The New Neighbors by Vihaan

Original narrative based on “The New Kids in the Neighborhood” by Norman Rockwell

‘Twas afternoon when we reached Boston. Caroline was trying to fall asleep, but the intrusive sunlight blinded her. Dad was barely holding it together; they both shot up once they saw the pristine buildings (I have to admit, I was also pretty surprised). We noticed people playing outside and riding in golf carts because of the nearby golf course that Caroline and I admired. “The house looks just like the reviews!” I thought. “Wow, this is awesome!” Caroline exclaimed. “Yeah, in fact, we put a lot of money into that house,” Dad said frankly.

We parked at an identical suburban house next to three kids playing and a dad keeping watch. Our moving truck screeched to a halt, and the dad looked up, confused with a pinch of anger and surprise. He muffled something under his breath and closed the door behind him. I shrugged as we got out of the moving truck and started unloading our fancy couches and chairs. The three kids halted their game of tag and, walking over with curiosity (nothing like the dad), stared at us. We stared back in confusion. “What are you looking at?” Caroline questioned with some sassiness. They kept our gaze as they slowly continued their play. Caroline rolled her eyes as she skipped along in her puffy new dress.

The inside was exactly as I expected. We had already looked at it with the realtor, but I was still in shock over the fancy flooring and ornate lighting. Caroline and I played hide and seek in the many rooms as Dad unfurled all the furniture and whatnots (which was a lot). Seeing all the closets and rooms with bathrooms, we thought collectively, “Mom would have wanted this.”

Mom was the nicest person you could have ever imagined. She baked the best cookies (pumpkin spice, definitely recommend) and helped Caroline with her major insecurities, which were a lot coming from an African-American family. Trust me, I know a lot about prejudice. Mom read books such as “War and Peace” and “Pride and Prejudice” (boring books, in my opinion) and had a very comforting aura. Even when her boss fired her from her paralegal position for spilling coffee on his thousand-dollar prize carpet (as a memorandum, don’t keep it at a law firm where people are dependent on coffee), she brushed it off. Because of her very calm demeanor and patience, mom got hired at a higher-paying law firm. 

But anyway, Dad was forcing us to socialize with the kids in the neighborhood. “Now, come on, Johnson!” he pleaded, “You only have to do this once before you’ve made a friend! Caroline?” She looked at me as I shrugged back. “Go on, now,” Dad pleaded as he shoved us out of the house. We sighed as he shut the door behind us. “Come on now,” I tiredly repeated to Caroline.

All of them were pretty nice but one of them stood out; Stephenson was his name. He stood out for his nervousness, but was overall pretty neat. He said that his dad died, however, I swear I saw him. “I’m 100% sure that I saw your dad; you look exactly like him!” I half-yelled. “Um, no, you didn’t…” Stephenson said quite frankly (All of his friends called me delusional for years to come). Then, I saw the same old man who was looking at me weird from the moving truck watching my dad, who was watching us play in the road. Jade, Stephenson’s younger sister, ran full-throttle toward the grass lawn of Stephenson’s dad (who I later figured out to be named Frederic). But anyway, I was the tagger and ran just as fast behind her. She suddenly halted, and I went flying, landing back-first onto the spiky grass.

Stephenson’s dad made it very clear: DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!! Not even a toe, which didn’t cross my mind as dad carried me inside. As I glanced back, I noticed Frederic put a camera away.

It was all a daze, the fall. One second, my friends surrounded me, I saw dad and Frederic, and before I knew it, I woke up from an excellent sleep with eye bags and a scar. But before I could say, “flibbertijibbit!” Frederic had sued us for trespassing and “grass deformation,” apparently. The next few weeks felt like decades with my dad having to pay off an enormous mortgage, not to mention having to look for a lawyer. Dad finally settled on a state lawyer, one who didn’t cost any money. However, this very cheap lawyer had a realization that my dad and I had, but Frederic and his expensive lawyers didn’t: the pure stupidity of the event, and that the event would prove to be handy for us.

Anyway, the court case was in just three weeks, and the lawyer needed to gather all the evidence to present it in court. I was nervous, after all I was the “perpetrator” and would definitely be questioned, but I’m sure that the case won’t last longer than 15 seconds.

Ah, the day of court, a mandatory visit to a debate on freedom or not. Mine was the beautiful day of May 15, which was sadly probably the best day for some people, just not me. I got into my tight suit while my dad tied my tie for me. The nervousness was undeniably high, but I had a smirk of confidence for some reason as I practiced my lines in the car. Oh, how the day of court demands.

Sadly, I couldn’t remember the case in session. Still, it probably went something like this: everyone in the court sat down.  The shock of the gavel banging shook through the entire room as the judge casually replied to the shock, “Defendant not guilty,” and the slow and gossipy packing up of everyone, but that was unfortunately not the case. What actually happened was a 2-hour-long case of pure stupidity. The judge even thought hard about the phrase, “What if you were the grass, being brutally stepped on?” However, we did win 15 – 0 (if it were a soccer game), which was the verdict that everyone had from the start.

Well then, that was that! Now, we are legally allowed and protected to step on Mr. Frederic Brown’s normal, if-not messily fixed grass. I walked down the street for fresh air; Frederic was sitting on his lawn chair, embarrassed and not even willing to look at me. With a smirk, I took one large step on his grass and walked away, holding in my laughter.