The Ballad of HMatS

“HIIIIIIII!!!” a tiny voice called out from behind me as I stepped out of my car after a day at the office. Judging from the voice, I imagined the greeting to be coming from a neighborly chickadee, or maybe a particularly outgoing mouse. Turning, I found a small human waving at me from the driveway across the street. A girl, with big bright eyes, long sandy blonde hair, and a space between her front teeth. I recognized this tiny human as the one that lived with the mysterious blonde across the street. The one who had so deftly darted her eyes to the ground every time a possible interaction had formed on the horizon.

I had noticed her plenty, of course. I would stare long past the socially acceptable staring limit as Vally and I walked by, trying to at least land a quick hello and a wave, but had come up empty for the two years I had lived across the street from her. As such, for two years I was left to speculate. Several competing theories as to the nature of this girl had formed, but given the tan skin, blonde highlights, fit physique, the way her car was often gone when I woke up in the morning but back by late morning/early afternoon, and that one time I had seen her walk out to her car in the stunning red dress with the slit up the thigh, I was coming around to the idea that she was likely a stripper.

Now the tiny spawn of my stripper neighbor was waving at me from the end of their driveway, and it wasn't long before she herself was climbing out of her car. Yoga pants, tank top. It was like she knew my weakness already.

I waved back and gave my best friendly hello from across the street. Not wanting to miss the chance to finally say something to this elusive duo, I asked a general “how are you all doing over there?”. What ensued was a brief and inconsequential small talk conversation, but it was an interaction nonetheless. After two years. Hot Mom across the Street had a bit of a twang to her voice, but spoke in a warm and friendly soprano. I got good vibes from her. Or maybe that was just the yoga pants.

I would later learn that she sent Chickadee out to say hi to me specifically. It was a set-up.

A week or so after the first greeting, on a sunny weekend afternoon, I took a break from work finishing the basement to grab a drink from the fridge. Peeking out the front window, I found HMatS laying on her stomach in her front yard, knees bent and ankles crossed in the air, reading a book in a bikini. I peeked out that window for long enough that I felt guilty when I finally pulled myself away. I went back to my work in the basement, but the image stayed with me. Also, a growing suspicion. Why was she in her FRONT yard? She had the whole backyard, which was far more private - why put on this display on my side of the house?

I put the thought away. If there's one drama I don't need, it's girl drama with someone directly across the street. Still, the image lingered.

A few weekends later I had spent all Saturday running electric for the now almost-completed basement. At about 6pm my doorbell rang. I put down my pliers and wandered up to answer it. Standing on my front stoop was HMatS, looking sheepish. I stepped out, surprised, and greeted her. After a brief pause, she asked if I had eaten dinner yet, and if I'd want to walk into town with her to find some food. After a brief pause of my own, I asked her to give me 20 minutes to knock the sawdust off and closed the door again.

For someone who had initiated the outing, she was shy on the walk to market street. I had to lead the conversation all evening, but she opened up as the night went on. Turns out the tan skin, fit shape, and odd hours were from her working outdoors every day, starting before dawn, on her family's dairy farm just outside of town. She and her dad ran it together, side by side, and it had been in the family for generations. She had won awards showing cows. Chickadee's father, a deadbeat ex military guy, had moved out some six months before I moved in. Her twang grew on me as we chatted that evening. Or maybe that was just the yoga pants again. Good LORD did this girl have a shape to her.

I was careful that evening. She had not defined our outing as a date, and I did not want to make something awkward with a neighbor by making assumptions. I asked if we were on hugging terms now, gave her a big one, and we filtered back into our respective homes. But not until agreeing that she and Chickadee should come try out the new home theater once it's all set up and ready to go.

That movie night was a fun one. Chickadee turned out to be a precocious little bird, and we took to each other quickly. Hot Mom took the middle seat on the couch, and I found her leaning into me with my arm around her before the movie was over. As strange as it was to think that this first dateish interaction was watching a kid's movie with chickadee in tow, it didn't feel strange at all. It felt very normal. Good. Like I belonged.

