Ten Buck Chuck
Ten Buck Chuck
by Magnus Skallagrimsson
“I knew you’d be here.”
‘Willy’ just laughed, “That’s spirit, Chuck! Hey, com’on, you mad? You mad? Don’t be mad, kid, just pulling your chain, busting balls! Com’on!”
Dietrich smiled weakly and tried to ignore him while he crossed the street. He was finished and was now free for the rest of the day. The plan was to ride over a park to meet friends, then head to the river. ‘Willy’ was still working across the street, so he took his bike out back and left by the alleyway.
A couple of weeks went by, and Dietrich picked up a few more customers. His parents were pleased. Most of his money went straight to his account or the bagpipe fund, but he was given a bit to spend. ‘Willy’ was across the street again, working in the yard. Dietrich decided to run to the 7-Eleven and get a Big Gulp in his water bottle before mowing the Maccribben house, the home on the other side of Amy’s old house. Mr. Maccribben broke his leg while hiking at Cypruss Bowl. Their oldest son had gone to university in Toronto, while youngest was attending UVic on the Island, so they hired Dietrich to mow the lawn until he could get back on his feet. Dietrich wasn’t allowed to use his mower over there, because it was a two-stroke gas motor and the Maccribben’s wanted him to use their electric one.
The Maccribben’s were out, and that suited Dietrich just fine. He didn’t like an audience. It was something his mom had picked up on, so his parents largely left him alone when he was doing chores. “Willy” seemed to have left, there was no sign of him or his station wagon, so Dietrich headed over.
Dietrich’s mom sat down with him, crossing her legs on the dry part of the front landing. She never quite understood what drew her son to this particular spot when he was upset. Maybe it was the view? Heavy rains were giving way to clear skies, and the Sun made everything glitter. A rainbow stood out against the dark skies still clinging to Burke Mountain. Dietrich looked up and over at his Mum then parked the bottom half of his face into his tucked-up knees. He tensed up tight. She said nothing for a while, just looking out at the same scene as her son. After a few minutes she spoke.
“You have to come back in sooner or later.”
“Mm.”
"Well, I am not serving you supper out here. And you can’t use the garden for a bathroom.”
“Mom…”
“Ok what upset you most?” She waited for a response but watched Dietrich tuck himself tighter into a ball. She reached out a hand and rubbed her son on his shoulder. He flinched at first, but finally spoke.
“Music camp?”
“Music is fun.”
“You don’t play anything.”
“Not quite true, I took piano as a kid.”
Dietrich rolled his head toward her, “And now?”
“My talents lay elsewhere, so now I write for a living. But learning to play piano was worth it, even if I only plunk at it now.”
Dietrich didn’t want to hear this, his mother always knew how to get him to see things her way when he “felt tight” and he didn’t want to see things her way right now. In his periphery he could see a smile form on his Mom’s face as she rubbed his back,
“You have to come back in sooner or later.”
“Mm.”
"Well, I am not serving you supper out here. And you can’t use the garden for a bathroom.”
“Mom…”
“Ok what upset you most?” She waited for a response but watched Dietrich tuck himself tighter into a ball. She reached out a hand and rubbed her son on his shoulder. He flinched at first, but finally spoke.
“Music camp?”
“Music is fun.”
“You don’t play anything.”
“Not quite true, I took piano as a kid.”
Dietrich rolled his head toward her, “And now?”
“My talents lay elsewhere, so now I write for a living. But learning to play piano was worth it, even if I only plunk at it now.”
Dietrich didn’t want to hear this, his mother always knew how to get him to see things her way when he “felt tight” and he didn’t want to see things her way right now. In his periphery he could see a smile form on his Mom’s face as she rubbed his back,
“Com’on Dietrich, we have drums, guitars, and a bass in the house. Just pick one. Or we could call your Opa, I think he has a spare accordion.”
He turned to his mom to reply with a frown and an arched brow.
“Yeah, well no wants to inflict that on you. What do you want to play?” Dietrich shot his mother a different look, and she knew what he wasn’t saying. “Dietrich, we aren’t even Scottish.”
“Lots of European countries have bagpipes.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“Mr. Farquhar.”
“Oh Deet. I just don’t know if the sanity of the household could take you learning the pipes.”
“I could practice in the park!”
“I don’t think we could do that to the park.”
“I know what to do!” His mom looked at him skeptically, “It’s true! Mr. Farquhar has been teaching me on a practice chanter.”
“Deet, you’re moving to Grade 8, a different school – Mr. Farquhar won’t be around.”
“He said he’d still offer lessons.”
“They are very expensive.”
“So? How much are Dad’s instruments? Joan is getting her own drums.”
“Well, I guess that brings us to the other thing: a summer job.”
Dietrich replanted his mouth into his knees, “Why can’t I just have fun this summer?”
“A summer job can be fun, Deet. Your sister and I started babysitting at the age of ten. Your Dad had a paper route when he was nine. Work can be tedious, but it is rewarding even beyond the money you earn. But the money is good, too.”
“Mmph. I don’t like Mr. Sherman.”
“Ok, got any other ideas?”
Dietrich looked out across the street. The caretaker for the old Douglas house pulled in, driving an old station wagon. He went around back and brought out a lawnmower and other equipment. He had a cropped beard and always wore a ball cap. And he was short. At the age of twelve, Dietrich wasn’t much shorter than this man. Dietrich mowed the lawn at home and his Dad had showed him how to do the edging. Their lawn looked better than the house across the street. Dietrich pointed toward the man.
“That. I can do that. I do a better job than he does.”
“Might be harder work than what Mr. Sherman’s offering.”
“No, I can do that.”
She looked at her son and felt easier, “Ok, I think that is settled. We’ll figure out the camp thing later, ok.” She rubbed his back, “You are so tense, Deet.”
