzled as he tried to remember leaving something on that harpy’s property. He eyed Maya warily, taking in her wiry gray hair and angry scowl. “My belongings?”

“I’m talking about your pears, you greedy old fart!” Maya said, tossing his fruit back over the fence.

“Hey!” Ethan leaned back, the pear grazing his temple as it flew by. “How am I supposed to prevent pears from dropping into your yard? Besides-- you’re always whining about how nothing grows on your property. You can’t have it both ways, woman.”

“I don’t want your charity!” she hollered.

“Fine!”

“Terrific!”

He glowered at Maya as she gave him the evil eye once more and started to climb down from the bucket.

“Oh! One more thing!” said Maya, turning back to him.

Ethan’s expression was guarded. “What’s that?”

“Keep the noise down!” she shrieked, startling all the birds out of his pear tree.

“Crazy old bat!” Ethan mumbled to himself as he returned his noise-cancelling earmuffs to his ears and flipped the switch on his table saw once again.

Maya climbed down from the bucket and looked around her own yard. Her sunflowers refused to bloom, her peonies were brittle, and her last peach tree was barren and gray. It wasn’t fair that Ethan had so much and she had so little. How had her life become so deprived of beauty? She tried to remember where things had started to dis-articulate, but the point of origin eluded her. Her life had been sliding into disrepair for a very, very long time now and she was desperate to fix it.

Maya looked at her house. The screened porch was listing to the side, half of it sinking more deeply into the earth and the other seemingly preparing to fly. The paint on the house was cracked and peeling. Even her wind chimes didn’t chime. She had to wonder if she was being punished for something. She sighed, rolling up her yoga mat and tucking it in a corner on the porch. All of her bones and all of her muscles protested in a collective groan as she sank into a wicker chair, noticing her forgotten beer sitting on the table next to it. She stared at the bottle for a moment, then took a big swig, letting out a belch that Ethan heard through the sound of his table saw and his noise-cancelling earmuffs.

That night, Maya dreamed that she was walking through a dark tunnel with a ragged red edge, and when she reached the end of it, she faced herself in a mirror. She saw her wrinkles, the dark circles around her eyes, her slack, sallow skin. Her image spoke to her, saying, “Why are you always so pissed off?” With the snap of her reflection’s fingers, the tunnel lit up like a stadium during homecoming and Maya saw how she was wearing all her inner ugliness inside out for all the world to see. Recoiling in horror and shame, her dreamself was whisked back into her body, slipping inside and settling on the bed once more in a deep sleeping dream about making pies and atonement.

Later, a terrible storm blew through the village. It drove through the hills and hollers in billowing currents that buffeted flora and fauna alike and ripped the leaves and branches from Ethan’s pear tree. A bolt of lightning struck the last pear dangling precariously from the last remaining branch, reducing the whole tree to a bald, smoking column of charcoal. Lightning surged through its roots and radiated down through the ground, crackling under the fence and bursting up through the soil on Maya’s property in a shower of golden sparks.

In her house, in her bedroom, in her great-grandmother’s four-poster bed, in her blackout eye mask, Maya rolled over and continued to dream.

In his house, in his bedroom, on his Diamond Master Superb king-sized mattress, in his $200 Apple earbuds, Ethan rolled over and continued to snore while vapid country music twanged in his ears.

Maya slowly became aware that the sun was shining brightly under her eye mask. She lifted it from one eye and blinked in surprise. Bright, buttery sunlight was streaming into the room, shining cheerfully all around her. Was it like this every morning? Maya contemplated the idea of it as she removed the mask from her eyes and allowed herself to take it all in. She stretched her arms, feeling marvelous as she noticed how light was playing on the surface of a large puddle that had formed in her yard overnight. As it danced in shimmering, glimmering waves upon the walls and ceiling of her room, she also noticed how the black walnut floors made a brilliant contrast with the mossy green walls and the coral-colored quilt that her grandmothers and their grandmothers, (etcetera, etcetera, ad infinitum) had made so long ago. Her eyes landed on a painting of bright yellow flowers and the plush purple velvet chair beneath it. These were things she saw every day. Why was it that the light spilling into her room suddenly made her want to drink it all in like cold iced tea on a blazing hot day?