The next movie night, Chickadee did not join us. We both wound up feeling very good.

I was still worried. Cautious. We had both agreed on first dinner night that neither of us were ready to get into a relationship after our respective break ups. I warned her that trying to get involved casually did not work for me, had never worked for me, and that I did not want things to be weird when we lived across from each other. But that did not deter her, and there was only so far I was willing to go to ward her off. The sunbathing mystery girl was now in my bed, wearing nothing at all, nuzzled against my chest and breathing steadily with an arm and a leg draped over me and my hand on her ass holding her firmly in place. I specifically remember smiling to myself, wondering what I did to deserve this, and closing my eyes to soak it in as I drifted off myself.

The year that followed was good. Very good. We had a running messenger conversation at all times, sharing the day to day details of our lives. I learned more than I ever expected to about Brown Swiss cows and she patiently followed along with the ins and outs of all the work I was doing around my house. More movie nights with Chickadee, who was jumping into my arms when she saw me and sitting in my lap for her favorite parts of movies so she could better explain them to me.

Hot Mom herself opened up privately, the defensive vanilla shell breaking under intense trust to expose a partner that liked it when I would do what I wanted with her. She made her first ever trip to a sex shop to buy ultra sexy lingerie to wear for me, warmed to the idea of being helplessly tied up around my house, and would proudly share with me pictures of the bruises I would leave during our escapades together. She wore me well, and we both knew it.

Perhaps even more indicative of the connection that was forming - I gave her a code to get into my house so that she could visit Vally while I was at work. I would get notifications at my desk that the door had opened, and would check on my puppy cams just in time to watch her attach Vally’s leash and walk out the front door together. A disproportionate number of my favorite Vally photos were sent to me from their adventures together. Vally loved her, and would smile big on their walks instead of the always alert stare that I would get in photos. Hot Mom would be the only person I ever trusted to take care of my little wolf, and it was the greatest compliment I knew how to give.

As great as all of this was, I couldn't shake the sense that it was doomed from the start. I was still learning to value myself again after Ice Queen took that from me. I needed to regain that appreciation for myself before I could properly give of myself in the way a proper relationship requires. Right?… Right?!?

The day after the fire was spent mostly on my living room couch. Somber. Sobbing. Her grandfather had built that barn himself decades ago and it had served the family honorably. Nobody knew exactly what had caused the initial sparks, but between the hay and the old wood it was all they could do to get the animals out and all the firefighters could do to keep it from spreading to the house. Only ashes and some warped metal from machinery remained. Dairy farming had already been on a downward trend for years. It was harder and harder to make a living that way. Many other family farms had already folded. They had already decided to rebuild, but how long would it take them to absorb the blow? COULD they bounce back? I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say much of anything. Just big hugs, a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, and a living room couch to escape to.

The first blow up between us happened about a year in. She couldn't do it anymore. She needed this to be a real relationship, with titles and everything, even though she had told me originally that she didn't. I started to find out that she was quietly telling other neighbors, mutual friends, and her family how in love with me she was. They rallied to her side, and I don't necessarily blame them. She was so good to me and loved me so much, how could I be so heartless as to not be ready to take that to the next level?

After a few weeks apart, she lowered her requirements. She knew that I was where I said I was, and didn't want to rush me. She just needed to know that we weren't seeing other people, and that if we ever decide to date elsewhere we would let the other know ahead of time. Of course, I said. My issues were that I wasn't ready to have someone take that role in my life, not that I wanted more people to take similar roles. I didn't need more than her. I passed out that night all over her and wrapped around her, and was woken up that morning by her mouth before she climbed on top for more.

