The first thing the Black homeowner saw hit the water was a handful of dry leaves.
The second was a crushed paper cup.
The third was a dirty takeout wrapper.
Then came a knot of used tissues, a flattened food container, several sticky pieces of paper, and finally a small piece of latex that floated briefly on the surface of the bright blue water before drifting toward the pool skimmer.
The homeowner stood completely still inside the open patio doorway.
For half a second, his mind refused to accept what his eyes were showing him.
A sixty-year-old white woman wearing dark sunglasses, a pale-pink cardigan, light pants, and flat shoes stood beside his swimming pool holding a large black trash bag upside down with both hands.
The HOA president.
In his backyard.
Again.
She shook the bag sharply.
More debris tumbled into the water.
Then she peered inside, apparently checking whether she had emptied everything.
The homeowner had been swimming less than two minutes earlier.
His upper body was still wet. Water ran from his shoulders down the sides of his torso. He wore bright blue swim trunks and had a towel draped over one forearm.
His phone was in his other hand.
The HOA president gave the empty trash bag one final shake.
A dirty paper napkin floated downward and landed near the pool steps.
Only then did she notice him.
She froze.
Not for long.
Maybe half a second.
Then the expression disappeared.
Her shoulders straightened.
The black trash bag lowered to her side.
And with remarkable speed, the face of a woman caught dumping garbage into somebody else’s swimming pool became the face of an HOA official performing an unpleasant but necessary duty.
The homeowner stared at her.
She stared back.
Neither spoke.
The pool pump hummed.
A sprinkler clicked somewhere beyond the wooden privacy fence.
Sunlight reflected off the contaminated water.
Finally the HOA president said:
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
The homeowner looked toward the sliding glass door behind himself.
Then toward her.
“I live here.”
The woman’s mouth tightened.
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
He stepped onto the patio.
“I really don’t.”
The HOA president looked toward the pool as if the trash had arrived independently.
“You’ve let this property become a sanitation concern.”
The homeowner looked at the garbage.
Then at the empty bag in her hand.
“You just dumped that in there.”
The woman rolled her eyes.
“Oh, relax.”
She turned the bag over again.
One final leaf fell out.