Reality, like money, God or traffic signs is a group agreement, a concept. It changes with time and location, occurs in increments or instantaneously is desired or undesired the result is the same disorientation. What was is no longer.
Written by Carol Roper.
Driving a silver Honda CRV south on California Interstate 5, Jules Hall reflected on the recent changes in her reality and how they happened but not why because she knew why and it still pissed her off.
Glancing in the rear view mirror she saw her handsome, doe-eyed, red-dog, standing behind her seat. “How we doing, Tru? Everything okay, back there?” Changing road lanes, she said, “I love you, Tru,” as she did many times a day.
At age seventy Jules enjoyed a minimum of aging distractions and general good health that she credited to never having smoked cigarettes or married. Her face had a familiar look to it. She had no sharp features, a small nose, high cheekbones and mixed heritage, the years had added a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth when she laughed which was often. She wore little makeup and favored California casually classic fashion.
A month ago she’d enjoyed a fortunate life obtained through her talent, work ethic and good luck as a retired freelance Hollywood writer. She lived alone with Tru at her townhouse in a coastal San Diego surfer’s town; played tennis on it’s private courts, was active as a Board Member at a local community theater and volunteered at a Safe House for victims of domestic violence, driving a woman to a job interview or doctor’s appointment. One night a week Jules taught an Adult Ed screenwriter’s course that she was stimulating and nurturing for both Jules and her students. And always Tru was nearby.
Her life ground to a halt with the delivery of a manila envelope from the Homeowner’s Association threatening their future.
Her hand shook as she read that Tru was in violation of pet size limits. She had 30 days to come into compliance. In the interim she would be fined 25 dollars a day. The fine would double weekly. If Jules was not in compliance in thirty days the HOA had the power to remove the violation at her expense. Panic played ping pong in her gut at the threat of losing Tru.
“What the hell?! What the Hell?” She balled the notice and threw it on the floor. “He’s a dog, a sentient being. Tru’s not a violation!”
It wasn’t until her relationship with the last man she’d ever live with ended - for the usual disagreements money and sex - and he left taking his dog with him that Jules realized she missed the dog.
Soon after she found Tru, a Rhodesian ridgeback mix, in the local Animal shelter. It was love at first sight and fortunate timing. Tru was scheduled for euthanasia the next day.
People thought she’d rescued Tru, but Jules knew it was the opposite. Tru was her life. Before him she spent early mornings in bed reviewing her life’s mistakes and failures. He gave her life focus. With Tru, Jules bounded from bed, pulled on her sweats and sneakers and out the door for an hour’s walk before it got too hot.
Driving Jules recalled how she’d searched the Internet for homeowner rights only to find terrifying stories of Owners losing tier homes to HOA’s and her phone call with Walter, a retired lawyer and former tennis doubles partner before open heart surgery sidelined him.
“What can I do, Walter? I feel like I’ve been rear-ended by a garbage truck.” Three, deep breaths, Jules reminded herself, three deep calming breaths.
“Got anything to drink in the house?”
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s not good. A Home Owners Association is a private government.”
“Yeah, but the thing is Tru’s the same size as when I brought him home eight years ago. Shouldn’t I have been informed at that time?”
“Check your CC&R’s. Covenants, Rules and Regulations for a planned community. You had to agree and sign it before you could buy your property.”
“Of course, I signed but I didn’t have a dog then, and when I did the HOA manager said, “It was no problem.”
“That was the old HOA when there was a real estate recession. Now your townhouse is worth three times what you paid for it eight years ago - and you guys voted for a new Board and a new Home Owner’s Association management.”
“Yes, I voted for them, too. They made a professional presentation and promised to turn the community into Shangri-La without raising our fees the first year.”
“You do know Shangri-La is an imaginary place.”
“Not helping, Walter.”
“Okay, I know. I’m a retired lawyer so not legally responsible for any advice I give. That’s my disclaimer in case you sue me.”
“I’m not going to sue you, Walter,” she scoffed.
“Big HOA management companies like yours have teams of inspectors who do nothing but drive around the country inspecting their properties looking for broken rules and regulations. Fines generate income.” He took a breath. “You can appeal, but…”
Jules interrupted. “Appeal?” Jules brightened with false hope, “How?”
“Well, you could argue that Tru should be grandfathered in, allowed to stay, based on the fact that he’s been there all along and his presence is accepted by the community.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, no, don’t thank me. You’ll lose.”
“I’ll deal with that when and if it happens.” One thing was certain. “I’ll never give up, Tru.”
“I understand. Call me if I can help.”
