When the Green Went Away

38 JOE HILAND WHEN THE GREEN WENT AWAY Winner of the 2010–11 AWP Intro Journals Project, selected by Darrin Doyle W e were proud of our greens on Oliver Lane. We had the solemn, dignified green of the mammoth pine tree in the Hamptons’ yard on the corner of our street, and we had the dark, lustrous green of the new suv in the Marshalls ’ driveway. We had the vibrant green of Misty Franco’s cheerleading outfit, the tough-guy green of Joey Knott’s varsity jacket. We had the greens of summer and the greens of spring. In winter we had joyous green wreathes and garlands and happy holidays welcome mats. The lampposts and fire hydrants on our street were painted a muted municipal green, as were many of our mailboxes. Dylan and Lindsey Elliot hung shutters of bright, confident green on the façade of their newlyweds’ home, and the Malleys, married almost fifty years, carried pints of green beer door-to-door to share with us each Saint Patrick’s Day. We had the green of garden hoses and Weedwackers, the green of patio furniture and children’s raincoats. But we were proudest of the lush and verdant greens of our manicured lawns on Oliver Lane. These were our greens of stability and contentment. These were the greens that swallowed sunlight, melted away all ugly and inhuman shades of the spectrum , and left only easy green bliss for our eyes to drink in. These were the greens that made painters and nostalgic old men want to weep. We coaxed these greens from our lawns with patience and practiced care. We nurtured the lawns of our block, trimming and watering and fertilizing the grasses and flowers and ferns surrounding our homes. We mowed our lawns with satisfied smiles and pleasant waves to our neighbors on weekend afternoons. “Grass is looking good today,” we would say to one another . “Mind if I slip off my shoes and give the old toes a wiggle through that lovely green?” “Not at all, friend. Wiggle away.” Countless shades of green grew and flourished within our 39 Hiland lawns on Oliver Lane. No family’s lawn was monochromatic, and no two lawns on the street were shaded exactly alike. Oliver Lane was a place of jades and emeralds and olives. Sea greens flowed into forest greens, lime greens blended with tea greens, and these myriad shades of green mingled freely from one yard to the next, woven together down the length of our street, a lush tapestry of grass framed only by our immaculate driveways and clean-swept sidewalks. We abhorred fences and garden walls and anything else that might divide our lovely lawns from those of our neighbors. No one could say precisely where one lawn ended and the next began, and no one much cared. The beautiful green grass belonged to all of us, and we all found ways to enjoy it. Our children spent endless sunny afternoons playing barefooted games of soccer and freeze tag and capture the flag, and the soft blades of our lawns would tickle the delicate soles of their feet, gently coaxing them through childhood with assurances that, yes, all of life would be this green and supple and sublimely scented. Our teenagers would lounge on our lawns together, unconscious of the beauty exuding from their youth, aware only of the endless bed of soothing grass beneath their lithe bodies. Joey Knott would show off his three-point stance, and Misty Franco would practice her cheerleading tumbles. The Elliots set up elaborate croquet courts for the adults of Oliver Lane, and we mulled about their wonderful green, sipping cocktails flavored with wedges of lime and laughing away the distant troubles of work and war and government. On Thanksgiving we held games of touch football on the frozen green, and on Easter, egg hunts through the dewy green. Each Memorial Day and Fourth of July we watched Eddie Hampton march across the proud green of his lawn to the flagpole beside his majestic pine tree, Old Glory cradled safely in his arms. Eddie’s father had planted the pine as a sapling before he left his...