The Best Summer Yet - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO
Yeah, life was good, but that was before the new neighbor moved in on the street behind us!
The house behind ours was across the street facing our property. It was a very nice house with a well-manicured lawn. Mr. and Mrs. Gentry worked in their yard nearly every day. I doubt that one blade of grass ever dared to grow taller than another. I can’t ever recall seeing a weed growing in their beautiful flower beds.
At least twice a year Mr. Gentry washed the house down from one end to the other. Whenever they saw me out and about they always invited me over. Mrs. Gentry made the best lemon bars I have ever eaten and Jack and I were always invited in to share some of those or one of her other delicious treats.
The inside of the house was beautiful and as neat as and even cleaner than the outside.
I really liked them both so it was upsetting when they told us that they were moving away. Their son had been transferred to Texas so they decided to move too so they could be close to him and his family. We were really going to miss them.
Mrs. Gentry told us that an older gentleman was going to buy the house and she was certain we would get along just fine.
　
Sometimes during the last two weeks of school, Mr. C. M. Cummings moved into that beautiful home. No one seemed to remember him moving in. He just seemed to be there one day.
There was an old truck parked under the carport. It was from the 1950’s but I don’t know for sure what it was because he had different parts of several manufacturers thrown together to make one truck. The truck was so dirty and rusty we couldn’t even figure out what color it was. I don’t really know why he had it cause he never drove it, at least not that we ever saw.
The first weekend after school was out I asked Mom if the twins and Benny could come over and stay in the fort and of course she said yes. We had to have some rules, and one had to be to keep the noise down to a minimum after 9:00 p.m. so we obeyed the best we could.
Saturday morning I woke up to my alarm…. Jack!....licking my face. I got up and let him out and I went to the fridge for a glass of orange juice and I went out and sat in my swing and watched Jack smelling and checking out things all over the yard.
A delivery truck pulled up at the house across the street. He went to the door carrying a package and his clipboard and knocked at the door. The old man answered after the fourth knock and spat at the man’s feet and yelled “Whadayawant?!”
The delivery man smiled and said, “I have a package for a Mr. C. M. Cummings. I’ll just need a signature if that’s you.”
As Mr. Cummings snatched the clipboard out of his hands, the delivery man asked, “What does the C and M stand for?”
Letting out a scream that sounded like a cat caught in a trap, the old man screeched, “YA SEE ME COMING, YOU GO THE OTHER WAY, you lame brained idiot!” He pulled the package away from the delivery man and then threw his clipboard as far as he could towards the street. It landed with a thud, shattering the computerized glass screen.
Running as fast as he could to his truck, he stopped only long enough to pick up his clipboard. He took off down the street, headed to the police station.
I sat there for a few minutes taking it all in and when the old man slammed the door shut, I ran inside laughing so hard I woke up the other guys. After telling them what happened I ran to tell Mom and Dad and they came back with me to await the arrival of the police!
The boys told us that Mr. Cummings came out of the door again, got down on his hands and knees at the end of the carport and started rubbing the floor with a rag.
“Something must have spilled,” said Mom.
We watched as he did this all the way back to his door. Clad in the dirtiest undershirt and baggy Khaki pants I have ever seen, he looked completely insane. His eyes bulged out of his head like a squashed Chihuahua. His fat cheeks looked too big to belong to any part of his body and were so red you would think that someone painted them on. His nose was so thin it was hard to imagine that any air was getting through those nostrils. The end of his nose however was this huge misshapen bulbous thing that looked like a clown’s nose. Lips as thin as paper broke into a sneer, showed all of his dried up gums and one semi-rotten tooth in the bottom of his mouth.
Tufts of gray hair stuck out of his ears, matching what served as eyebrows over those washed out gray eyes of his. He had so few strands of hair scattered on his head, I don’t know why he didn’t just shave it off. He was so thin I doubt if he even weighed 90 lbs. I suppose poor nutrition made his bones weak because he was so bent and shriveled. His legs bowed out at the knee and his spine and shoulders were so bent he nearly looked down at his feet.
Just before the police and the delivery man arrived we saw him go out with a spray bottle and he went to the end of the carport and bent down and sprayed something all over the cement all the way back to his door.
By this time we were all out on the porch to see and to be able to hear what was going to take place.
