I made my way downstairs and discovered that Uncle Kevin and I still had similar tastes in breakfast — cereal and milk. He explained in a note that he didn’t know what I liked anymore, but he figured that “Sugar Bomb Explosions” was out. I munched through some Raisin Bran while reading the rest of the note. The lawnmower was in a shed out back, along with the gas and oil and the usual shed tools in case I needed them. I looked around the house for a few minutes and then changed into some shorts and went to work.
Mowing the backyard was slow and tricky work. The lawnmower died if I moved it more than a few feet at a time, because it couldn’t cut the tall grass quickly enough. The morning trickled by in rivers of sweat and in stop-and-go mowing. I dodged an old shoe and most of the the plastic Mtn Dew bottles. One I didn’t dodge went flying out of the lawnmower and pegged the fence like a fastball.
Ten thirty came and I was ready for a break. I cut off the mower and that’s when I heard a sound like dog scratching coming from the gate. I looked up and wiped the sweat from my brow. A skinny guy in a tie-dyed t-shirt and a Firefox cap had scrambled over the gate and into the backyard, crouched down and scanning the yard like a secret agent.
“Who are you?” I asked, blinking. Had I spent too much time in the sun?
He held up his hand in a way that looked like a backwards “L”. Then he said, “Oops. Wrong hand,” and did it with the other hand. I squinted. It wasn’t an L as much as a J.
“Uhm, I don’t know the secret handshake or anything,” I said, going to the porch and taking a swig from my water bottle. “Are you looking for my uncle?”
“Are you sure that you’re not him?” he asked, standing up and taking a few steps closer.
I gulped down the ice water. No, I wasn’t be dreaming this. This was just too weird.
“I’m pretty sure that I’m not. My voice is different and I don’t look anything like him.”
“Well that’s true. Usually they take an ordinary form and I’ve never seen you before. You stick out too much.”
That was a new one. I stuck out too much?
“Ok, what the heck are you talking about?”
He made his way out into the open and sighed. “Ok, I guess you aren’t a planetary invader after all.”
“Sorry. I’ll try harder tomorrow,” I replied. “But a planetary invader that has to mow yards?”
He shrugged. “The lowest caste always gets the menial labor! You are missing the comedic relief, though. Now if you had a psycho lawnmower, that would be total B-movie goodness.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I took another swig of water.
“No-one ever mows this yard, so I thought it was an invasion or Old Man Simmons had escaped. By the way, I’m J.” He held out his hand and then pulled it back.
“Yeah, I’ve been mowing. I’m Chris,” I said. “Chris Caldwell. Kevin’s my uncle.”
“So you ARE in the lowest caste,” he said. “Chores without pay. Ugh.”
I shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”
“But it’s not that good either.”
I grinned. “So what’s J short for?” I asked.
“John Cutler.” He made some complicated map with his finger, pointing several places, one right after another. “I’m over that way.”
“Cool. I’m, erm, here. For the summer.”
He nodded. “Hey, do you –” and then an alarm went off somewhere on his body. “Oh man, now I’m late. Do you want to hang out or something sometime?” he asked as he climbed the gate.
“Sure!” It was great to meet someone my own age, even if he was off-the-wall. Brian was a little like that back home.
He sat at the top of the gate, one leg on the inside, one leg on the outside. “Ok. I’ll introduce you to –” The alarm went off again. “Ok, ok. Just beware the evil almost-goth girl!” He jumped off and hit the ground running.
I shook my head and restarted the mower.
* * * * *
By late afternoon, I had finished all of the backyard except for a strip along the side. Three apple trees made mowing that part almost impossible, so I called it quits for the day. I took a shower, watched some TV, and then wandered outside to the front steps. Maybe I’d fool around with my camera later on, but right then I just wanted to be lazy.
A cool breeze stole across the porch and the sunlight slowly faded from the sky as I sat there, thinking. I felt disconnected, being away from home and away from my friends. I wasn’t really homesick, though, because it still felt like a short vacation. It was the lack of communication that bothered me. Tarrant had to have a library or a Starbucks or something with Net access. But as I sat there, even those thoughts slipped away like clouds moving slowly across the sky; I watched cars go by, people across the street take care of their yards, and children chase each other on bicycles and rollerblades.