Maya got up and slipped into her slippers and robe. She went out to the patio and stared in wonder as buds of leaves slowly unfurled and tiny blossoms opened, revealing bursts of color on her old peach tree. Birds were singing in harmony with the hum of fat, fuzzy bees as they buzzed through the air. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d witnessed such beauty. She smiled, closing her eyes, and focused on the sounds-- each of them separately as well as together-- in a coherent symphony. She relaxed and let go of all the stress, all the worry, all the concern that had been her burden for so long.

Her eyes snapped open in annoyance at the alarmed bellow that was coming from Ethan’s property. She marched over to the fence and climbed on the bucket. Her jaw dropped and she almost fell off when she realized what she was seeing on the other side. Mr. Perfect-- the oh-so-proper stuffed-shirt, Ethan Shepherd, was hopping around his yard, au naturel but for his Wellingtons and tighty-whities, tugging at his hair in horrified dismay. Alas, all that remained of his precious pear tree was a smoldering pillar of ash.

He whipped around at the sound of Maya’s surprised gasp. He ran over to the fence, shaking his finger at her. “You! You-- you canny old witch! You did this somehow!”

Maya sputtered in disbelief. “You think I bumped off your tree?” Maya touched her heart with a fingertip.

He glared at her. “I don’t know how you did it, but you did! You’ve always been jealous of all my success!”

Her eyes widened in shock. “I’ve never been jealous of your success, you pompous old windbag! I just wanted a level playing field!”

Ethan folded his arms and tapped his boot on his overpriced mosaic-stone patio. “I don’t believe you! I see how you look at my chateau!” He flung an arm wildly in the general vicinity of his ivory-columned McMansion. “I see how you look at my yacht!” He flung the other arm at the yacht that was parked in his driveway.

Maya was stunned into silence. Finally, she managed to ask, “How do I look at your house? How do I look at your boat?”

“Like you’re lusting after my money!”

She burst out laughing. “Who’d want those monstrosities?!” She reached for the garden hose and fired a spray of water at him. “Go cool off, tiger. You’re losing your last two marbles.”

As the day went on, Maya kept noticing strange things. She weighed herself before taking her morning shower and was thrilled to see that she’d lost 10 pounds. She looked up at the mirror, but it was covered in steam. She polished a window in the steam with her sleeve and looked at her reflection, moving closer to try to make sense of what she was seeing. She could swear that she looked 10 years younger than she did the day before. She turned her face this way and that, looking for the wrinkles that weren’t there. She marveled at how her hair was somehow less wiry, less frizzy, and less gray. She smiled at herself, happy with her reflection, suddenly remembering that the shower was on. She slipped out of her ancient bathrobe and stepped into the water, allowing it to wash her worries away.

When she was finished, she found an old yellow sundress that she hadn’t been able to fit into for twenty years. She admired herself in the mirror as she slipped it over her head and it fit like a glove, complementing her warm coloring. Her phone rang and she danced her way over to where it sat on the counter and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Is this Maya Foster?” said the voice on the other end.

“Yes,” she said.

“We’re calling to let you know that you won the HappyHome Home Improvement Contest. We’re sending our crew over tomorrow.”

Maya’s jaw dropped in delight. “You’re gonna paint my house?”

“Yep. Any color you want.”

“What if I want it painted red,” she said. “Will you paint it red?”

“Do you want it painted red?” said the voice.

“No, I prefer white,” said Maya. “Are you gonna fix my porch?”

“Anything you want!” the voice replied.

Maya said, “I want my porch fixed.”

“Your wish is our command,” said the voice. “We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Agreeing enthusiastically, she ended the call, but her phone rang again. “Hello?” she said.

“Is this Maya Foster living at 204 West Utopia?”

“Yes.”

“My name is P. Jimmy Jeffrey James and I’m calling to inform you that we’ve been looking for you. I represent the estate of your Great, Great, Great-aunt Madeleine, and you, Miss Foster, have inherited 10 million dollars.”

