The Musings of Ned Flanders.
Hypothisos.
Watering my frangipanis, I herd the tell-tale sounds of a rift breaking out between my... Somewhat obscure neighbours, Marge and Homer Simpson.
First, there's that 'calm before the storm' sound where the whole house goes eerily silent. The silence is thus broken when a soft 'Doh' emanates the surrounding area, breaking the silence. After that Marge Simpson let's loose her womanly cry of frustration, and verbally abuses her husband.
By now I usually finish up whatever I'd be doing and high-tail it into my charming cottage-house as my neighbourino will be in a foul mood, mostly at his own stupidity of causing his charming wife such a problem. Even he knows he's pushed something too far, should Dear Margery be upset. She is, after all, the most forgiving and patient woman in the world.
If Homer doesn't take his car and ram his way to Moe's tavern, then he'll be storming up the footpath, kickin' and hurting anything and everything in his path, physically or verbally; which is why I would usually scramble inside. While I know Mr. Simpson would never physically hurt me, his words cut through the stone, finding the one thing to hurt you the most.
But today I decide to stay out. Rod and Todd are at bible camp (with all the other children who go to church. Simpson children included.) In Texas for the next three weeks so I have no one to keep me company inside while Homer torments the town. Humming, I go back to my gardening, now watering the lilies my late wife had planted before her un-timely death. A few moments later a large shadow looms over my plants and I. looking up; I see a most pitiful sight.
Homer J. Simpson, with his eye brows creased together, while his eyes are half-lidded in a 'kick-puppy' look. His sombre, regretful look etched onto his face, projecting it's self onto his slumped shoulders, slouched back and overall appearance. I can rule out any verbal abuse today because he's feeling nothing but self loathing right now.
'She's called it quits, Flanders.' He whispers dejectedly, 'Just like that,' he snaps his gawky fingers for emphasis, 'but this time, this time, I have no idea what I did wrong! My head is whirling, trying to find something, anything, that would make her so mad!'
His eyes had gone watery as he explains and I could hear through his woes a few small sniffles.
Gracefully, I stood, carefully placing my un-gloved hand on his back and led him inside my home. Leading him gently into the kitchen I placed him onto the seat he would usually sit on in a different circumstance before I crossed the room to brew some coffee. No words on my part have been said.
This is the first time in three years he has come to me after a fight with Marge, which generally means this one of the worse of fights. After all, only the worst of the worst does he come to me for comfort and a place to stay. In a mediocre fight, no more than a marital fight he would go to Moe's and drink himself into a stupor before either staying with Lenny or Karl.
In a fight much like the one he just had, he comes to me for the kind words I give him and a good meal, a nice, comfortable room to sleep in for the night and a warm breakfast in the morning. A sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on, an advice giver and a Marge de-fuser. Should the fight last more than a night, he can stay here for as long as he would like, and stay close to the woman he loves even if she doesn't want to see him. That's why he comes here, or so I guess.
Sometimes I wish he would come over for a friendly visit and not under these circumstances, as if he were a friend. But as he has so coldly made it clear all these years, he is not my friend, we are merely neighbours.
So I'll play my part. I'll offer my soft neighbourly words and my warm comfort, guide him back to the guestroom after I've filled him with coffee and supper and once he's calmed down enough to be left alone I'll see Marge without him knowing in order to straighten out the problem and hopefully send him home in the morning with his wife's arms forgivingly wide open.
That's what I'll do.
But for now, we sit in comfortable silence, drinking coffee as if we were friends.