I tried more and more to accept myself. I wanted to make a go at this, and that required accepting that I was where I was. And where I was was largely depressed and unhappy with myself. I had ballooned up in weight as a result and generally didn't feel up for going out to do much, instead preferring to keep busy working on projects in my private shame. But that wasn't going to fly with Hot Mom and Chickadee, and I knew they deserved more out of me. Hard as it was for me, I started forcing myself to join in on their adventures. We went to a local pumpkin patch before Halloween and wandered the fields for the perfect pumpkin. They excitedly gave me a tour of the county fair where they knew quite a few of the regulars in the livestock area. I invited Hot Mom to an after hours movie night event at work, introducing her to coworkers. We went to brunch for Chickadee's birthday to get her favorite breakfast from Cracker Barrel. They plotted and schemed and gathered a few boxes of Christmas ornaments that they thought I would like and we all decorated the humble little fake tree in my living room as Christmas carols played. I went as her date to her brother’s wedding and spent the evening humbling myself dancing with the prettiest girl and the prettiest chickadee there.

I didn't feel like I was doing a good job at any of it, but I was trying.

Eventually, I came around to the idea that I wanted this. I wanted to try it, anyway. I hadn't imagined landing with a dairy farmer single mom a year my elder, but here i was and I couldn't deny any longer that it felt right. Even if I wasn’t back at 100%, they loved me at my 60% and I need to learn to accept that rather than push it away. I made the decision to properly try to work towards that end.

My timing couldn't have been worse.

In attempting to bounce back from the recent fire at the farm, Hot Mom was working herself ragged. She and her dad were putting in even longer hours than normal trying to coordinate construction and work with contingencies while still keeping the farm functioning. I spent four months trying to get her out on a dinner date, and couldn't do it. I saw her, of course, but it was always just after dinner. We’d talk, shower together, I'd throw her around as needed, and she'd pass out, exhausted. She'd wake up to her alarm at 4am, climb on top of me one more time, and then let herself out to head back to the farm while I'd go back to sleep for another couple hours. Great, undoubtedly, but I got discouraged at not having someone to get out with for a solid four months. I really wanted to take her somewhere, do date things, and her life didn't allow for it. Discouraged, I settled back into just appreciating the arrangement for what it was and not trying for more.

I was at work when I got the text. At first I thought it was a prank. Maybe someone had taken her phone and was messing with me. I didn't trust it both because of it’s content and it's blunt, matter of fact tone.

“Dad was crushed by the skid loader and died.”

… excuse me?

This lifelong farmer, only a few years out from handing the farm over to his daughter outright, had taken a shortcut. He didn't lower the bed of the skid loader before getting out and walking around in front of it to throw something else in. The weight shifted, and it had toppled forward, the heavy machine landing on him and pinning him in the dirt. He had sent Hot Mom on an errand to town just before, and was found by a neighbor that was dropping by briefly. Hot Mom arrived home shortly after the paramedics had showed up to declare that there was nothing they could do.

She needed to escape the farm and all the visitors that were showing up to pay their respects, so she spent another evening on my living room couch, wrapped up tightly, processing. Mostly in silence. I was happy to be able to offer something, however minor, at such a horrible time.

Things changed after the accident. Hot Mom was determined to keep the farm going, to uphold the legacy of her father, and moved out of the house across from me and into the old farmhouse. Her tired schedule became even more grueling. We still saw each other a fair bit, but it was tougher. Even more strained. She couldn't stop in to see Vally anymore during the days, and wasn't around to roll on top of me before getting dressed and slipping out the door to head to the farm. I visited when I could.

When she first asked me if it was okay that she was chatting with my dad, I didn't fully understand. Huh? My dad? In what context? She explained to me that he had reached out to offer his condolences after learning about her dad. He, too, had lost his dad young and felt like he could offer some guidance. I found it odd that he hadn't mentioned it to me, but who am I to tell two adults that they can't text each other on occasion? Ok. Sure. Whatever.

The first Dad mentioned to me of the outing was after it had already been finalized. His bright idea to bring his wife, my neices, chickadee, Hot Mom, and myself on some quirky meet and greet at a backyard wallaby refuge. What?! Sounds like a thing designed for the little ones and we're taggng along, but by the time I heard about it it was already a done deal. I had warned dad repeatedly that he needs to be careful, Hot Mom and I are not officially a thing at this point. If he's getting involved he needs to understand what's happening.

