Cupid's Sabotage (COMPLETED)

Chapter 6

Ernie Mills, our neighbor who lives six doors down from us, has been a resident in these suburbs since the beginning, or so he claims. He says he's seen people come and seen people go, houses built and houses demoed. I often find it comical to think about how Mills' house was the only structure among a thinly grown forest back then to how the neighborhood is now—crowded with noisy kids riding their scooters and bicycles down the streets.

Mr. Mills is a grumpy old man with plenty of "get off my lawn" remarks to go around, and he's crazy. Like legitimately crazy. I'm ninety-nine percent sure the Navy scrambled his brain before they discharged him some forty years ago. He always has a new story to tell every time I come to cut his lawn, one that typically is centered around his days in the military. He calls it the "good ole days". Some of his stories get pretty far-fetched—like the time he allegedly saved his entire platoon by throwing himself on top of a live grenade. It didn't detonate, however. Mills claims it was because his massive frame crushed the fragile wires inside the charge. Or the time he rescued twenty-seven of his comrades from a hail of gunfire by army crawling a quarter-mile back and forth to retrieve each man for sixteen hours straight. Or the other time when he agreed to start their own shrimping business with one of his comrades once they got out of the military. Though, I'm fairly certain he's quoting Forrest Gump on that one.

Every other Saturday, I cut Mr. Mills' lawn for ten dollars. Yeah, that's right; ten measly dollars. I used to get paid twenty dollars a cut, but after the Lexington's moved in across the street, their thirteen-year-old son, Conner, recognized what a brilliant entrepreneur I am and decided to steal my client by lowballing his price to fifteen dollars a cut. Mills is a cheapskate; always has been, always will be. He's been driving the same Buick for the last twenty-five years and he's owned the same raggedy sofa for nearly as long. So after hearing Conner Lexington's offer, Mills decided he'd profit from my predicament, and have a little fun at the same time. He told me if I kept a competitive price, he'd continue to use my services. Me and my foolish thinking didn't smell the cantankerous stew he was cooking, so naturally, I agreed to it with little thought. And so that's how I started cutting lawns for ten dollars.

After I finish each cut, half of my earnings go directly to Uncle Sam, aka: dad. I suppose it's only fair. I use his lawn mower, therefore he takes a percentage of my wages. Now, if only I could do the same thing to someone else; rent out a tool to a hardworking citizen for a percentage of their earnings. I'd have money rolling in without ever having to lift a finger! But until I can think up an idea, I guess I'll have to be satisfied with my five dollar earnings.

As usual, Mr. Mills is sitting in his wooden rocker on the front porch while he sips iced tea through an accordion straw. He never offers me something to drink, however. He doesn't care that I'm covered with dirt and grass clippings, not to mention sweat, while feeling as if I'm about to pass out due to this intense heat, but I ain't bitter. Nope. Not bitter at all.

With last row of grass cut, I release my grip on the push mower's handle; it powers down and coasts to a halt. "All finished, Mr. Mills!" This is the part I hate. The part where he scrutinizes my work, checks each blade of grass to ensure it's the same height as the one next to it. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he brought out his Stanley tape measure and measured the stupid things.

Mills gets up from his rocker, moaning as he stands. I've never asked his age—been too afraid—but the guy looks like he's a hundred-years-old; all wrinkly and squinty-eyed. He kind of reminds me of the old man in that animated movie, the one who strapped a million balloons to his house and flew it across the world, minus the square-lens glasses, of course.

Mills shuffles over to me, the bottoms of his house shoes scraping the driveway with each step. "Hmm. Finished a bit early today, didn't you?"

I shrug. "Maybe. I guess. I dunno."