Dietrich wanted to lean into his mom, but the tightness he felt was knotting him up, pulling him farther into himself.
“You know, my sister used to get like this. She’d just tighten up and withdraw, no one could reach her. She met a person who helped her with that. She said that when you feel yourself tightening up, those are roots digging deeper, taking hold and getting stronger. That’s important with plants, but not so great for people. She was taught to imagine herself blooming outward, spread out into the air. Like a tree.”
Dietrich fought to lift his head from his knees. “I… I don’t…” He bit the bottom of his lip.
His mom moved in front of him, drew him up, looked at him and smiled. Dietrich smiled back, then she pressed into him with a big hug.
He turned to his mom to reply with a frown and an arched brow.
“Yeah, well no wants to inflict that on you. What do you want to play?” Dietrich shot his mother a different look, and she knew what he wasn’t saying. “Dietrich, we aren’t even Scottish.”
“Lots of European countries have bagpipes.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“Mr. Farquhar.”
“Oh Deet. I just don’t know if the sanity of the household could take you learning the pipes.”
“I could practice in the park!”
“I don’t think we could do that to the park.”
“I know what to do!” His mom looked at him skeptically, “It’s true! Mr. Farquhar has been teaching me on a practice chanter.”
“Deet, you’re moving to Grade 8, a different school – Mr. Farquhar won’t be around.”
“He said he’d still offer lessons.”
“They are very expensive.”
“So? How much are Dad’s instruments? Joan is getting her own drums.”
“Well, I guess that brings us to the other thing: a summer job.”
Dietrich replanted his mouth into his knees, “Why can’t I just have fun this summer?”
“A summer job can be fun, Deet. Your sister and I started babysitting at the age of ten. Your Dad had a paper route when he was nine. Work can be tedious, but it is rewarding even beyond the money you earn. But the money is good, too.”
“Mmph. I don’t like Mr. Sherman.”
“Ok, got any other ideas?”
Dietrich looked out across the street. The caretaker for the old Douglas house pulled in, driving an old station wagon. He went around back and brought out a lawnmower and other equipment. He had a cropped beard and always wore a ball cap. And he was short. At the age of twelve, Dietrich wasn’t much shorter than this man. Dietrich mowed the lawn at home and his Dad had showed him how to do the edging. Their lawn looked better than the house across the street. Dietrich pointed toward the man.
“That. I can do that. I do a better job than he does.”
“Might be harder work than what Mr. Sherman’s offering.”
“No, I can do that.”
She looked at her son and felt easier, “Ok, I think that is settled. We’ll figure out the camp thing later, ok.” She rubbed his back, “You are so tense, Deet.”
Dietrich wanted to lean into his mom, but the tightness he felt was knotting him up, pulling him farther into himself.
“You know, my sister used to get like this. She’d just tighten up and withdraw, no one could reach her. She met a person who helped her with that. She said that when you feel yourself tightening up, those are roots digging deeper, taking hold and getting stronger. That’s important with plants, but not so great for people. She was taught to imagine herself blooming outward, spread out into the air. Like a tree.”
Dietrich fought to lift his head from his knees. “I… I don’t…” He bit the bottom of his lip.
His mom moved in front of him, drew him up, looked at him and smiled. Dietrich smiled back, then she pressed into him with a big hug.
“Mom!”
It was another argument with his dad the next day. He had gone to great lengths to line up a summer job for Dietrich and was not happy having to go back to Mr. Sherman to let him know his son would rather do something else. But he capitulated, in the end he was just happy his son was taking charge of himself on some level. Then it was an argument about how much Dietrich could get away with charging. Dietrich wanted twenty dollars a yard per week, but both his parents agreed no one was going to pay a twelve year old that much money. His dad wanted him to charge five dollars per yard, but his mom pointed out this was 1997, not 1987 and their son was not selling himself short. Finally, they settled on ten per yard. Dietrich decided he would offer lawn edging as an extra for another ten dollars.
His dad helped him make a poster. They went to his work because they had a photocopier at the depot office. He told Dietrich they’d make the kind of poster he made for his band back before he and his mom had married. Dietrich’s father had played guitar in a punk band called The Dredged and they did everything themselves –the “DIY aesthetic” he’d called it. They cut out words and random letters from newspapers and magazines, pasted them on the page, along with a photo of a lawnmower with a diagonal black strip blocking out the engine. The flyer read:
It had their number at the bottom with lightning bolts coming out of it. The flyers were printed on a mix of blue, pink, and yellow paper. His dad reminisced how he met Dietrich’s mom when she had been a music writer. She’d written a bad review of an EP they had cut. The bass player had argued with her about the review, and she said if they had recorded the EP as well as they had played their live shows the review would have been much different. His dad said she was right, and he fell for her that night, so he pursued her until she agreed to go out on a date.
Dietrich’s mom was a freelance journalist and the author of a couple of books. His dad worked for the City of Port Coquitlam now and only played music part-time, in a metal band with a couple of other dads and someone’s granddad. His father’s dream was for his kids to play music, too. Joan took to it easily, and loved it, but Dietrich wasn’t really interested in playing music in a band. The idea caused him to “get tight”, stressed. But he liked bagpipes. He even liked the idea of being in a pipe band – you just sort of blend in, one of many, no one focusing on you, just the whole group. But his dad didn’t get it.
“Deet, bagpipes just aren’t Rock’n’Roll.”
“What about AC/DC?”
“Okay, granted one song. One really good song.”
“Mull of Kintire.”
“Okay, another-single- song.”
“What about that Big Country album?”
“Ok, that’s actually a guitar.”
“But they thought bagpipes were cool enough to copy.”
