The Fence Between Them – A Story in Three Paths: An Allegory by Bear Howard

Introduction: The Divide

Sedona, AZ – On Hawthorne Lane, the lawns were neatly edged, the wind chimes clinked like a polite conversation, and the air smelled of cut grass and distant barbecues. But between two houses—one with a flagpole that once held the stars and stripes, the other with solar panels glinting in the sun—there stood a silent war.

Tom and Carl had once been the image of neighborly warmth. Their kids had built snow forts together, and their families exchanged pies on Thanksgiving. Carl was a veteran and entrepreneur, and Tom is a retired engineer with bookshelves full of history. They had seen eye-to-eye on many things—until politics cracked the foundation 

By 2024, they didn’t wave anymore. Their homes were no longer side-by-side—they were opposite ends of a national fault line.

The fence wasn’t wooden. It was built of pride, grievance, and the dangerous certainty of being right.

And what followed would depend on their choices—and the direction of the nation they live in.

Chapter 1:  The Reckoning

In the first path, America spiraled. Trump’s second term was not just a continuation—it was an escalation. Agencies were gutted. Investigations weaponized.  Judges loyal to party over law were installed like chess pieces across the board. The press, once imperfect but free, was demonized into irrelevance. Executive orders came fast, fury-filled, and often retaliatory.

Carl had cheered at first. He had believed it would bring order, prosperity, and respect.

But it didn’t.

His daughter, a teacher, resigned after being called a “Marxist groomer” for teaching inclusion. His friend from church was labeled unpatriotic for questioning military overreach. His business withered under erratic tariffs and local boycotts he dismissed as “cancel culture,” but deep down, he knew it was because people were afraid of him.

And one morning, Carl stood awkwardly at Tom’s driveway with two cups of coffee, the same kind they once shared on better days.

“I owe you,” he said. “I thought I was backing strength. But I was just feeding a beast I didn’t understand.” 

Tom studied him. “What changed? 

Carl’s answer came without spin. “I stopped lying to myself.”

That day, something shifted. They didn’t debate—they remembered who they were before the noise. They talked about their kids, their hopes, and their shared fear that democracy had nearly slipped through their fingers.

As the sun crested the trees, the invisible fence between them began to collapse—one word, one coffee, one act of courage at a time.

Chapter 2: The Descent

In the second version, the same events unfolded—but Carl never changed.

Even as the administration crumbled under scandal, even as allies abandoned the U.S. on the world stage, even as food prices soared and schools failed, Carl doubled down.

He stopped hosting barbecues. He stopped attending church. His house grew darker, quieter, and angrier. The Trump flag—now sun-bleached and torn—still flapped above his porch like a tattered warning.

Tom had tried. Others had, too. But Carl’s mind was a fortress. He subscribed to new conspiracy channels. He printed out blog posts about stolen elections and deep state coups. He stockpiled canned food and ammo. He installed cameras around his property. He snarled at anyone who disagreed 

His children stopped calling.

His neighbors crossed the street when they saw him.

Then one day, anonymous letters appeared in every mailbox—scribbled in red ink, filled with names and threats. Everyone knew who had sent them.

Carl had not been silenced. He had silenced himself, entombed in paranoia, pride, and rage.

And the house at the end of the street, once full of life, became something else—a bunker. A warning. A tombstone for a man who chose delusion over dialogue.

Chapter 3: The Surprise

The third possibility unfolded unexpectedly.

Tom, the rationalist, had placed his hope in a new administration. One that promised unity, science, and fairness. But as years passed, things didn’t improve—they fractured.

Energy costs exploded under green initiatives that weren’t ready. Crime rose in once-safe cities. Equity programs meant to lift the marginalized became bureaucratic disasters. Public trust eroded 

Meanwhile, something strange happened in the heartland.

Carl’s community flourished. Regulations were trimmed with precision, not recklessness. Manufacturing came back. Schools focused on results, not ideology. Infrastructure was built fast—and well. Local leaders weren’t ideological warriors; they were pragmatic problem-solvers.

Tom watched, then wondered. Then… he walked across the yard with two beers in hand.

“You were right about some of it,” he said quietly.

Carl, older now, didn’t gloat. “We all miss things when we’re shouting.”

They sat in silence, then in conversation. And eventually, in mutual understanding.

Tom didn’t flip parties. He didn’t buy a red hat. But he did something rarer—he changed his mind about what worked.

And from that, a new kind of hope grew—not agreement, but coexistence. 

Conclusion: The Street We Choose

Three stories. One street. Three endings. 

One ends in humility. One ends in hatred. One ends in the hardest thing of all—changing your mind.

America stands on the same edge as Carl and Tom did. 

The truth is: that reconciliation is possible. Redemption is real. And reality—though painful—is the only thing strong enough to bridge our fences.

But the odds aren’t great.

Most people won’t bring the coffee. Most won’t admit they were wrong. Most would rather lose a friend than lose an argument.

 And so the future will not be decided in Washington, or on Twitter, or by whichever pundit screams loudest on a given night.

It will be decided on streets like Hawthorne Lane—where two neighbors stand on either side of a fence, holding everything in their hearts but not knowing whether to speak.

The question is: Will we choose the porch—or the bunker?

And if we don’t choose soon… The silence will choose for us.