Mildred: a simple study

Mildred walked down her front steps and down past the cul-de-sac, striding onto the small path that separated the residential homes from the community spaces of Shady Acres, the fifty-five plus community she was a resident of for almost two decades. At seventy-three, there was a nagging feeling that she was now considered an elder around here. Her friend Tilde kept talking about getting out, moving away from the young blood and young couples with new money and new values that didn’t sit well with her conventional—Mildred would have used the word conservative—values. Mildred told Tilde, not two weeks ago now, that she thought the new people brought better ideas and more money to keep their wall and gates intact; that was more important than Tilde’s ideals. Tilde hadn’t talked to her since that conversation. That was Tilde for you, though: hot-headed and opinionated. Mildred grew tired of being the one to apologize first, even when she felt she did nothing wrong, but at their age, Mildred felt strongly that petty squabbles weren’t something that was going to end a friendship.

Walking out toward the main gate, where a guard stood watch twenty-four, seven—in fact, Mildred thought Frank was working at the moment, it was a Tuesday—she thought back to the first time she came through those gates. Thomas, God rest his soul, was simply agog with excitement. Mildred loved how innocent and childish he became when he was excited. He had worked so hard in order to afford a house at Shady Acres. And, of course, there was the minimum net worth required to even look at houses in this community. Mildred hadn’t ever been impressed with the amount of wealth they accumulated, but now, the way the world had gone and got itself into a terrible mess, she was thankful for Thomas’s foresight and pursuit of the green devil.

As Mildred approached the main gate, she stared out at a throng of people writhing like a giant wave on the opposite side. They chanted indistinguishable words, sounding like a hive of angry bees. Mildred adjusted her glasses and read the signs being thrust up and down: “Inequality is NOT equal” and “Blow up the billionaires!” Frank, in his crisp uniform, stood outside the guard station, bullhorn in hand, telling the protestors to disperse. Two patrol cars of the Shady Acres police force flanked either side of the guard shack and half a dozen patrolmen stood in riot gear. Frank looked back to see Mildred, in her silver leggings and bright orange tee shirt, walking briskly to him. He dropped his bullhorn on the pavement and started yelling as he ran toward Mildred, arms waving wildly. Frank jumped a few feet from where Mildred stood, his body slamming into hers, and they both fell into the manicured bushes on the side of the main entrance. Mildred’s angry yell was enveloped by a loud explosion and the sound of the protestors screaming in victory.