“Then contact the postal service.”
“I’m handling it.”
“No.”
He began walking toward his house.
She followed.
“Stop.”
The Black Homeowner stopped.
Not because she had authority.
Because the absurdity interested him.
He turned.
“You’re ordering me to stop walking to my own front door?”
“You're being unnecessarily hostile.”
“I said one word.”
“Your tone.”
The Black Homeowner looked toward the sky.
Then back.
“My tone is tired.”
“Give me the envelopes.”
“No.”
The HOA President’s expression hardened.
“Then show me the names.”
“No.”
“If they’re yours, what are you hiding?”
He stared.
That sentence.
Again.
People loved that sentence.
If you have nothing to hide.
As though privacy itself was suspicious.
“They’re my letters.”
“This is a community matter.”
“My mail is not a community matter.”
She looked toward the thick laboratory packet.
“What’s that?”
He moved the stack against his chest.
“None of your business.”
Her eyes sharpened.
The homeowner knew her well enough to recognize what happened next.
Curiosity turned into entitlement.
Entitlement turned into certainty.
Certainty turned into action.
The HOA President reached.
The Black Homeowner stepped back.
“Don’t.”
She froze.
His voice had changed.
Not loud.
Firm.
For one second, she reconsidered.
Then she said:
“You’ve been acting strange for months.”
The homeowner almost laughed.
“You send me violation notices about my mailbox.”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“Everything with you has something to do with my mailbox.”
She looked offended.
“I am responsible for preserving standards.”
“You are responsible for board administration.”
“That includes mail security.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She stepped closer.
“You have no idea what responsibilities I have.”
The Black Homeowner nodded.
“That is probably true.”
Her expression brightened slightly.
Then he added:
“Because you keep inventing new ones.”
The smile disappeared.
The homeowner turned away.
She grabbed the top envelope.
He reacted instinctively.
Not violently.
He simply tightened his grip.
The paper bent.
“Let go.”
She pulled.
“Show me the name.”
“No.”
The thick packet slipped.
Several envelopes fell onto the driveway.
The homeowner released the stack before anything tore.
The HOA President lunged downward.