“But,” Miller continued, lowering his voice so Brenda couldn’t hear. “You’re upsetting the neighbors. And when the neighbors get upset, they call us. And when they call us, we have to come out here. And I really, really don’t want to come out here again today. So, can you maybe take it inside? Just for now? De-escalate the situation?” I looked at Miller. I saw the exhaustion in his eyes. I sympathized with him, I really did. But then I looked at Brenda. She was smirking. It was a tight, smug little purse of the lips that said, “I won. I control this street. I snapped my fingers and the law arrived to chastise you.” If I went inside now, it was over. If I retreated to my living room, she would own the porch. Next week, she’d decide I wasn’t allowed to park in my driveway. The week after that, she’d decide my curtains were the wrong shade of white. This wasn’t about the porch. This was about dominance.

“No,” I said. Miller sighed. “Sir?” “No,” I said again, louder. “I appreciate that you guys have a job to do, but I have a mortgage to pay, which I do every month. This is my property. I am not blasting music. I am not naked. I am sitting. Sitting is not a crime. If she calls you again, that is harassment on her part, not mine. You can tell her to stop wasting police resources.” I walked back up the steps, sat down in my rocking chair, picked up my lukewarm coffee, and stared directly at Brenda. “Mr. Bennett,” Miller started. “Am I under arrest?” I asked, taking a sip of the terrible coffee. “No.” “Am I being detained?” “No.” “Then I am going to finish my chapter.” I opened the book. I didn’t read a single word. I just held it up. The cops stood there for a moment. Miller looked at Brenda, who was now vibrating with a frequency that could shatter glass. “He’s sitting back down!” she screamed. “Arrest him! Failure to comply! He’s resisting!” “Ma’am,” Miller said, turning to her. “He is on his own property. He is allowed to sit there. Please stop calling 911 unless there is an emergency.” “This is an emergency,” Brenda wailed. “The moral fabric of this neighborhood is disintegrating.” “Have a good day, ma’am. Have a good day, Mr. Bennett.”

The officers walked back to their car. I watched them go. Brenda stood on the sidewalk, phone still recording, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. She didn’t leave immediately. She stood there for a full 3 minutes filming me sitting. I gave her a little wave. A small, polite, neighborly wave. She hissed, actually hissed like a cat, and stomped back across the street to her house. She slammed her front door so hard I felt the vibration through the pavement. I sat there for another hour. I didn’t even want to be outside anymore. It was getting humid, and the bugs were starting to come out. But I couldn’t move. I had to hold the line. When I finally went inside, I tossed the cold coffee in the sink and slumped against the counter. My heart was pounding. I hate confrontation. I’m a data guy. I like numbers. Numbers make sense. Numbers don’t call the police on you for reading. But I knew this wasn’t the end. Brenda was the type of person who had the non-emergency line on speed dial and the code enforcement officer’s home number memorized.

I pulled out my phone and opened Facebook. I didn’t have to look far. I’m part of the Oak Creek community watch group. I joined mostly to see if anyone found lost dogs or to get recommendations for plumbers. But there it was, right at the top of the feed, posted 4 minutes ago. Brenda Miller posted a video. Title: Criminal elements in our midst. Caption: Sad day for Oak Creek. Police were called to handle a vagrant individual loitering on a porch at 402 Maple Drive. Police did nothing. The liberal agenda has tied their hands. This individual was menacing me and casing the neighborhood. I fear for our children. He claims to live there, but has no respect for community standards. Watch out. Keep your doors locked. The video was shaky footage of me standing in my socks, looking confused, while the police lights flashed. It was framed perfectly to make it look like I was being interrogated for a double homicide, rather than asked about my rocking chair. The comments were already rolling in. Susan G: Oh my god, is that the blue house? I walk past there every day. So scary. Rick T: This is what happens when we let the neighborhood go. Property values are going to tank. Thanks a lot, 402. Linda P: He looks like he’s on something. Look at his eyes, glassy. Definitely drugs. My blood ran cold. She wasn’t just being annoying. She was assassinating my character. She was painting a target on my back.

I scrolled through the comments, my thumb hovering over the report button. But I knew it wouldn’t matter. Brenda was the admin of the group. I put the phone down on the granite island. I looked out the kitchen window at her house across the street. The lights were on. I could see her silhouette moving past the window. She was probably on the phone rallying the troops, calling the HOA board members, drafting letters. She wanted a war? She wanted to police my porch? Fine. If she didn’t like me sitting on a simple wooden rocking chair, she was absolutely going to hate what came next. I opened my laptop. I wasn’t going to retreat. I was going to expand. If I was going to be the porch loiterer, I needed a better porch. I needed a porch that was undeniable.

A porch that was visible from space. I typed “general contractors near me” into Google. I needed someone who didn’t care about noise. Someone who could build fast and build big. Someone who looked at an HOA handbook and saw toilet paper. I clicked on a link for Big Mike’s Decks and Renos. The website looked like it had been built in 2005, and the testimonial on the front page said, “Mike built my deck. It holds my hot tub and my mother-in-law. Five stars.” I dialed the number. “Big Mike speaking,” a voice rumbled. It sounded like gravel tumbling inside a cement mixer. “Hi, Mike,” I said, my voice steady. “I need a deck, a big one, front of the house. I want a pergola. I want built-in seating. I want it to take up the maximum allowable square footage permitted by the county zoning laws to within 1 inch of the limit.” “Sounds like a party,” Mike said. “When do you want to start?” “Tomorrow,” I said. “And Mike, do you have experience dealing with difficult neighbors?” Mike laughed. It was a loud, booming sound. “Son, difficult neighbors are why I charge extra. But for you, if it’s a good story, I might do the headache part for free.” “Oh, it’s a story,” I said, looking out the window at Brenda’s house. “And it’s only chapter one.”