Roger and his pal Kenny were great folks. They had aspirations, but didn’t believe it to be right to spend their whole lives chasing them. Instead, they found enjoyment in the art of competition. The art of lawn mowing. Little by little they became the best duo since well they weren’t comparable to anyone really. The longing for perfection never stopped them. The Annual National Florida Atlantic Lawn Mowing competition was an arena for expression for the two college dropouts. They were the best people had ever seen. They had perfected just about every pattern in the book. They chose what lawn they wanted to be placed and ran that mower like it was nothin’. It was beautiful.
Roger lived right next to Kenny, who lived in a shabby little shed. Roger had been residing in his mother’s house for a while. Roger loved competition and was one to stay outdoors perfecting his art for hours upon hours. Everyday the two would meet along the makeshift fence between the two yards. Kenny would always where that old Led Zeppelin shirt, with some khaki shorts and high rise socks that always expressed themselves. Kenny was and always had been a man for his socks. It seemed odd to Roger but they both had something odd to hold on to. The proliferate grass always kept the two too busy to judge or to discover anything too personal about the other. Kenny always sported a handlebar mustache, and some Nerf gun shades he had since he was a child. Roger always thought of himself as a brotherly figure for Kenny. One that he could look up to and admire. Roger had always worn the same Scarface shirt, with baggy blue jeans and a hat of his choosing.
“How ya doin’ Roga’?”
“Better than you, my little rascal?”
“Aw shucks, ya’ somethin’ else ya know that?”
“Of course. Now where is your baby?”
“She’s out back Roga’.”
“You don’t have a backyard.”
“Well yeah. Sure I do. I live right back here with ya’.”
“That’s fine with me Kenny. So it’s in my front yard?”
“Ya’ got it Roga.”
“Alright well. Let’s show these fine people around don’t ya think?”
Roger let us into his house. It had an airy feel. It captured misfit culture in a nutshell. The lights were quirky, blending a mixture of lights and the walls were painted a strong purple. The pictures on the walls were of different patterns of lawns and all along the house walls were little notes. They involved different observations of the landscapes he sought out, which were magazine clippings attached to the notes. He took us around back to see his lawnmower. He kept on scratching his armpits irritably while he spoke.
“Right here is the beauty of the west.”
We had to argue with him about the manufacturing location of the lawnmower and the place where he lived. After about thirty minutes of discussion, he agreed to disagree.
“It’s a new model. Some people call it the B-12, I like to call it my little hum baby. “
We noticed his rich southern accent, but we also couldn’t help to point out that he sported a Yankee hat. He never answered, but continued to describe his “great tool for the art he creates.” I believe he said he was the “Leo of lawnmakin.” He ushered us back into the kitchen where we were met with Kenny. Kenny for some reason had thought it to be a decent idea to bring his lawnmower into the kitchen.
“Kenny!!” Why are you so dumb?”
“What are ya’ talkin’ bout Roga?”
“I’m talking about the f—ing mower in my place of peace. This is my house Kenny, you know you ain’t supposed to do that. Come on Kenny, for the love of all creation, think.”
Kenny dragged the lawnmower out of the kitchen.
“Aw come on Kenny, you messin up my new tiles.”
Roger did not have a tile floor. He had wood flooring through the entire house.
Kenny knocked on the back door.
“Come in Kenny! He’s a crazy, man.”
Kenny strolled in with his head down. The hallmark of happiness for Kenny was whatever Roger had said it was. The felicity of life was inevitably deeming to be whatever the outcome of the competition was. Kenny walked over to one of the cabinets and grabbed a cup and went to the faucet to pour some water.
“Where’s ya mother Roga?”
“She’s tired. Been sleeping all day.”
“Same ol’ motha’ roga?”
“Yeah….same old mother.”
We retired for the night and decided to meet up tomorrow morning for their “training.”