“And they are Scottish, we aren’t”
“Neither is Moses Cheng, and he plays bagpipes.”
“Moses is in cadets. He also studies Conservatory piano.”
“Maybe I could join cadets?”
“Please, no. Besides, bagpipes are really expensive.”
“Maybe I could set money aside?”
“We’ll talk about it, okay?”
That evening after supper, Dietrich went out to slip his flyers through the mail slots of the neighbourhood houses, even the lonely house across the street. It was still light out, so there was no need for any lights to be on; but now there were seldom any lights on ever in the old Douglas house at anytime of the year. He asked his parents why the new owners never had Halloween or Christmas decorations up. His mom said they could be Jehovah’s Witnesses, or something like that. His dad, curtly, told him to keep his nose out of other people’s yards. But here Dietrich was about to make other people’s yards his business.
Dietrich allowed his nose to lead him around back, where he hadn’t been in a while. He saw the apple trees lining the back of the property, where Amy Douglas had dared him to kiss her two years ago. He was too scared at first, but then kissed her on the lips when she clucked at him like a chicken. He pressed down on the feelings inside, on the memory of her. The Douglas’s were in Kelowna now, and he wondered how Amy was.
A portion of the old back fence had been replaced with a wide gate, and a strip of the large back yard was now taken up by a gravel drive leading from the gate close to the back door. The basement door was newer, and heavier looking. It was made from wood and metal, with two dead-bolt locks. The home itself was split-level, not too different from his own, except it was light green instead of light blue.
His dad helped him make a poster. They went to his work because they had a photocopier at the depot office. He told Dietrich they’d make the kind of poster he made for his band back before he and his mom had married. Dietrich’s father had played guitar in a punk band called The Dredged and they did everything themselves –the “DIY aesthetic” he’d called it. They cut out words and random letters from newspapers and magazines, pasted them on the page, along with a photo of a lawnmower with a diagonal black strip blocking out the engine. The flyer read:
METAL EXPRESS LAWN MOWING SERVICES!!!
No yard too big! No job too small!
$10.00 a week! Lawn Edging Extra!
No dog poop, please clean up before mowing!
It had their number at the bottom with lightning bolts coming out of it. The flyers were printed on a mix of blue, pink, and yellow paper. His dad reminisced how he met Dietrich’s mom when she had been a music writer. She’d written a bad review of an EP they had cut. The bass player had argued with her about the review, and she said if they had recorded the EP as well as they had played their live shows the review would have been much different. His dad said she was right, and he fell for her that night, so he pursued her until she agreed to go out on a date.
Dietrich’s mom was a freelance journalist and the author of a couple of books. His dad worked for the City of Port Coquitlam now and only played music part-time, in a metal band with a couple of other dads and someone’s granddad. His father’s dream was for his kids to play music, too. Joan took to it easily, and loved it, but Dietrich wasn’t really interested in playing music in a band. The idea caused him to “get tight”, stressed. But he liked bagpipes. He even liked the idea of being in a pipe band – you just sort of blend in, one of many, no one focusing on you, just the whole group. But his dad didn’t get it.
“Deet, bagpipes just aren’t Rock’n’Roll.”
“What about AC/DC?”
“Okay, granted one song. One really good song.”
“Mull of Kintire.”
“Okay, another-single- song.”
“What about that Big Country album?”
“Ok, that’s actually a guitar.”
“But they thought bagpipes were cool enough to copy.”
“And they are Scottish, we aren’t”
“Neither is Moses Cheng, and he plays bagpipes.”
“Moses is in cadets. He also studies Conservatory piano.”
“Maybe I could join cadets?”
“Please, no. Besides, bagpipes are really expensive.”
“Maybe I could set money aside?”
“We’ll talk about it, okay?”
That evening after supper, Dietrich went out to slip his flyers through the mail slots of the neighbourhood houses, even the lonely house across the street. It was still light out, so there was no need for any lights to be on; but now there were seldom any lights on ever in the old Douglas house at anytime of the year. He asked his parents why the new owners never had Halloween or Christmas decorations up. His mom said they could be Jehovah’s Witnesses, or something like that. His dad, curtly, told him to keep his nose out of other people’s yards. But here Dietrich was about to make other people’s yards his business.
Dietrich allowed his nose to lead him around back, where he hadn’t been in a while. He saw the apple trees lining the back of the property, where Amy Douglas had dared him to kiss her two years ago. He was too scared at first, but then kissed her on the lips when she clucked at him like a chicken. He pressed down on the feelings inside, on the memory of her. The Douglas’s were in Kelowna now, and he wondered how Amy was.
A portion of the old back fence had been replaced with a wide gate, and a strip of the large back yard was now taken up by a gravel drive leading from the gate close to the back door. The basement door was newer, and heavier looking. It was made from wood and metal, with two dead-bolt locks. The home itself was split-level, not too different from his own, except it was light green instead of light blue.
Mrs. Douglas’s white curtains had been replaced with tight fitted black ones, stretched flat across the windows, swallowing up the light from the evening Sun. Dietrich felt cold, goosebumps formed on his skin: he shouldn’t be here. He ran out onto the street, then finished delivering his flyers, and went home.
Two days later Mrs. Abalos called to talk about having her lawn mowed. She was a widow who lived across the street, in a white, one-story bungalow beside Amy’s old house. Most of her kids lived nearby in Vancouver, and another lived down in Tacoma. The rest of her family was back in the Philippines. Not that she was alone, she always seemed to be out and around, but there was no one around to look after her yard work. Dietrich waked across the street to meet her. She had an extra lawn chair out where she had liked to sit with her husband.
