Forty One

The backyard needed mowing, and when it did, I think the sun reflected more off each of the blades, shimmering.  The leaves of my maple tree dappling and creating shade, I thought, either I could go sit under it on the swing, or get a cup of coffee and stare at it through my picture window.  I chose the latter.  And the afternoon dark of the kitchen brought me down five degrees cooler, so I looked forward to the coffee heating me up again while I watched the shifting sunlight play on the branches from my green fold out chair.

I had no music on, no record.  I just sat there in the quiet, well not quiet exactly.  I could hear the birds.  Then after a while I could hear the lawn mower going, and so it finally registered that I had seen my dad out there in those brown plaid shorts and yellow shirt.  It was a button down, short sleeve, and he often put his sunglasses in those pockets, and wore a cap.  Now the motor of the lawn mower drown out the birds, and I had already gone around the gold living room and through the danish dining room to get a second or a third cup of coffee.

And I’d smoked several cigarettes by now.  The ashtray was full.  The little friends in pony tails holding hands were covered in ashes.

“I always wonder what she’s staring at, out that window,”  Kijra said.

I thought, isn’t it obvious?

And what happens in graveyards stays in graveyards.  There was a bitter, nasty taste in my mouth now.  Probably from the coffee and the cigarettes.  I lit another one to make it go away.  Then the mowing stopped for a moment.  He wasn’t done.  It was a huge yard.  He left the mower and went inside for a drink I bet.  Lemonade. It stood there halfway across and halfway between.   Right in the middle.  It had the same essence, it was like an alter ego of my dad.

I tried to mow the lawn one time.  I can’t remember if it was the motorized one or the hand one.  The gasoline smell was overpowering, but then I can also see the blades from that cylander that goes around cutting and it’s so hard to push.  But then he stopped me.  “You’ll get hurt,” he said.

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