She emailed her formal appeal to the HOA Board and Management Company and waited.
Two sides wrestled with each other at Jules’s core: one was intelligent and rational, the other believed in magic and serendipity.
When the HOA denied her appeal, Jules contacted a local realtor. Within twenty-four hours she received three offers above her asking price. The two highest were from real estate investment companies who were buying residences to turn into permanent rentals. The third came from a couple expecting a baby that included a personal letter. They loved her home and the community was ideal for a growing family. The wife was a professor of Women and African studies; the husband, a pediatrician. They hoped Jules would favor their offer as it was the best financing they could secure because they were paying off student loans.
Jules accepted their offer. During the six weeks of escrow, she sold most of her furnishings to a second hand store and donated the rest to the Women’s Safe House and the local theater.
Traffic was light this foggy Saturday morning. She beneath a bridge with a sign: Last Exit USA
The Honda’s gas tank full. On the passenger seat was Jules US Passport and Tru’s Vet Health Certificate. Packed in the rear bay of her CRV were her favorite comforter and pillows, bathroom stuff, Tru’s bed and dog kibble, her laptop, a box of books she had been meaning to read, journals, 3 plastic boxes of photos and legal documents and unfinished stories and plays that she might finish one day, who knows? A flashlight and emergency aid kit.
From photos on the internet Jules rented a semi-furnished house in a dog friendly community forty minutes south of the USA border in a place called Puesto Del Sol on the Pacific coast of México that she hoped was as nice as it sounded.
Steering into a curve on the approach Mexican customs, Jules saw a large multicolored sign arched across the road: ¡Bienvenidos a México!
A steady flow of slow moving vehicles entered the tunnel cement structure that was Mexican Customs Inspection Center. Jules saw neatly uniformed men and women Customs Officers line each side and thought how different Mexican customs was from the highly militarized USA customs. Nearing a fresh-faced woman officer, Jules lowered her window to show she had nothing to hide. The woman smiled and motioned Jules to pass.
A jubilant sensation of freedom rose Jules as she exited Mexican Customs steered toward the Playas/Beaches sign. Five minutes later she stopped at the booth on the Scenic Highway and paid the toll; an ordinary thing she had done endless times in the United States that felt like an accomplishment when doing it in a different language.
She drove the scenic highway through mountains and unspoiled vistas of the Pacific Ocean sparking the sunlight. Seeing a picturesque outcropping and pulled over to let stretch her legs and let Tru out. He bounded to a bush to do his business as she strolled along a ledge and surveyed the water.
A dark fin moved in the surf. “Shark?” She wondered aloud. The answer came with the emergence a large shiny, gray Dolphin rising skyward twisting and then plunging back e water.
“Wow, hello beautiful,” she exclaimed as two more Dolphins broke the surface one looked small enough to be a calf. Jules reached to her back pocket for her phone to take a photo but changed her mind. She didn’t want to miss wild nature so close to her. She sat cross-legged on the ledge and watch the Dolphin family’s rhythmic; swimming and continued to look after they were out of sight at the ocean filled with underwater life on a planet spinning in an endless universe and in that moment she experienced complete harmony between herself and the cosmos. Jules closed her eyes. Self-blame, sorrows and anger dissolved in a millisecond. Her body felt light and calm.
“So this is what it’s all about,” she thought. Opening her eyes everything she saw seemed fresh and remarkable.
She felt Tru at her side. “Hello my dog” She put her arm around his shoulders and looked at him. His brown eyes stared at her as if he understood her every word. Jules stood and scratched behind his ears.
“Shall we continue our journey?” Tru cocked his head to one side. “You don’t know the word, ‘journey,’ then how about a ride?”
Hearing “ride,” Tru curved his body as gracefully as Baryshnikov and sprinted to the Honda.
Jules laughed, “Oh, yes, he’s ready, definitely ready,” she said following him.
Her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it from her jeans pocket. The text came from the owner of the rental in Puesto Del Sol. “I’ll meet you at the house,” she read.
Jules tapped the phone’s microphone icon and spoke as she walked to her car, “On my way.”
Written by Carol Roper 2023
Ⓒ Carol Roper
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivatives 4.0 International License. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Carol Roper
I am a published and award winning playwright, produced television, screenwriter, blogger and YouTuber.
UNRULY WOMEN and other stories are about vintage aged US citizens who for various reasons, live in Baja California, MX. I moved to Baja California in 2011 when I was 71. Best decision I ever made.
Visit me on YouTube:
And Carol Roper https://post.news/@/celebrate
Carol Roper 
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