The old woman had laid out a bit of a spread, some fruit, sweet baked goods, and a sweet, milky drink in a pitcher. The ate and chatted before getting down to business, and Mrs. Abalos told him that ten dollars was too much to ask, especially given his age. She played the grandmother role well, and Dietrich almost capitulated. He felt himself tightening up as she tried to persuade him that five dollars was a much more reasonable price for such a young boy, and wasn’t she a widow after all?
The old woman had laid out a bit of a spread, some fruit, sweet baked goods, and a sweet, milky drink in a pitcher. The ate and chatted before getting down to business, and Mrs. Abalos told him that ten dollars was too much to ask, especially given his age. She played the grandmother role well, and Dietrich almost capitulated. He felt himself tightening up as she tried to persuade him that five dollars was a much more reasonable price for such a young boy, and wasn’t she a widow after all?
Something about her haggling “snagged” inside him, and Dietrich felt something unwind inside. He calmly told her this was 1997, not 1987 and good work costs money. Caught off guard at first, Mrs. Abalos smiled, then laughed and offered him another coconut tart. Dietrich offered to take her across the street to look at his yard, since he did that all by himself. She did, taking his arm.
She was impressed but remained unconvinced about having her lawn edged. Dietrich offered to do her back lawn for free, and if she liked it, he would edge the front for half price. They shook on it, and he started that day. But she asked he tee up his lawn mowing in the future so she wasn’t at home – she found the loud noise from the mower disruptive and unpleasant.
Later that day he told his parents and they set half his money in an envelope for deposits to an account they had set up for him when he was five years old. The other half went into an envelope marked “The Bagpipe Fund”. Then his parents also decided it was worth a meal out to celebrate.
In the span of a week Dietrich had picked up five houses, including Mrs. Abalos’s. Two had decided to take him up on lawn edging, and Dietrich was feeling good about his little business. Mrs. Abalos had arranged for him to mow the lawn in the late morning, as she would be out with a group from her church. Dietrich rolled over with his lawnmower and a rake in a garbage bucket for the grass trimmings. His mom had an extensive series of composting piles toward the back of their quarter acre backyard, and helped others learn how to compost properly.
Dietrich started with Mrs. Abalos’ backyard. Dietrich was halfway finished in the back when he saw a man grinning at him, standing along the fence line. He was the man who looked after Amy’s old house. The fence was about four feet tall. Dietrich was around five feet, five inches, and this man was maybe an inch taller he was. He wore a dirty, beat up, Blue Jays ball cap, with a fringe of short, dark, hair sticking out from underneath, and his teeth were yellow. His shirt was faded black with holes around a ragged collar.
The man dragged on a cigarette before speaking, “What’s up kid? What’s up, there?”
Dietrich waved, and took off his protective earmuffs, but left his eye shields on, “Not much. Mowing.”
“Ha! Yeah, yeah! So, the old bat, the old bat got someone to mow her yard finally, huh? She asked me. She asked me, but I told her to blow it out her butt!” He laughed.
“Why?”
“Twenty bucks she offered me! Yeah right! Hey, how much she payin’ you?”
“Ten dollars a week.”
The man laughed, “Ten bucks? Ten bucks? Cheap ol’ bag. Cheap! Ten Buck Chuck, that’s you huh? That’s you?”
Dietrich was not comfortable, “I have to finish the back…”
“Don’t let me keep you, Chuck!” The man laughed as he dropped back and started singing a song with no discernible tune.
Dietrich finished the back and moved around to the front the house where the yard was wider across than it was long. The heat of the day was growing, and he regretted not starting with the front yard to begin with. He removed the earmuffs and set them on the handle of his mower. He carried the garbage can over to empty the clippings from the bag. The man from earlier walked up to the front fence line, which was only three feet tall. He was grinning, waving a bright yellow piece of paper.
“Hey Chuck! This you? This you? ‘Metal Express’?” He scrunched up his face playing air guitar as he said the words, finishing with a devil’s horn salute.
Dietrich nodded.
“Ha! Pretty cool, pretty cool, but this is my place. You know how much I get a week to look after this place? You know how much?”
Dietrich shook his head.
“Com’on guess. Com’on guess!”
Dietrich screwed up his face, “I dunno, twenty-five dollars?”
“Twenty-five? Twenty-five? Try two hundred, Chuck! Two hundred. Think they’d pay you two hundred, Chuck? Two hundred buck Chuck?”
Dietrich grabbed his rake and set it in the garbage can, which he picked up and set on top of the mower, and started wheeling himself away from Mrs. Abalos’ yard, but he looked at the man a moment.
She was impressed but remained unconvinced about having her lawn edged. Dietrich offered to do her back lawn for free, and if she liked it, he would edge the front for half price. They shook on it, and he started that day. But she asked he tee up his lawn mowing in the future so she wasn’t at home – she found the loud noise from the mower disruptive and unpleasant.
Later that day he told his parents and they set half his money in an envelope for deposits to an account they had set up for him when he was five years old. The other half went into an envelope marked “The Bagpipe Fund”. Then his parents also decided it was worth a meal out to celebrate.
In the span of a week Dietrich had picked up five houses, including Mrs. Abalos’s. Two had decided to take him up on lawn edging, and Dietrich was feeling good about his little business. Mrs. Abalos had arranged for him to mow the lawn in the late morning, as she would be out with a group from her church. Dietrich rolled over with his lawnmower and a rake in a garbage bucket for the grass trimmings. His mom had an extensive series of composting piles toward the back of their quarter acre backyard, and helped others learn how to compost properly.
Dietrich started with Mrs. Abalos’ backyard. Dietrich was halfway finished in the back when he saw a man grinning at him, standing along the fence line. He was the man who looked after Amy’s old house. The fence was about four feet tall. Dietrich was around five feet, five inches, and this man was maybe an inch taller he was. He wore a dirty, beat up, Blue Jays ball cap, with a fringe of short, dark, hair sticking out from underneath, and his teeth were yellow. His shirt was faded black with holes around a ragged collar.