Maya beamed widely. “Well, that’s just wonderful, Mr. James. I thank you kindly!”

Meanwhile, Ethan was continuing to have the worst day of his life thus far. Now dressed in a bathrobe that hung untied around his considerable waistline, he was pacing the front room in aggravation. He happened to look out the window and saw a tow truck pull up in his driveway. The driver was getting out and starting to attach some sort of grappling hook to the rear bumper of his 2021 Mercedes-Maybach S-Class. He dashed outside, spilling coffee all over his robe and his tighty-whities, yelling for the man to stop. “No, no, no, no! What are you doing? That’s my car! You can’t take my car! Do you have any idea what that car is worth?”

The man removed a piece of paper from the pocket of his uniform and unfolded it. “You Ethan Shepard?”

“I am.”

“According to this, your car is being repossessed.”

“What?” squawked Ethan. “I’m a very important man. I’m the richest man in the state! Who would dare repossess my car?”

The man chewed on his mustache for a moment. “I don’t know, but the bank hired me to come and get it.”

Jaw slack and coffee forgotten, Ethan watched in grudging horror as his 2021 Mercedes-Maybach S-Class slowly rolled away into the distance.

He went back into the house and saw that his iPhone 12 Pro Max was ringing incessantly, his lawyer’s name flashing on the screen like a strobe light that seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger, and bigger and bigger, until it was all that he could see.

He picked up his phone and accepted the call, his voice anxious and hesitant as he said, “Hello?”

His lawyer was sobbing so much it was hard to understand him. “We’re done, Ethan. It’s all over.”

“Come again?” said Ethan.

“We’re through. Fini. Kaput,” his solicitor blubbered. “Finished. All washed up. Down for the count.”

Ethan’s brow puckered. “You’re not making sense.”

“The market crashed. The whole business-- the whole industry-- has gone down the drain.”

Ethan was calm, but technically, he was in shock, so we’re just kidding here. Ethan was totally coming apart at the seams on the inside. “Okay, well, thanks for calling.”

“Ethan, did you hear me? We’re losing every--” The attorney’s voice became small and tinny as Ethan pulled his iPhone 12 Pro Max away from his ear, turned it off, and dropped it into his $3000 fish tank.

Maya stood back and admired her perfectly level screened porch and her freshly painted white house. She heard her wind chimes chiming and enjoyed the dragonflies that dragonflew around the pond that had formed from the puddle in her back yard over night. A small waterfall now tinkled softly next to a stone Buddha who’d recently moved in among the new shrubbery that the home improvement crew had planted. The scent of gardenias and jasmine drifted softly on the breeze, its perfume clinging to her hair and skin. Maya thought to herself, This is the life!

Ethan sat on his mosaic patio looking bewildered. By this time, he’d donned a suit and tie in spite of the fact that he no longer had any work to go do. His business was out of business, and for the first time in distant memory, he had no place to be and nothing to do. He struggled to understand the meaning of not being a titan of industry anymore. He didn’t realize how lucky he was that he hadn’t been arrested. He stared without seeing as his world seemed to shrivel up and turn gray. How was this possible? Who had it out for him? And what, exactly, was he being punished for? It was anybody’s guess which of his crimes were coming back to bite him. Maybe it was all of them.

Now he was despondent, and that’s how Maya found him when she climbed onto the bucket to peek over the fence. When she’d seen his car get towed away, she’d thought of his poor tree and how Ethan would have no more pears to enjoy. Somehow, he looked small and lost and defeated even though he was wearing one of his power suits.

Maya was surprised to find herself feeling a little sad for Ethan as she quietly climbed down from the bucket and walked into her house, still thinking of her neighbor next door.

She was still thinking of Ethan when she woke to see that the luminous lemon waves of light had returned to fill her room and dance upon her floor and walls and ceiling. She gasped in delight when her eyes fell upon the scene outside her window: her garden had blossomed overnight and was bursting with life and color.

