The next morning, Brenda moved them.
Arthur discovered one stone beside the sidewalk and another pushed into the grass.
He stood looking at them for several seconds.
Then he moved them back.
Two days later, they had been moved again.
He installed a small sign.
PLEASE DO NOT PARK ON THE GRASS.
It was polite.
Clear.
And positioned where any driver approaching the corner would see it.
Brenda parked beside it the following morning.
One of her front tires stopped less than a foot from the sign.
Arthur watched from the window.
For a moment, he almost laughed.
It was becoming absurd.
The same woman who regularly sent violation notices over trash bins and flower pots was now ignoring a sign asking her not to drive onto somebody else's private property.
Arthur decided to speak to her one more time.
That afternoon, he approached while she was returning to her vehicle.
"Brenda, we need to talk about the parking."
She looked at him as though he had interrupted something important.
"Again?"
"Yes. Again."
He gestured toward the damaged grass.
"This is costing me money to repair."
Brenda shrugged.
"Street parking is crowded."
"There are spaces farther down."
"Those aren't convenient."
Arthur stared at her.
"So you're parking on my lawn because walking a little farther isn't convenient?"
"Arthur, you're making this sound much more serious than it is."
"The grass is dying."
"It grows back."
"Not when somebody drives over it every morning."
Brenda glanced toward the nearby houses.
Then she lowered her voice.
"Look, I have responsibilities in this community. Sometimes I need to stop and speak with residents."
"Then park on the street."
"I'll only be there temporarily."
Arthur had heard that word before.
Temporarily.
One morning had become several days.
Several days had become weeks.
And every time he objected, Brenda treated the damage as though it were an unreasonable inconvenience for him to mention.
He looked directly at her.
"I'm asking you not to park on my property anymore."
Brenda's expression hardened.
"Arthur, I really don't think we need to keep discussing this."
Then she climbed into her SUV.
Closed the door.
And drove away.
Arthur remained standing beside the damaged grass.
He had been patient.
He had been polite.
He had tried signs, stones, and repeated conversations.
Nothing had changed.
The following Friday, Brenda parked on the lawn again.
It had rained overnight.
The soil was softer than usual.
When she drove away that afternoon, the tires left two deep grooves cutting through the grass.
Arthur walked outside and stared at them.
He pressed the toe of his shoe into one rut.
The ground was wet and compacted.
Fresh seed would not solve this.
The damaged area needed to be rebuilt.
He looked toward Brenda's house.
Then toward the corner of his lawn.
For several minutes, he said nothing.
A neighbor walking his dog passed along the sidewalk.
"She's still doing it?" the man asked.
Arthur nodded.