The man dragged on a cigarette before speaking, “What’s up kid? What’s up, there?”
Dietrich waved, and took off his protective earmuffs, but left his eye shields on, “Not much. Mowing.”
“Ha! Yeah, yeah! So, the old bat, the old bat got someone to mow her yard finally, huh? She asked me. She asked me, but I told her to blow it out her butt!” He laughed.
“Why?”
“Twenty bucks she offered me! Yeah right! Hey, how much she payin’ you?”
“Ten dollars a week.”
The man laughed, “Ten bucks? Ten bucks? Cheap ol’ bag. Cheap! Ten Buck Chuck, that’s you huh? That’s you?”
Dietrich was not comfortable, “I have to finish the back…”
“Don’t let me keep you, Chuck!” The man laughed as he dropped back and started singing a song with no discernible tune.
Dietrich finished the back and moved around to the front the house where the yard was wider across than it was long. The heat of the day was growing, and he regretted not starting with the front yard to begin with. He removed the earmuffs and set them on the handle of his mower. He carried the garbage can over to empty the clippings from the bag. The man from earlier walked up to the front fence line, which was only three feet tall. He was grinning, waving a bright yellow piece of paper.
“Hey Chuck! This you? This you? ‘Metal Express’?” He scrunched up his face playing air guitar as he said the words, finishing with a devil’s horn salute.
Dietrich nodded.
“Ha! Pretty cool, pretty cool, but this is my place. You know how much I get a week to look after this place? You know how much?”
Dietrich shook his head.
“Com’on guess. Com’on guess!”
Dietrich screwed up his face, “I dunno, twenty-five dollars?”
“Twenty-five? Twenty-five? Try two hundred, Chuck! Two hundred. Think they’d pay you two hundred, Chuck? Two hundred buck Chuck?”
Dietrich grabbed his rake and set it in the garbage can, which he picked up and set on top of the mower, and started wheeling himself away from Mrs. Abalos’ yard, but he looked at the man a moment.
“So what does that make you, Two-hundred-a-week-Willy?”
‘Willy’ just laughed, “That’s spirit, Chuck! Hey, com’on, you mad? You mad? Don’t be mad, kid, just pulling your chain, busting balls! Com’on!”
Dietrich smiled weakly and tried to ignore him while he crossed the street. He was finished and was now free for the rest of the day. The plan was to ride over a park to meet friends, then head to the river. ‘Willy’ was still working across the street, so he took his bike out back and left by the alleyway.
A couple of weeks went by, and Dietrich picked up a few more customers. His parents were pleased. Most of his money went straight to his account or the bagpipe fund, but he was given a bit to spend. ‘Willy’ was across the street again, working in the yard. Dietrich decided to run to the 7-Eleven and get a Big Gulp in his water bottle before mowing the Maccribben house, the home on the other side of Amy’s old house. Mr. Maccribben broke his leg while hiking at Cypruss Bowl. Their oldest son had gone to university in Toronto, while youngest was attending UVic on the Island, so they hired Dietrich to mow the lawn until he could get back on his feet. Dietrich wasn’t allowed to use his mower over there, because it was a two-stroke gas motor and the Maccribben’s wanted him to use their electric one.
The Maccribben’s were out, and that suited Dietrich just fine. He didn’t like an audience. It was something his mom had picked up on, so his parents largely left him alone when he was doing chores. “Willy” seemed to have left, there was no sign of him or his station wagon, so Dietrich headed over.
The grass at the Maccribben home had grown long, and the electric mower bagged out in spots, lacking the power of his gas mower. It also lacked a bag, and Dietrich’s would not fit, so he would have to rake up all the grass clippings afterward.
Dietrich found the electrical cord to be a huge pain. He had to wrangle it with every pass he made for fear of running it over. Once the ordeal of mowing had ended, Dietrich started raking up. From behind him came a voice he’d thought he had avoided for the day.
“Ten Buck Chuck! You over here today? You over here? Huh? Electric mower, those things suck.”
“Yup.”
“What, this guy one of those, one of those greenie types? Greenpeace? A, a, whatchacallem… environmentalist?”
“I think so.” Dietrich kept raking.
“Huh, yeah. So, I seen you, I seen you all over the block Chuck. You’re really raking it in!” Willy laughed at his own pun.
Dietrich nodded his head and kept raking.
“Hey, Chuck! I’m talking to you here.”
Dietrich nodded, keeping his back to Willy until something hard bounced off the back of his head. He turned around rubbing the point of impact, a half-eaten apple lay in the grass. Willy was glaring at him from over the fence.
“You show your elders respect, kid! When you’re addressed, you speak! My old man would have whooped your behind, you showed him that kind of disrespect! You understand?”
Dietrich nodded, scared, wide-eyed, mouth slightly slack. Willy nodded, curtly and turned around to go back to the neighbour’s house. Dietrich tightened up inside, growing angrier. He rushed to finish up at the Maccribben’s and went home.
At the dinner table, Dietrich’s mom set her fork and knife down and turned to Dietrich.
“Okay, kiddo, what is eating you? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Dietrich forked salad into his mouth. His mom looked at him expectantly, so did his dad, and so did Joan as she lazily dangled a carrot stick between her thumb and forefinger. Dietrich finished his mouthful, his breath was tight, “What? Nothing. I had a bad day.”
His sister leaned forward, “What? Did the Lawn Mower King run over one too many slugs?”
“Joan’s elbows are on the table.” Joan pulled back giving Dietrich a “Really?” look.
