With that said, meet Adam Tipper . . .
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| This picture (self-drawn) is the reason why this is not a blog about drawing ;-) |
Aaron yanked on the Craftsman mower cord a fourth
time, sending a breath of white smoke into the oven-like May air. The mower
chugged to life. His dad was right, maybe taking his shirt off and wearing old
jeans really worked. Aaron grinned, dreaming of the cool Pepsi waiting for him
after the front yard grass was mowed. He threw his shoulders forward and
marched, driving the mower over the wet lawn.
"Straight lines along the perimeter moving
towards the middle," Aaron reminded himself. Mr. Tipper had made it clear
that the lawn was to be finished by the time he got home if Aaron was going to
get his five dollars for the job. Also, if this job went well, who knows
whether there’d be a future five dollars?
The
mower jumped. Six geysers erupted under Aaron’s feet. Cold water shot up his
pant legs and sprayed his bare stomach as he Riverdanced sopping and surprised
off the lawn. With a lunge, he sprang off the lawn towards the blue house
behind him. Aaron ran to the right of the automatic garage door and slapped the
faucet handle, turning the water off.
His younger sister
Kelly walked up from around the house behind him, wearing a water-stained
t-shirt and carrying a nozzled garden hose in her hand. “What happened to the
water?” she asked, eyeing her brother suspiciously.
“I must’ve ran over
it,” said Aaron, “why didn’t you check to make sure your hose wasn’t on the
grass before I started mowing?”
“Hey, don’t bark at me,”
said Kelly, raising her hands defensively, “the windows are on the side of the
house and I’ve been out here for an hour. How was I supposed to know when you
were mowing?”
“What, the sound brrrr wasn’t enough for you?”
Kelly tapped her earbud
with her left index finger.
Aaron grumbled. She had
a point, and nobody had mentioned that it was more of Aaron’s fault for not
double-checking that the lawn was free of sticks. Or hoses.
“Well, I guess this
means I don’t have to finish the windows now,” Kelly flicked the hose over her
shoulder and flip-flopped to the house.
Aaron tensed. The last
time his mistake had gotten Kelly out of work, Mr. Tipper gave them both extra
work and Kelly never let him forget it. Besides, Aaron had five bucks at stake.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so, missy. I’ll fix it.”
“You can’t fix a hose, Aaron,”
she said, coming back. “Besides, Dad should be on his way home now. I can call
and ask him to pick one up on his way.”
“And waste fourteen
bucks? No sir. Besides, when you make a mess, you clean it up on your own.”
armed with this, Aaron scoured the garage for the Tipper’ year supply of duct
tape.
Hours passed.
When wrapping the duct tape four times around the break couldn’t
keep the water in, Aaron tried a fresh roll of tape. When that failed, Aaron
turned to a pair of scissors and some old hose connectors. With each failure, a
new tool was pitched into the garage and the hose grew less likely to be used
again. Finally, with a garden hose that resembled a butchered python, Aaron
knew the end had come. He snatched up coils of the green rubber and pitched it
into the garbage can. It landed in, sending a bang into the air. Aaron sighed at his failed effort. He had tried
on his own and failed, leaving him no choice.
Aaron marched into the
house. Hopefully his dad had fourteen bucks on him and wouldn’t mind taking a
detour on his way home.
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