The day Johnny Depp mowed my yard

Circa 2008

As I pull into the drive, imagine my surprise when I see my celebrity crush mowing my yard. 

I about hit my house!

There he was; combat boots with new grass stains. Beat up jeans. That wallet chain thumping against his leg with each step. His white tank top soaked with perspiration. Suspenders draped around his thighs. Topped off with that old hat he was famous for wearing. My innards were doing a barn dance. 

Tone arms glistened in the sun. Holy Jack Sparrow!

Johnny Depp was mowing my yard!

This man, who could pay an army of landscapers that would have my yard mowed in seconds, was push mowing my yard; when it was ninety-three degrees in the shade. With ninety-six % humidity. This by far had been the hottest, grossest day of the year. 

My mind started swirling, what do I do? Offer him water? Then he would absolutely know how poor I am. I must be the only southern woman that doesn’t have sweet tea in her house. Lemonade? Pop? Well shit!

The polite thing to do is invite him into a cool house and offer him a cold drink. MY HOUSE IS A MESS! I would die of embarrassment if he said yes! But that was the polite thing to do? Maybe even ask him if he wants to take a shower. Can you imagine? My toes were curling at the thought. 

I heard the mower sputter to a stop. What to do? What to do? 

He strutted from the back yard. Up a tiny incline. Up one step from the ground to the car port. I was transfixed to the ground watching him. Then my mind took over, ‘say something, stupid. Say something, stupid. Say something, stupid’.

With my mouth dry as cotton, I stammered, “drink?” Did I say it loud enough for him to hear me? I must have.

With that accent that is SO Johnny Depp, “water,” rolled like honey off his lips. 

My words sounded more like I was trying to dislodge a hairball than speak, “would you like to come in?”

“This is perfect.” He sat in one of my bistro chairs. 

I turned too quickly, almost tripping over the door jam. At least I didn’t hurt myself. To my astonishment, I didn’t fall out the door with the tray. 

Now, let’s not drop the glass. My hands shook so badly, you’d thought we were in the middle of an earthquake. He smiled sweetly taking the glass. 

“Thank you so much. I know it’s not enough. I’m,” I looked out over my yard. “Words are not enough.”

He smiled again, where would I be without my fans?”

We sat under my carport for a long time. Neither saying much. When I got up to take the glasses in the house, he thanked me for the water. I offered him more, which he declined. 

All I did was set the glasses in the sink and ran back outside. He was gone! Are you kidding me? He’s gone! 

I ripped the cushions off the little chair with the desperate hope he had fallen through them. Had he really ever been here? My mower was sitting by the basement door. The grass had been mowed. I looked back at the chair where he had been sitting, there was his wallet chain. How’d I miss that?

My only physical memento that he’d ever been there. 

Well, I had a well mowed yard and a glass I’ll never wash.  

The End 

Kentucky Summer – Poetry & More