The day of the event I was informed that we were all going to the dairy farm for a tour first. The scene that unfolded was that of Hot Mom leading the group around from building to building and my fucking idiot father following her like a lost puppy, monopolizing the conversation and her attention while his granddaughters, his wife, and his son followed behind awkwardly.

Oh. Ohhhh. Now I get why he was still messaging her regularly.

When he introduced her to the wallaby lady as my girlfriend I was mad. Thanks for setting that wheel in motion, against my wishes and warnings.

When we were leaving and I learned that I was the only one who didn't know that we were driving to a campsite for hot dogs over a fire and trick or treating around the campgrounds I was furious. All of this was planned in advance in a conversation he was having behind my back with this attractive young damsel that had just lost her father. Classic dad trying to be a white knight, setting out to rescue the pretty girl in need, and stomping on everyone around him for the opportunity to do so. He had ruined his marriage to my mom that way, got involved with his next disaster of a wife for this exact reason, and here he goes again.

I blew up at him. And her. I let them both know how inappropriate and disrespectful to me this was. She agreed. He attempted to play innocent and ignorant. The fucking creep.

It was a month or two later that I got the message from Hot Mom. I was right. She had been fighting a losing battle, and I had warned her that she'd just get hurt and she should have listened. She had met someone and they had been out on a few dates and so she was finally going to leave me alone. I cried. Both at the inevitable finally happening, but also at the fact that she had broken the rules that she herself had insisted on for us. She hadn't told me ahead of time that she would be dating. I was hurt. But I let it go.

It wasn't until months later that I started seeing the posts on my newsfeed. Why was my father being tagged in her posts? Why was she being tagged in his? How are they still talking? I tried to let it go. When I saw the post about him stepping in to take Chickadee to her father daughter dance, I absolutely lost my shit. I blew up. And, knowing what I know now, I still feel like blowing up thinking about it.

As it turns out, it was my father than convinced Hot Mom that I didn't want to be her boyfriend and that she would be better off moving on. He had invited her down to his house in eastern maryland for one of my sister’s house show performances. On the trip, he introduced her to a neighbor and the neighbor asked her out. She and the neighbor started dating, and that is who she was seeing when she told me goodbye. She would shortly leave the farm life, move with Chickadee down to live with the neighbor, and they all hang out with my father on the regular. Hence the posts I was seeing.

I have never in my life felt so belittled, betrayed, and most of all furious. I told dad off. He can go fuck himself. He had effectively gone behind my back to replace my role in the life of someone who was the most important human to me at the time. He had quietly schemed to steal that from me, and I had let it go, and it worked. I didn't talk to him for two years after, and I still only acknowledge him when I have no other choice. He tries sometimes, but that ship has sailed.

HMatS is now remarried with another Chickadee living out in eastern maryland. Apart from sending her condolences when Vally passed recently, I have not heard from or communicated with her. Honestly, I don't know how to feel about her. On one hand, she was fantastic to and for me at a time when I was very low. She suffered through plenty of my depressive bullshit and drama and deserved so much better. She shared with me herself, her family, and important moments in her life. I don't know if I was nearly as good for her at the time as she was for me, but I do hope that she thinks back on those times fondly once in awhile. Though they were likely doomed from the start, they were some very good times.

Then again, she effectively stole my father from me. Even if just passively. That betrayal still stings.

If I could do it all again, starting back from getting that knock on the door, I'm honestly not sure how I'd approach it. If I'd try to do things differently. Would I try harder to make it count at the beginning? Would I avoid ever trying to make it count at all? Regardless, the photos she took of Vally still hang over my stairs. The glittery valentines day cards that she and Chickadee made for Vally still hang on my fridge. I still hang the Christmas decorations they brought over each December. And I will never be able to trust my own father again.

I'm not sure where the line was crossed in either direction, but looking back I know I loved both HMatS and Chickadee. At least for a time. I was so busy trying to protect them from my issues that I missed it then, but I see it now. Regardless of how it panned out, I carry them with me in a lot of ways. Good and bad. And, on some level, probably always will.

-M