Dietrich ate keeping quiet. His dad tried the “you know we’re there for you” speech, and his parents left it at that. Trying too hard just made him feel “tighter”, they’d come to understand this at least, if not why he got “tight” in the first place. But then Dietrich didn’t understand that himself. He knew he could tell them about the man who worked across the street, and maybe his parents would have words with him, maybe they would just tell him to avoid cutting the neighbouring yards when he was around — but he had been doing that already, hadn’t he? Dinner ended and Dietrich felt worse, even more pent up. He went out back to oil his bike chain, when his sister came walking up.
“Hey butthead.”
“I’m not talking about it.”
“Fine. I get it. Let’s get a Drumstick.”
Dietrich said nothing and kept working on his bike.
“Hey, buttcrack, hello?”
Dietrich shot Joan a look that made her back up a step, “Jee-zus! Something crawl up your hole and die?”
“I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it!”
“Fine! Don’t. Let-ME-buy-YOU-a-drumstick.”
Dietrich exhaled, drew himself up in surrender, “OK. Let me wash my hands.”
On the way to the corner store, Joan talked about the band she was putting together and how she was thinking about attacking a cheap guitar with a weedwhacker. She’d heard about some weird band doing it a couple of years back. Dietrich didn’t say much, music was Joan’s thing. She’d been named after a musician, a celebration of their parent’s earlier passions, while his naming had been a middle finger directed at his Hitler loving, Holocaust denying opa who had spent his youth in the Deutsches Jungvolk. Although a lot of old people thought he’s been named after a character from some TV show from the 1970’s.
They rounded the corner of the store and Dietrich stopped short: Willy was out front and leaning on the hood of his station wagon, speaking with two large, heavily, tattooed guys in wraparound shades leaning against a black, Ford Explorer. One was blond, clean shaven, wearing a white t-shirt under a leather vest, the other shaved bald, with a dark goatee, sporting a cut off jean vest over a black, long sleeve Harley Davidson shirt.
Dietrich found the electrical cord to be a huge pain. He had to wrangle it with every pass he made for fear of running it over. Once the ordeal of mowing had ended, Dietrich started raking up. From behind him came a voice he’d thought he had avoided for the day.
“Ten Buck Chuck! You over here today? You over here? Huh? Electric mower, those things suck.”
“Yup.”
“What, this guy one of those, one of those greenie types? Greenpeace? A, a, whatchacallem… environmentalist?”
“I think so.” Dietrich kept raking.
“Huh, yeah. So, I seen you, I seen you all over the block Chuck. You’re really raking it in!” Willy laughed at his own pun.
Dietrich nodded his head and kept raking.
“Hey, Chuck! I’m talking to you here.”
Dietrich nodded, keeping his back to Willy until something hard bounced off the back of his head. He turned around rubbing the point of impact, a half-eaten apple lay in the grass. Willy was glaring at him from over the fence.
“You show your elders respect, kid! When you’re addressed, you speak! My old man would have whooped your behind, you showed him that kind of disrespect! You understand?”
Dietrich nodded, scared, wide-eyed, mouth slightly slack. Willy nodded, curtly and turned around to go back to the neighbour’s house. Dietrich tightened up inside, growing angrier. He rushed to finish up at the Maccribben’s and went home.
At the dinner table, Dietrich’s mom set her fork and knife down and turned to Dietrich.
“Okay, kiddo, what is eating you? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Dietrich forked salad into his mouth. His mom looked at him expectantly, so did his dad, and so did Joan as she lazily dangled a carrot stick between her thumb and forefinger. Dietrich finished his mouthful, his breath was tight, “What? Nothing. I had a bad day.”
His sister leaned forward, “What? Did the Lawn Mower King run over one too many slugs?”
“Joan’s elbows are on the table.” Joan pulled back giving Dietrich a “Really?” look.
Dietrich ate keeping quiet. His dad tried the “you know we’re there for you” speech, and his parents left it at that. Trying too hard just made him feel “tighter”, they’d come to understand this at least, if not why he got “tight” in the first place. But then Dietrich didn’t understand that himself. He knew he could tell them about the man who worked across the street, and maybe his parents would have words with him, maybe they would just tell him to avoid cutting the neighbouring yards when he was around — but he had been doing that already, hadn’t he? Dinner ended and Dietrich felt worse, even more pent up. He went out back to oil his bike chain, when his sister came walking up.
“Hey butthead.”
“I’m not talking about it.”
“Fine. I get it. Let’s get a Drumstick.”
Dietrich said nothing and kept working on his bike.
“Hey, buttcrack, hello?”
Dietrich shot Joan a look that made her back up a step, “Jee-zus! Something crawl up your hole and die?”
“I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it!”
“Fine! Don’t. Let-ME-buy-YOU-a-drumstick.”
Dietrich exhaled, drew himself up in surrender, “OK. Let me wash my hands.”
On the way to the corner store, Joan talked about the band she was putting together and how she was thinking about attacking a cheap guitar with a weedwhacker. She’d heard about some weird band doing it a couple of years back. Dietrich didn’t say much, music was Joan’s thing. She’d been named after a musician, a celebration of their parent’s earlier passions, while his naming had been a middle finger directed at his Hitler loving, Holocaust denying opa who had spent his youth in the Deutsches Jungvolk. Although a lot of old people thought he’s been named after a character from some TV show from the 1970’s.
They rounded the corner of the store and Dietrich stopped short: Willy was out front and leaning on the hood of his station wagon, speaking with two large, heavily, tattooed guys in wraparound shades leaning against a black, Ford Explorer. One was blond, clean shaven, wearing a white t-shirt under a leather vest, the other shaved bald, with a dark goatee, sporting a cut off jean vest over a black, long sleeve Harley Davidson shirt.
There were no patches on either of them, but even Dietrich knew what they were. Dietrich stepped out of sight.
“Deet? What’s up?”