Two police units drove up and the delivery man parked his van across the street and waited. The two officers went to the front door and rang the bell. No one answered. One stayed near the front door and the other started towards the carport door. BIG mistake!
As soon as he hit the spot where Mr. Cummings sprayed, he began to flail around like someone on ice skates for the first time in their life. Once he stepped on it he couldn’t stop slipping and sliding.
His partner heard his cries of surprise and thinking that he was in trouble, he made the mistake of running to his aid. He slid halfway to the back door before he could reach out to the wall to steady himself. His partner reached his hand out and the other man took it and off they went again in some strange looking dance. Somehow they managed to stay on their feet.
Reaching the back door at last, one officer banged on the door, calling out to Mr. Cummings.
He answered the door with a scowl on his sour face and said, “WHAT?”
　
The officer asked him his name and he snapped, “Who wants ta know?”
“My name is Officer Moore, Sir. I’m here to respond to a complaint by the delivery man, who claims that you threw his clipboard on the cement and broke it.”
“State your name, Sir,” said Officer Browning.
“STATE: LOUISIANA! NAME: NONE AH YUR BEESWAX! Now git offa my propity!” yelled Mr. Cummings.
That remark made us howl with laughter! Who talks to a police officer that way?!
“Sir, You need to tell us your name,” said Officer Moore.
“Uh, what did you say your name was young man?” asked Mr. C.
“Sir, my name is Officer Moore. Now you know my name, please tell me yours.”
“Well Officer Moore, if you don’t want your name to be LESS, you and your pal here better git offa my propity!”
Officer Browning tried a new approach.
“Are you Mr. C. M. Cummings, sir?” he asked.
“Could be,” said the old man haughtily.
“Does the C and the M stand for any particular names?”
“Could be,” he said.
“Would you please tell us what the C and the M stand for?” asked Officer Browning.
“Well it could stand for chocolate milk now couldn’t it sonny?” snapped the old man.
Not quite as patient as Officer Browning, his partner said he had heard enough. He radioed to the station that they were dealing with a very uncooperative person and to send the captain over to help them. He then motioned the delivery man over, warning him not to come all the way up the driveway.
Officer Moore asked the delivery man to repeat what had taken place, so he did. Mr. Cummings glared at him the whole time. When he finished his statement, the officer asked him to sign it and he did. He then handed a copy to Mr. Cummings and asked him to read it.
Without taking it, Mr. Cummings said no.
The captain and another deputy arrived and Officer Moore warned them about the slippery cement, so they stayed back.
“What seems to be the problem here sir?” the captain asked Mr. Cummings.
Mr. Cummings smiled sweetly , as sweetly as that old sourpuss could smile, and said, “Problem is, your officers won’t git offa my propity and I’ve told ‘em twice.”
The captain asked, “Sir, what does the C stand for?” No answer!
With one more try, the captain asked the old man to tell him his name.
“C. M. Cummings.”
Knowing what was coming but daring to ask anyway, the captain once again asked what the C and the M stood for.
He spat right on the captain’s shoes and said, “YA SEE ME COMIN’, YOU BETTER GO THE OTHER WAY!”
That did it. Officer Moore took a step towards the doormat and stood on it while handcuffing Mr. Cummings. He walked him carefully to the other side of the truck where there was nothing slippery on the cement floor. Officer Browning followed suit and they put him in the squad car and took him off to jail.
I am not allowed to repeat the stream of obscenities that came out of that old man’s mouth!
After everyone left, my Dad went over to see if he could figure out what he put on the carport floor.
He looked and sniffed and gently touched it and figured out that it must be some kind of wax or polish and a fine mist of oil.
When he came back and told us what he thought it was, we were crying we laughed so hard. I knew we were gonna have one fun summer.
The twins and Benny wanted to move into the fort and spend the whole summer just watching that old man. He spent 3 days in jail then came home.
Things were quiet and I must say, not much fun with Mr. C gone those 3 days. Chett and Brett had to go home on Sunday afternoon, so Benny and I just kind of hung out in the fort. Mom and Dad took us to see a movie that night, then out for pizza. I spent the night at his house that night and we told his family about Mr. Cummings. His mom cautioned us about the old man being unstable and unpredictable.