"Brenda," Arthur called.
She turned and smiled.
"Good afternoon, Arthur."
"Could I ask you something?"
"Of course."
He gestured toward the SUV.
"Would you mind keeping your vehicle off my lawn?"
Brenda looked at the grass.
Then back at him.
"Oh, I was only stopping for a little while."
"I understand. But the tires are damaging the yard."
She glanced down again.
The marks were visible.
There was no way she could have missed them.
"Well, the street gets crowded around here," she replied.
Arthur looked along the curb.
There were several open parking spaces nearby.
He chose not to point that out.
"I'd appreciate it if you parked on the street next time."
Brenda gave him a polite smile.
"Of course, Arthur."
Then she climbed into the SUV and drove away.
Arthur watched her go.
He assumed the matter was settled.
The next morning, the SUV returned.
Same corner.
Same grass.
Same two tire tracks.
Arthur stood at the window, staring in disbelief.
He considered going outside immediately, but he decided against it.
Perhaps Brenda had forgotten.
Perhaps she had misunderstood.
Perhaps she genuinely believed the narrow strip near the curb was part of the public right-of-way.
He waited until she returned and spoke to her again.
This time, he was more specific.
"The grass beyond the curb is part of my property," he explained. "I need you to stop parking there."
Brenda adjusted the strap of her purse.
"I'll only be a little while."
"That's what you said yesterday."
Her smile tightened.
"Arthur, I'm sure we can be reasonable about this."
He looked at the tire tracks.
"That's exactly what I'm trying to do."
She didn't answer.
She got into the SUV and drove away.
The following morning, she parked there again.
And that was when Arthur began to realize that the problem had nothing to do with misunderstanding.
Brenda knew where the property line was.
She knew the tires were damaging the lawn.
She knew Arthur wanted her to stop.
She simply didn't believe his objections mattered.
Over the next several weeks, the situation became a routine.
Every weekday morning around eight, Brenda's silver SUV rolled slowly toward the corner.
She would ease over the curb, guide the front wheels onto Arthur's grass, and leave the vehicle there while she visited a nearby neighbor.
Sometimes she stayed an hour.
Sometimes three.
Occasionally, the SUV remained parked until early afternoon.
When Brenda finally drove away, the tires left another pair of deep marks in the soil.
At first, Arthur repaired them as soon as possible.
He loosened the dirt.
Straightened the flattened grass.
Filled the deeper ruts.
And watered the damaged sections.
But the ground never had enough time to recover.
Before the new grass could establish itself, Brenda drove over it again.
The repeated weight compacted the soil.
Rainwater collected in the depressions.
The damaged grass began turning brown.
Eventually, the edge of the lawn looked less like a well-maintained suburban yard and more like an unofficial parking area.
Arthur tried placing decorative stones near the curb.
He chose small, rounded landscaping stones that would look natural beside the grass and make the boundary more obvious.