Dietrich clammed up, but the stressed look on his face was all Joan needed. She looked around the corner. She’d seen the shorter man at the old Douglas house, working there, and around town. He was a creep, she knew that. He’d been trying to be cool with a bunch of her friends once and ended up in shoving match with Jenny Tang’s old boyfriend, Hugo. Actual blows were avoided, but he walked away making kung-fu movie sounds, and mock martial arts moves.
She put her hand on his shoulder, “Dietrich did that short, little loser say something to you.”
Dietrich pulled away, “Let’s go to 7-Eleven.”
“Dietrich…”
He opened up and told his sister everything, watching her tense up now, ball her fists, seeing her nostrils flare. Spilling it out hadn’t helped, Dietrich felt worse and just wanted to go home. But Joan dragged him by the arm and walked straight up to the man he Dietrich called “Willy”.
“Hey! Two-Hundred-a-week-Willy!” The shorter man spun around, and Joan slapped him, slightly cupping her right hand, making a popping sound against his face, which spun with the impact. He put a hand to his cheek. He snarled and started to speak, but Joan slapped him across the face again even harder with her left. Willy’s jaw was slack with surprise, and the bikers even took a couple of steps back, though the blond one had the start of a smile on his face. Joan grabbed Willy by his AC/DC shirt.
“Picking on a twelve year old? What the fifteen years olds too big for you, loser?”
Willy tried to break away, “Crazy bit…” Joan’s kick to his shin cut him off.
“Talk to my brother again, touch him, or throw another piece of fruit at his head, and I’ll kick your balls up out of your mouth! Got me?”
Willy broke away and looked ready to backhand Joan, but the goateed biker cuffed him across the back of the head, “The fu…, you pickin’ on kids, Rudy?”
“Yeah, he is and does. Likes to boast how he makes two hundred a week mowing the lawn at the empty house across the street.”
The blond biker stopped smiling, looked hard at Rudy, then over at Joan and Dietrich, “You been a regular blabbermouth, huh?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat bill fold, drawing out a twenty, “Sorry about idiot Rudy here kids, we’ll have a talk with him. Get yourselves a treat on us.”
Joan took the twenty and nodded thanks. Dietrich was relieved, but a bit confused. He half smiled and nodded at the bikers who smiled back, before frowning at the man called Rudy. He heard them talking as he walked to the door of the store.
“Real stupid, Rudy. You gotta come back to the clubhouse. Burke’ll want to talk with you. You ride with me, Uhl’ll take your car over. Give’em the keys.”
Dietrich turned. Willy, or Rudy, looked scared. Rudy turned toward Dietrich with a look that made him feel sorry for the little man, but also filled him with a measure of loathing, and fear. Joan led him away from the door and over to the cooler chest. She bought him a creamsicle and a drumstick. She got a drumstick for herself and pocketed the change.
Dietrich hadn’t seen the man named Rudy in about three weeks. A blonde woman with white streaks in her hair had shown up the last week to mow the lawn and do some weeding. They nodded to one another, but otherwise she didn’t engage with anyone. Joan had kept what she learned to herself but had passed it around to her friends about Rudy, aka “Two-Hundred a week Willy”, picking on her little brother.
“Deet? What’s up?”
Dietrich clammed up, but the stressed look on his face was all Joan needed. She looked around the corner. She’d seen the shorter man at the old Douglas house, working there, and around town. He was a creep, she knew that. He’d been trying to be cool with a bunch of her friends once and ended up in shoving match with Jenny Tang’s old boyfriend, Hugo. Actual blows were avoided, but he walked away making kung-fu movie sounds, and mock martial arts moves.
She put her hand on his shoulder, “Dietrich did that short, little loser say something to you.”
Dietrich pulled away, “Let’s go to 7-Eleven.”
“Dietrich…”
He opened up and told his sister everything, watching her tense up now, ball her fists, seeing her nostrils flare. Spilling it out hadn’t helped, Dietrich felt worse and just wanted to go home. But Joan dragged him by the arm and walked straight up to the man he Dietrich called “Willy”.
“Hey! Two-Hundred-a-week-Willy!” The shorter man spun around, and Joan slapped him, slightly cupping her right hand, making a popping sound against his face, which spun with the impact. He put a hand to his cheek. He snarled and started to speak, but Joan slapped him across the face again even harder with her left. Willy’s jaw was slack with surprise, and the bikers even took a couple of steps back, though the blond one had the start of a smile on his face. Joan grabbed Willy by his AC/DC shirt.
“Picking on a twelve year old? What the fifteen years olds too big for you, loser?”
Willy tried to break away, “Crazy bit…” Joan’s kick to his shin cut him off.
“Talk to my brother again, touch him, or throw another piece of fruit at his head, and I’ll kick your balls up out of your mouth! Got me?”
Willy broke away and looked ready to backhand Joan, but the goateed biker cuffed him across the back of the head, “The fu…, you pickin’ on kids, Rudy?”
“Yeah, he is and does. Likes to boast how he makes two hundred a week mowing the lawn at the empty house across the street.”
The blond biker stopped smiling, looked hard at Rudy, then over at Joan and Dietrich, “You been a regular blabbermouth, huh?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat bill fold, drawing out a twenty, “Sorry about idiot Rudy here kids, we’ll have a talk with him. Get yourselves a treat on us.”
Joan took the twenty and nodded thanks. Dietrich was relieved, but a bit confused. He half smiled and nodded at the bikers who smiled back, before frowning at the man called Rudy. He heard them talking as he walked to the door of the store.
“Real stupid, Rudy. You gotta come back to the clubhouse. Burke’ll want to talk with you. You ride with me, Uhl’ll take your car over. Give’em the keys.”
