“This won’t end well, Ma. I’m serious! You can’t just cover that thing up!”
“That thing, huh? See, even you don’t know what to call it!”
“It’s public property.”
“It’s an eyesore, Darrius. And it’s in front of my house.”
Darrius stood on the cement block, protecting it. His mother was yielding a bag full of mulch and was circling him, ready to pour.
“Mr. Park says there are underground tunnels for the President to use in emergencies. What if this is one?”
“If the President wants to visit me, he can come by car just like everyone else. Now step aside!” She swung the bag and began to pour.
“My Jordans!” Darrius leaped into the grass.
Mr. Jorgensen, the notoriously nosy neighbor, wandered over.
“Did you bury a pet?” He asked, gesturing at the mulch.
“That’s the cement block,” Darrius explained.
“You could be fined for that!”
“Only if someone rats me out, Jorgensen.” Darrius’s mother glared at him.
The next morning, Darrius awoke to a loud crack.
He walked outside. The cement block was uncovered and his mother was busy adjusting the top as though it wasn’t closing correctly. She was covered in dirt.
“Ma? Are you going to cover up the square again?”
“No. Jorgensen reported me… I’ve been fined.” She grinned. “Actually, it’s a handy spot to throw things into. Things you never want to see again. Lots of water down there. Some rats too.”
“Wait… Are you wearing Mr. Jorgensen’s boots?”
She shrugged. “You want pancakes?”
