Perennials

Virginia, 50s, lives in fear of the other, specifically, Mexican landscapers in the adjoining front suburban yard. She watches them like a hawk, making sure they don't trespass onto her property. And then one of them does, Julio, 30s, checking his work. She angrily raps on the window...and it sends him up her walkway. She grabs a handgun to protect her life and liberty, and a business card is poked through her mail slot. That evening she calls the number, livid, and is met with a voiceover of mariachi music. She rips the card up and the next day, another is waiting at the door. She sends it back through the mail slot and receives another. She calls. More mariachi music. Virginia stakes out her front door from a bedroom chair...and falls asleep. A business card and perennial greet her in the kitchen. She runs and checks the doors, finding the back open and securing it...did she accidentally leave it open? She calls the number, furious, only to learn it is no longer in service. A note on the card...necesita sol. She blasts a patriotic anthem on her stereo and takes her deceased military husband's tri-cornered American flag, stuffing it into the mail slot... ...and returning to a time when her husband accidentally killed a Mexican landscaper who tried to present him with a perennial gift. The next morning, the flag is gone. She throws opens the door, spying another Mexican landscaper next door wearing an American flag shirt and storms over to Felipe, 30s, accusing him of stealing her flag, entering her house and setting the perennial in her kitchen. He tries to convince her that he didn't do any of the things she's accusing him of but offers an apology, defusing the situation. Virginia returns back up the sidewalk and hears the same mariachi music coming from his radio, only it isn't. She sets the perennial outside, nudging it into the sun...necesita sol.