When some branches would not release their fruit, he climbed the tree and shook them until they snapped.
Then he carried the apples to the front yard and dumped them.
He made six trips.
On the final one, he seemed tired and stopped directly in front of the camera to catch his breath.
His face was clear.
I watched the footage twice.
Afterward, I knew exactly what I would do.
As I prepared, I left the broken branches where they were, but I collected every apple.
At exactly two in the morning, I went into my basement and gathered the supplies I had prepared.
Dozens of paper tags, string, gloves, a wheelbarrow, and a large piece of poster board.
For the next three hours, I attached a numbered tag to every apple that was still whole.
Each tag read:
“Removed from Sloane’s tree without permission.”
Then I carried them to Ryan’s lawn.
I did not throw them.
I did not damage his flowers or touch his house.
I arranged the apples in perfect rows.
One through 245.
In the center, I placed the sign.
“Strong wind seems to blow both ways.”
Then I went home and made coffee.
Ryan discovered them at 6:30 a.m.
His shouting woke half the street.
“What the hell is this?”
I stepped onto my porch.
He stood in the middle of his yard wearing pajama pants and no shoes.
“The wind must have blown really hard last night,” I said.
“You must have done this.”
“The wind maybe; otherwise I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re insane. I’m reporting you to HOA right away.”
“Do your worst,” I answered.
He foolishly went ahead and reported, running straight into the trap I had set for him.
Mira arrived 20 minutes later.
Ryan met her in the street.
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