The Fence

I got an estimate this morning from a fence company, to find out how much it would cost to put a fence around my entire backyard.   It ended up being more expensive than I thought it would be, so I probably won't do it, but it's nice to know what I'm in for if I decide to go for it. 

But here's a different twist on this morning's visit::


I answered the door, prepared for the early-morning chill with my coat already on.  50-something, long, graying hair coming loose from his ponytail under his ball cap; still, the man had a really nice face.  We greeted each other, shook hands, and I shut the door behind me as we went to walk around the side of the house.  I said, "Let me show you the worst part first."  As I pointed out the fallen gate, the rusted hinge waffling into the ground, he began to measure with one of those contraptions that looks like a giant yo-yo.  It had a digital reader on it; pretty fancy if you ask me!  He was asking me questions about which segments of the yard I would want to put up fence around, and I asked him to measure the whole thing.  When he finished measuring, he went to his car to work on the estimate and I came inside to warm up.  After a short while, there was a knock on the door and I went quickly.  But instead of an estimate, the man was holding something else.  I couldn't quite tell what it was.  His appearance had changed, too.  No longer did he seem unkempt, or even cold, but poised- put together, as though his few moments in the car had encompassed something more meaningful than mere calculations.  I asked, "...how much?"  He just shook his head.  "You don't wanna fence that in."  I began to argue, "But-"  He looked me directly in the eyes and said this, "Listen. There's nothing there to put a fence around. Dead leaves, crusty dirt, fallen branches everywhere... not even much grass to speak of, and the grass that's there is in pitiful condition.  That yard is, well, it's rotten.  Ma'am, I don't know what's happened, but before you go locking something up and putting beauty around it, you need to take care of what's inside first.  That's all I'm sayin'."  Suddenly I knew; we weren't talking about my yard anymore.  We were talking about my heart.  I've put up guards and barriers to protect something that is damaged and broken and, for all intents and purposes, ruined for now.  I'm basically smothering what's dead, and trying to pretend it's okay.  So here's what I'm saying: I'm not okay.  I'm hurting.  My branches are dead and broken and fallen.  My grass is dry and parched.  No flowers grow here.  And yet, it's just as big as it ever was.  I just need The Gardener to come in and do some landscaping.


Now for the fun part!  What was the fence-guy holding, when he came to the door?  Comment with your idea!