Weird Shorts | Page 6

in the driveway, pulled up close to the drainage ditch because there were no storm drains or curbs in this subdivision. She had seen him at many of the other neighbors' houses, too, always working in his systematic and unhurried manner, even during the hottest parts of the day. The only time his routine varied was when branches had been blown down by a storm. He gathered them to add to the compost heap in a far corner of the backyard and then commenced his regular duties.
What did he think about as he walked placidly behind his mower? she wondered. The question consumed her as she watched him from her window, her air conditioning cool, her life so sedentary compared to his. His steps rarely varied in length; his gaze seldom left his intended path; he almost never paused to catch his breath or to survey the job at hand. What was he thinking about?
One Thursday morning her curiosity prodded her beyond endurance, and she made a pitcher of iced tea, poured two glasses, put some packets of sugar in her pocket, pinched off a few sprigs of mint, and walked to the fence where the old black dude had just finished mowing the last bit of the Hales' lawn.
"Hello?" she called, "would you like to have a glass of iced tea? It's awfully hot today."
He looked over at her, and the smile on his face was so beautiful that her heart stood still for a moment.
"Why, thank you, Missy," he said, and he reached over the fence to take the proffered glass. "You're mighty kind to an old man."
She could feel her face flush. "I'm Andrea. I live here with my husband. I've seen you all over the neighborhood. You do a lot of the lawns around here."
"Yes, ma'am, I do. Will you be needing your lawn done?"
"Oh, no. My husband takes care of the lawn. I just thought maybe you'd like to cool off a little." Again she could tell that here face was reddening. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.
"Well, Missy, you're mighty thoughtful, and I do appreciate your kindness." He smiled at her gently, and her embarrassment eased, but she hadn't the courage to ask her question, so she took his empty glass and walked back to her air-conditioned house.
The next Thursday morning she again took two glasses of tea out to the fence and called to the old black dude. This time he motioned her over to the picnic table in the Hales' backyard. They sat opposite each other as they sipped their tea.
Up close like this he looked more ageless than old. His face was creased, but with life experiences rather than from sagging skin. Sweat stood out in droplets that sometimes merged and formed tiny rivulets that coursed down his cheeks. He pulled out a blue bandana and wiped his face, but the sweat popped out again almost immediately.
"Is this all you do, mow lawns?" said Andrea.
"Well, Missy, I earn my living this way, but I do lots of other things, too."
"I -- I didn't mean?"
"I know what you meant, little Missy. It's all right," he said kindly. "I was just funnin' you a little. Yes, I mow lawns for my living. What do you do?"
"I'm a housewife. No children yet. Sometimes I write; you know, stories and letters and stuff."
"Do you really? I like to read, but I've never tried writing."
Andrea drew a breath to tell the old black dude about her writing, but then she stopped. He had finished the tea and probably needed to get back to work, and most likely he really wouldn't be interested anyway.
"I'll let you get back to your work." She picked up the glasses and walked toward her own yard.
"Thank you kindly, Missy," he called as he stood and walked back to his mower.
Soon it became a ritual, the tea-making and talking at the picnic table. The visits lengthened to ten, then fifteen minutes. The two glasses of tea grew to include the entire pitcher, and cookies became an additional refreshment. They spoke of current events, religion, books, TV shows. The old black dude was well-read and had vivid opinions on almost every subject.
And one Thursday morning Andrea screwed up her courage to ask the question, "So what do you think about while you mow people's yards?"
"Well, Missy, sometimes I make up stories about the families, and sometimes I build a beautiful garden in their yards, but mostly I run the protection lines all around their houses."
"Protection lines? What are those?"
"Don't you see them, little Missy? The lines are strung all around."
Andrea looked around the yard. She didn't see anything unusual, so she turned back to the old black dude.
He pointed at a tree and traced a line in the air.