Read Online Desert Boys by Chris McCormick - Free Book Online

and held it horizontal. “Got it,” I said.
    He went over the plan. The house, like every grass-having house on our block, had two front lawns: a bigger one separated from a smaller one by a driveway. The bigger side was three times the size of the smaller one, about 170 square feet. What he wanted was for the entire smaller side to be dug out and turned. He was going to fill that small side with cement, to extend the width of his driveway by five or so feet. That would take me a day or two, tops, he said, and we’d start there. The next step in the plan was to dig out a circle—ten feet in diameter—from the bigger side of the lawn. To the best of my ability, I was supposed to center the circle in the yard. I’d have to measure it and mark it off somehow. Then I’d get to digging.
    The job seemed more complicated than what I’d signed up for, what with all the calculations. I told him so.
    He scoffed. “You think I was going to give you fifty bucks to turn grass into mud? The money is for the precision.”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. Fifty dollars wasn’t as much as people made it out to be.
    â€œThe problem here,” Mr. Reuter said, looking me in the eye, “is that you’re not used to being entrusted with things you could easily mess up. Is that true?”
    It sounded true. I didn’t think too deeply about it, and said yes.
    â€œIt’s a shame. It’s the death of a young man, not being given the opportunity to earn trust. The opportunity, you know? Just that. It’s bigger than anything. Oh, you’ll find ways to make fifty bucks here and there. That’s not really what you want out of this. I can tell. It’s not every day you get the chance to point at something you’ve done and say, ‘I could have ruined the shit out of this, but I pulled it off.’ You don’t think I could’ve—if I really wanted to—done this myself? Hell, it would’ve saved me a lot of time, not to mention the fifty. But I see you mowing lawns around the neighborhood, itching to make your mark on something. Grass, though, it grows back quickly, doesn’t it? Not even a couple days later, all your work is invisible. It’s gone. You’re trying, and I give you credit for that. But this—” He grabbed the shovel’s handle between my hands. “—this is permanent. You’ll see.”
    I asked if I could say something.
    â€œSure,” he said.
    â€œI’ll do it for seventy-five.”
    V. SOME REALITIES OF MY FIRST DAYS DIGGING
    It took two full days of digging to finish the smaller side of the lawn. I didn’t really have a strategy. Starting in the middle, I stepped the shovel into the ground as far as I could (about two inches) and pulled. In layers, I moved back until I reached the perimeter.
    Mr. Reuter spent most of the time inside the house. At the beginning of each day, he placed a full pitcher of water and a cup on an oil stain in the driveway. The first day, I drank all the water in a couple of hours. When I got thirsty again, I went to the front door and knocked. Mr. Reuter answered, holding the telephone to his ear with his shoulder, carrying the holder and its wires around with him. With a look of disappointment—his glasses seemed to sink lower the unhappier he got—he took the pitcher from me and said he’d bring more water out in a bit. I went back to work. He never showed up with more water. Some time later I took a break, crossed the street, and drank as much water as I could from home. In a strange way, I came back with a feeling that I’d failed. I hadn’t made that pitcher last, and had to run home for help. The next morning, when I saw that a full pitcher of water had once again been placed on the driveway, I made a point to drink nothing more.
    As I worked, so did the heat. In the desert, the idea of spring was a myth from another culture. It went