Not bothering with her ratty old robe or slippers, Maya ran outside and spun barefoot in the grass, her arms lifted to the sky. Everywhere she looked she saw evidence that her world was burgeoning with beauty. Her dog roses blushed and fluttered in the breeze, broadcasting their spicy fragrance into her garden. Her sunflowers trembled as their petals unrolled, unfolding themselves in a spiraling solar crown of tangerine fringe, encircling and revealing a chocolate-colored disk of granular seeds in the middle. Even Maya’s peach tree was thriving, bright green leaves unfurling in celebration of life. She plucked a piece of fruit from her tree and bit into its plump, rosy, ripe flesh, laughing in delight as its sweet juices rolled down her chin.

She ran into the house and stopped in front of a mirror, gazing at her reflection in awe. She was young and beautiful again, her eyes bright and shining, her skin warm, supple, and taut, conforming to her bones and muscles in a manner that was pleasing to the eye once more. Her hair hung dark in glossy, thick waves down her back, alive and dynamic, like the tides upon the currents of the sea.

She ran back outside and formed a basket with the front of her nightgown, filling it with peaches and carrying them into the kitchen, humming a cheerful tune as she washed the fruit and prepared it to become a pie. As she baked, she added some extra ingredients-- forgiveness and compassion-- stirring them in with the peaches until the filling was just right.

Ethan woke to a blistering hangover. He peeled his eyelids open and rubbed the grit from his eyes, slowly sitting up and coming to life as he realized that he was smelling something delicious. He slipped his feet into his slippers and followed his nose, soon discovering that someone had left a peach pie at his front door. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, remembering the pies his mother and grandmothers used to make. He picked this one up and carried it inside, where he proceeded to eat the whole thing right from the tin.

Maya peeked into his window and smiled as she saw him inhaling his pie with gusto. She ducked down and crab-walked until she was out of view and able to stand upright without being seen, like the normal human being she’d always thought she was. She then sprinted back to her house and dashed inside, ducking down and peeking out the window to make sure she hadn’t been followed.

As she crawled over to the dining room, Maya thought about Ethan and about how surprised she was to find that she could feel empathy for him. She didn’t know what had happened to him-- other than that the Universe smote his tree and extracted his car from him-- but it seemed to be enough to trigger an unsolicited sense of compassion within her.

She certainly didn’t know that even though his life was essentially being turned upside down and falling apart on the outside, he was actually starting to feel a little lighter-- a little bit better-- from the outside in. Maybe it was the pie. It was very light. He’d had to hold tightly to the tin so it wouldn’t float away. It was terrific pie-- the best he’d ever tasted. In fact, it was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his whole life. Who knew that something so plebeian could be so transcendent? He’d like to know where it came from so he could thank the gift-giver. He’d become a believer in pie. It was a life-changing experience.

Meanwhile, Maya was feeling different from the inside out, and as her life was organizing and restructuring itself for the better, all she could think about were more ways she could make Ethan feel better. As she came up with ideas for more delicious recipes, her simmering rage was getting smaller and smaller, weaker and weaker, and more and more distant. The next morning, she found herself making pumpkin bread smothered in cream cheese frosting and a pitcher of lavender lemonade, leaving them at Ethan’s front door once more.

This time she lingered a little bit longer, staying to watch as he enjoyed every last bite even though moving trucks had come to claim his belongings. When the mover made his way towards the front door, Maya ran away so that Ethan wouldn’t see her when he looked up. She didn’t know that Ethan could swear he saw a beautiful woman in a crimson red dress fly past his window when the mover knocked on his door. He blinked a couple of times. The woman was gone, but her vision endured in a luminous afterimage, tantalizing him with the memory of her enchanting beauty.

The next day, a construction company appeared with several large trucks, heavy equipment, and a large crew of men. The contractor stood in Ethan’s doorway and said, “You need to leave, Mister. It isn’t safe for you to stay.”

Confused, Ethan replied, “What do you mean?”

The contractor said, “We’re here to deconstruct your house.”

Baffled, Ethan said, “Aren’t you a construction company?”