Then it was dusk. Uncle Kevin had called, saying he’d be in later and would bring some burgers. I was sitting on the front porch, waiting to see if Kirandra would show up when the sound of a wind chime came floating over on the breeze. I listened, idly, as it got louder. “That’s weird,” I thought. I stepped out on the sidewalk to look for it and it found me.
Kirandra was carrying a black iron wind chime, that had a strange symbol at the top of each chime. They looked like the decorations I’d seen on old maps.
She was about a foot shorter than I was, with black curly hair that barely reached her shoulders and framed her face. The way she walked, she seemed expectant, like she was standing on the prow of a ship. Her eyes were sky blue, and like last night, she seemed lost in thought. She wore a black t-shirt that ended in frilly sleeves, a denim skirt, and high-tops that didn’t match — one was pink, the other the color of her eyes.
“Hi,” I said, and not knowing what to do exactly, I waved.
She stopped short as if someone had pulled out a rug from underneath her.
“Hi.” She looked over at me and then at the house. “Do you live here?” She seemed embarassed as though she should have known the answer.
“Only for the summer,” I admitted.
“Oh.”
“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the wind chime. “It’s got weird symbols on it.”
“It’s an antique. An antique wind chime. Yorkshire, England, nineteen thirty-two.” She recited the information like she were reading it from an encyclopedia.
“Really?” I asked, taking a closer look. “How did you know all that?”
“The dealer told us,” she said, sheepishly. “We just got in the shipment today.”
“And it’s ok to just carry it like that?”
She smiled proudly. “I’ve never dropped or broken an antique yet.” I didn’t get why she was allowed to do it at all, but I got the feeling that there was more to the story.
“I’m taking it home to check the shipment and do the inventory,” she explained.
I blinked. I didn’t know the first thing about antiques, but it sounded interesting. There was something about old things that drew me to them. I guess that’s another reason why I wanted to spend the summer in Tarrant. I lived in the suburbs, which were modern, but somehow unreal. It was like they had grown up overnight and could disappear overnight.
“Is that far?” I said, immediately regretting it. If it was far, she wouldn’t be walking, would she?
“Not too far.”
“Mind if I come along? I haven’t seen much of this place yet.”
“Oh. Right. Sure,” she said, as if that was the last thing in the world she had expected me to say.
“Give me a sec.” I went and left a note on the front door and joined her in the deepening dusk.
We walked for a little bit and I said, “Maybe this isn’t fair, but I know your name and you don’t know mine.”
She looked over at me quickly. Her voice was a soft sigh. “That isn’t fair. You’ve heard about me already?”
“Well, it’s nothing bad,” I said. “My uncle just told me your name and what your folks do.”
She seemed relieved and then said, “Oh. I’m sure you have a name too.”
“I’m Chris Caldwell.”
“And you’re just here for the summer?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” I said, “but until August, anyhow. Summer ends in August, you know.”
She nodded. “Our school starts up on the thirtieth.”
“Same here.”
The wind chime jangled as we walked.
“Oh yeah,” I said, feeling that it was important somehow, “I did meet this guy. Actually he jumped over my fence and introduced himself. John Cutler.”
“John Cutler?” she asked, surprised and as far as I could tell, disgusted, but disgusted like she had gotten used to it.
“Uhm. Yeah. He says to call him J? Did I say something wrong?”
“Not really, I guess,” she said, sighing. I glanced at her and it looked like she was keeping back a smile.
“You’re not the evil almost goth girl are you?” She was smiling now.
“Of course. And he’s the amazing almost-human geek boy.”
I didn’t quite know what to make of that. He did tell me to stay away from her, and maybe that was some kind of weird code for “back off”? Part of me felt like laughing, but most of me felt sick and embarassed. We walked for a few moments in silence. I couldn’t think up anything witty, so I just said, “Cool. Well it’s getting close to suppertime, so I need to get going.”
She stopped. A few houses ahead of us on the right the lights flickered on, spreading out a warm and inviting glow. The house was painted to look like natural wood, with its latticework and wooden columns curving and detailed as if artwork. On the front porch, near two antique lamps, stood a tall woman.
“We’re almost there –”
“Really, I’ve gotta go. I’d probably just get in the way, anyhow. It was great meeting you and everything.”
“Oh. Yeah. Same here,” she said, her voice softer than ever.
As I turned around and headed back into the darkness, I could feel Kirandra’s eyes on me, and the eyes of the woman on the porch.
