Sometimes that is true.
Often it is simply how hindsight punishes us.
"You treated me correctly when you had the information."
I told him.
"Do the same for the next person."
He nodded.
"Fair enough."
Then he sold me cookies.
My relationship with Patricia became something stranger than hostility.
We lived beside each other.
That fact remained.
For months, we barely spoke.
She hired someone to repair the pool fence.
Her yard stayed immaculate.
She no longer wore the green HOA lanyard.
The motor home never returned.
When we crossed paths, she looked away.
I did not make a point of greeting her.
Neither did I avoid her.
I had no interest in turning victory into ritual humiliation.
One Thursday late afternoon, perhaps two weeks after her removal from the board, I was watering my front lawn.
I had bought a good hose.
Green.
Heavy.
The kind that does not kink every twelve feet.
My truck sat squarely in the center of my driveway.
Garage door closed.
Remote in my pocket.
Patricia came to the split-rail fence.
No phone.
No lanyard.
No folder.
She looked older.
Or perhaps she simply looked her age for the first time.
Authority can act like lighting.
When it disappears, a face changes.
She watched me move the spray across the grass.
Then said:
"You think they did all this because you're a judge?"
I turned off the nozzle.
Water stopped.
"What?"
"The neighbors."
"The police."
"The board."
"You think everybody took your side because of the robe."
I considered the question.
There were several answers I could have given.
Some sharp.
Some self-righteous.
One was true.
"I didn't ask them to take my side."
"You didn't have to."
"Everyone knew."
"Eventually."
She folded her arms.
"You think any other homeowner would have gotten all that attention?"
That question deserved more honesty than she probably expected.
"No."
Her expression changed.
I continued.
"That's part of what bothers me."
She looked confused.
I leaned the hose against my leg.
"Linda had the same deed."
"The Kowalskis did too."
"The Bakers."
"They should not have needed a judge to move in after them before people started checking."
Patricia looked down.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said:
"I was keeping things running."
"I know."
"The HOA needed storage."
"The RV had nowhere else convenient."
"Owners kept leaving."
"I know."
"People liked what I did."
"I know."
Her voice sharpened.
"Then what was I supposed to do?"
"Ask."
She stared.
"Ask the homeowner."
"Get permission."
"If they say no, find another solution."
"That's it?"
"That's most property law in one sentence."
She almost smiled.