November's first Friday Flash

Wrote this a long time ago - eighteen months, according to the timestamp on the original file - but never knew what to do with it. Friday Flash seems like a good use. . .

Bill.

- - -


The bright green smell of the lawn swirls around me with each pass back and forth. Back and forth. Back and. . . now I have to work around this tree. And back, and now the other side, then all the way across.

This lawn doesn't need to be mowed. The grass would be just fine; I know this. No matter how it looks, how much it seems to grow each week, I know that it does not need to be mowed. But MOM says that I have to mow it, and I do not dare refuse her. I've tried that - a few times, actually - and paid the price. So on this hot afternoon, sun beating down, insects buzzing faintly, it's lawn mowing for me.

The engine bogs down in a longer patch and I push on the handle to raise the deck, let the blade free itself. Back up, try that again, slower. The exhaust smell, sharp, that unique tang of petrochemicals. I've never smelled anything like it, and I'd never mistake it for anything else. You would think that after all this time someone could design a better lawnmower. Heck, I could, but they won't let me. I have to use this cranky, difficult, heavy, stinking thing. Oh, and that sputter, I know just what that is. Out of gas.

The can is smooth, cool and very heavy, I must be careful to keep gas from splashing on the hot engine. The mower's tank is too small. Even if I start full I have to refill at least once, and today I forgot to top it off before starting. Whoa, okay, that's it. Put that cap on very carefully, good, nothing spilled. I hate how it smells when I get gas on my hands, that odor sticks in my head long after it is gone.

And this wretched thing doesn't even have a starter, only a rope. I have to avoid pulling too hard or it will break, but if I don't get enough of a yank the motor won't catch. I'm actually getting a lot better at it, there we go, rumbling along nicely.

Nearly done, just a few more turns. I can almost make myself enjoy this part. I start to think about something other than the grass and the mower and the sweat that seems to be running down my back. Wonder why it is that I'm doing this. Obviously: she told me to, but why is it so important to her? Am I supposed to learn something, I mean, other than how to mow a lawn? Is it teaching me patience, or thoroughness? Or just giving me time to think about things?

Still mulling over this, I'm startled by the communications chime. I blink to accept, and as always, it's her. She's using what I call her outdoors voice, "Dear, all done with the lawn?" "Yes, ma'am, just putting the mower back." "Oh, good. It's time for dinner."

Dinner sounds good - but today I'm a little reluctant to leave the lawn. With a last look, I blink the sequence that deactivates the simulation. As my carrier undocks from the workstation, MOM transmits another message. Now it is her regular voice: _Unit 14 task list complete. Feeding access approved_ With that, my carrier wheels around and starts down the long, white hall to the feeding bay. I think it's pizza, tonight.
- - -