The contractor responded, “No, we’re a de-construction company.”

Ethan asked, “What’s a de-construction company?”

The contractor replied, “It’s the same thing as a construction company, only we do the opposite. We de-construct structures when the occupant really has it coming.”

“I really have it coming?” Ethan queried.

The contractor took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. Reading it, he said, “Yep. It says that you’re-- and I quote-- ‘a real son of a biscuit who really has it coming to him.’” He skimmed the page with his finger, pausing at the last paragraph. “It goes on to explain that this is on account of how you exploited so many other people to get rich.”

“‘Son of a biscuit?’” asked Ethan.

“My wife won’t let me cuss,” said the contractor.

“Huh,” said Ethan. So they finally caught up to me, he thought. He looked at himself in the mirror and had an epiphany as the question, Why am I such a bastard, popped into his mind. Suddenly, he realized that he was free. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked.

“Sure,” said the surprised contractor. “Why not?”

So Ethan stood outside and drank coffee with the contractor, watching as the de-construction company de-constructed his house, plank by plank, loading it all into their trucks like kindling, even de-constructing his yacht and his deck. When the last sliver of peach tree planking was placed on top of the pile, the contractor climbed into the first truck and waved his arm out of the window in friendly goodbye. For better or worse, Ethan had witnessed the de-construction of his former life.

Maya found Ethan standing in the street, looking calm as he gazed at what was once his house. Now it was just a small pile of rubble in front of a smoldering column of ash. Ethan looked up as Maya stepped into view and froze. She blushed in embarrassment at having been caught by him, thinking he would reject anything she gave him, but to Ethan, she was merely the beautiful young woman who flew past his window-- not his crotchety old neighbor, whose life he’d destroyed.

“Hey, you bloviating bagpipe,” she said softly, suddenly feeling shy as she gazed up at him. “I baked you a cake.” She lifted the cake higher so he could see it better.

Ethan leaned forward to get a good look at the cake, inhaling its exquisite aroma. He knew that this woman had been the giver of pie, and he started to thank her until something clicked inside of his head. There was something familiar about her and he felt faint when he realized what it was. When he could finally speak, his voice was soft and inflected with awe, “Maya?” It was the very first time he saw her true beauty from the inside out-- and now, it was reflected in her skin as well.

Maya gave him a demure look, tilting her head and gazing at him from under her eyelids. “Yeah. What’s it to ya?”

Ethan’s expression became worshipful. “You’re lovely,” he said in an exhaled whisper.

Maya smiled at Ethan and Ethan smiled at Maya, and as they smiled, the years rolled away for Ethan too. His portly shape became toned and muscular, his thin bandy legs became straight and strong, his hair became wavy and thick and dark, his dentures fell out and became a blinding smile full of perfect real teeth, and his eyes sparkled with laughter and appreciation in his now handsome face.

Maya grinned, holding out her hand to him as she walked away from him backwards. “Ready?”

“Ready,” he agreed. He stepped forward and took her small hand into his own, his grasp warm and strong and forgiving.

Together they walked into her lush, perfumed garden, where they sat under the star-spangled sky and the honeyed moon, talking deep into the night about love and forgiveness and appreciation. Many years later, they still swore that their world re-articulated and re-calibrated and re-constructed itself better than ever before, swinging into perfect orbit as their hearts braided together. They kissed and canoodled while a trio of chubby angels flapped their little wings and hovered, joyfully singing Crazy Little Thing Called Love in three-part harmony nearby.

The very next day was a brand new one, so when they woke up, they knocked down the fence and extended Maya's garden, planting an orchard in the ashes of Ethan’s old life. Their trees all thrived as their roots plunged deeply into the earth, branches reaching high up into the sky, bearing ripe, juicy fruit, and leafy nutrients that eternally replenished the earth in their mulching. Even today, these many, many years later, if you look beyond the valley, you’ll see the forest of peach and pear trees that Maya and Ethan planted, alive with the music of cheerful bluebirds and fat buzzing honeybees, and nothing-- nothing but exquisite beauty as far as the eye can see...