Mowing the Lawn

[Shadow_Twisted]

The work began early that day, he had to in an effort to be finished before the sun reached the peak of its intensity. First was the prep work. He opened the clear plastic drawers of his dresser and pulled out two pairs of jeans and two t-shirts. The garments he had less concern for went on his body, while the others were carried to the bathroom. He did this now so as to avoid handling his clean clothes with filthy hands.

Then the task itself was to begin. Across the street he ventured to retrieve the mower from his "stepfather-in-law". Gas was already full and it was a new, lightweight mower. Time to get to work. The mower gave little resistance to being carted over to the back lawn. The front was still negligible, but the back was a mess. The old mower gave out before getting to taste the grass of the backyard, and saw it bacame slightly overgrown.

Three pumps to the primer and two attempt at the pull cord and the mower roared into life. Down the slope to the canal's sea wall. Then he turned and noticed something that had to be moved. The other day, his stepfather-in-law had finished taking out the remaining pieces of the dock, which had been badly damaged by the long series of rain a few months before. The young man had did the bulk of the work, actually it seemed like he usually did. Still, his stepfather-in-law was a bit of a self-centered fool who was blind to anyone's efforts but his own. A trait that had pissed the young man off on numerous occasions. Anyways, there were the remaining boards from the dock, that had spent a long time in the water. The sun had awakened the overbearing stench of dead sea life and the wood was abuzz with a horde of flies. It looked like some small shells had formed on most of the wood and one cut would get infected almost instantly.

Erring on the side of caution, he sought out gloves to protect his hands, but in typical fashion, none were to be found. It was another annoying habit of his stepfather-in-law to horde things, hide them in the weirdest of places, or outright throw them away for no discernible reason. So, angry at the wasted time, he went back to the pile and moved the boards with his bare hands, fighting the urge to be sick from the assaulting odor that emanated from the putrid wood like a toxic cloud. The grip was horrible, as the boards had become slimy and would slip, letting the dead shells, eggs, or whatever the fuck else was on the wood scrape off into his hand. Every time, he cursed the task and pondered what sins he had possibly committed to deserve such treatment. Finally, after what was certain to be too long, the task was done and he resumed his task, quickly realizing why the mower was so lightweight. It had no automatic setting for the wheels to assist the laborer. The uneven nature of the sloped backyard had led to too many situation where the mower would get stuck, and so he would have to work harder to fight with the uncooperative mower to get it to do the job. All the while, the sun was baking him and he was almost instantly glistening with sweat.

After what hadn't been such a long time, the mower sputtered to its death, out of gas. It had been his wasted time, he was sure. The hot sun evaporating the gas from the mower while he had focused on his other tasks. Back across the street for a gas can. The gas wasn't the only thing that needed some fuel, so he sat the can down in the shaded front entrance area and went inside for the relief of a few cups of ice water. Then it was back to the task, although it was getting dangerously close to noon. He had to finish now, he wouldn't let himself stop again.

It was a decision he highly regretted. As he neared the end, his muscles were no longer wanting to carry on and he was being cooked alive. The mower continued fighting as he perspired more and more. Damn Florida's near constant humidity. His sweat could not evaporate to cool him and the only breezes that blew were warm and tormenting. He no longer saw grass and a mower but fire and brimstone as he tried pushing a square boulder, for certainly he was in Hell. There was no mercy or redemption to be had, until at last the task was finished. Relieved, he rolled the mower back to the garage across the street and then carried over the gas can.

Now it was time for his salvation, the grace of a cold shower. Back home he went to the bathroom and began shedding the garments, his cotton shirt turned to a leathery mass from the profuse amount of his sweat that it had absorbed, but all his clothes were soaked with it. Once he was nude, he turned the water on. At first, it was too cold, so he turned it a little warmer. That was better, so he got in, but soon the water was getting warm, so he turned it back down, little by little. Then he found the setting that let the cool drops penetrate his skin just deep enough, but it too warmed up a little, so it took one final turn to get it to the perpetual cooling water that let him feel that he had been given a reprieve of his hell. He lathered up his hair and relished the refreshing scent compared to the stench of decaying sea life intermingled with the blend of gasoline and lawn clippings. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Then he took some body wash and cleansed his face and then blindly cupped his hands under the stream of water and splashed it on his face to rinse off, letting his hands linger so that the refreshing sensation lasted longer. He even rinsed a few times more than necessary just for the relief. Then he toweled his hair and face and went back to finish cleansing his body of the sweat and grime from the task he had finished.

However, with the task over, his muscles finally got to rest, and they screamed against him with their exhaustion and he was certain he would be rather sore for the next two or three days. Still, the shower had refreshed him as he dried off. But he noticed that as he dried, other parts that had been dried were mysteriously wet again. Then he realized that as cooling as the shower had been, he was still sweating. He decided to at least get dressed from his waist down, and then went to the room and turned on the fan, tilting it up to his chest and holding the sides, he let the cool air lick away the beads until he actually started to feel cold. Then he put on some deodorant and slipped on his shirt, relaxing for awhile after finishing his laborious chore.