Dietrich turned. Willy, or Rudy, looked scared. Rudy turned toward Dietrich with a look that made him feel sorry for the little man, but also filled him with a measure of loathing, and fear. Joan led him away from the door and over to the cooler chest. She bought him a creamsicle and a drumstick. She got a drumstick for herself and pocketed the change.
Dietrich hadn’t seen the man named Rudy in about three weeks. A blonde woman with white streaks in her hair had shown up the last week to mow the lawn and do some weeding. They nodded to one another, but otherwise she didn’t engage with anyone. Joan had kept what she learned to herself but had passed it around to her friends about Rudy, aka “Two-Hundred a week Willy”, picking on her little brother.
She had hung out with him the first week, checking in the week after that when she could, carrying a seven iron from the golf clubs their father had stashed away, never having developed a taste for the game. When the Maccribbens asked her why she was carrying it around, she said she had to work on her swing. They ended up giving her pointers since she had no idea what she was doing and offered to take them both to a driving range sometime.
Joan figured Dietrich was okay on his own that third week, so Dietrich went without the escort. That suited Dietrich, he wanted to prove he was old enough to take care of himself.
Joan figured Dietrich was okay on his own that third week, so Dietrich went without the escort. That suited Dietrich, he wanted to prove he was old enough to take care of himself.
He worked hard that week, getting everything done by Wednesday before the family took off on Thursday morning for two weeks down the coast through Oregon then down to San Francisco. Mrs. Abalos was his last call before vacation time. Her youngest son and his wife had picked her up to take her out for the day. She paid Dietrich up front and gave him some Filipino snacks for his family to take on the trip. She also paid him extra to do some weeding for her in the garden bed in the backyard, just to get rid of the biggest and most obvious ones.
He had forgot to empty the bag to his mower, so he opted to start with the weeding and mow afterward. Dietrich was finishing up weeding the garden bed along the fence line bordering the old Douglas house, when he heard a car door close from the other side. He looked through a knot hole in the fence and felt himself tightening up when he saw the man the bikers had called Rudy come around the back. The man's face was bruised and swollen, and he moved stiffly with a limp. He looked around the back yard, walked over to the other side of the house carrying an extra small, empty, dark green gym bag.
He had forgot to empty the bag to his mower, so he opted to start with the weeding and mow afterward. Dietrich was finishing up weeding the garden bed along the fence line bordering the old Douglas house, when he heard a car door close from the other side. He looked through a knot hole in the fence and felt himself tightening up when he saw the man the bikers had called Rudy come around the back. The man's face was bruised and swollen, and he moved stiffly with a limp. He looked around the back yard, walked over to the other side of the house carrying an extra small, empty, dark green gym bag.
He pulled a small case from his back pocket. Rudy stopped, obviously listening for sounds. He put his ear to the downstairs door then he tried to climb the back stairs quietly to listen at the windows upstairs. He hobbled back downstairs, gloved up, pulled something out of the small case, and worked at locks on the door. Dietrich felt tight in his chest, and he stifled his breathing to be as quiet as possible, feeling a knot balling in his gut. Rudy paused periodically, looking scared, looking around the back yard, and then opened the door a crack, listened some more and slowly made his way into the basement.
He heard indistinct sounds coming from inside, and Rudy brought out four, large garbage bags and set them down outside the door before heading back inside. Coming out again Dietrich could see the small, green gym bag was full. Rudy went to close the door and checked his pockets, becoming frantic when he apparently could not find what he was looking for. He used the sort of words Dietrich was not allowed to use but did when he and his friends were alone. Rudy set the duffle bag down and ran back inside, and Dietrich could hear him stomp up the wooden steps to the top floor.
Dietrich felt his insides slither tighter, and tighter, until he exhaled and felt the tightness let go. But he hadn’t grown slack, something grew out of himself, and he felt loose, but firm at the same time. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his body moved before his brain had entirely figured out what he was doing.
He heard indistinct sounds coming from inside, and Rudy brought out four, large garbage bags and set them down outside the door before heading back inside. Coming out again Dietrich could see the small, green gym bag was full. Rudy went to close the door and checked his pockets, becoming frantic when he apparently could not find what he was looking for. He used the sort of words Dietrich was not allowed to use but did when he and his friends were alone. Rudy set the duffle bag down and ran back inside, and Dietrich could hear him stomp up the wooden steps to the top floor.
Dietrich felt his insides slither tighter, and tighter, until he exhaled and felt the tightness let go. But he hadn’t grown slack, something grew out of himself, and he felt loose, but firm at the same time. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his body moved before his brain had entirely figured out what he was doing.
He rolled over the top of the fence and hit the ground softly, sprinting on the balls of his feet to the bags, keeping his ears perked for Rudy. At the back door he felt a mild wave of heat and humidity coming from inside, and a pungent smell came from the garbage bags. He’d smelled it before in his parent’s room, and on some of Joan’s friends. His nose wrinkled reflexively, and he peeked inside the gym bag. Money. It was full of money.
Dietrich felt a jolt running up his spine to his head, and he hefted the duffle bag over his shoulder before sprinting, jumping, and rolling over the fence back into Mrs. Abalos’s yard. The weight of the bag had caught him off guard and off balance, but he recovered quickly.
Dietrich felt a jolt running up his spine to his head, and he hefted the duffle bag over his shoulder before sprinting, jumping, and rolling over the fence back into Mrs. Abalos’s yard. The weight of the bag had caught him off guard and off balance, but he recovered quickly.
Grabbing his garbage can, he dragged it around the corner to where the mower was. He dropped the gym bag into the can, removed the clippings bag from the mower and dumped his clippings on top of the gym bag. Hearing the back door slam at the old Douglas house, Dietrich started up the mower, put on his shields and earmuffs, and tried to act like nothing had happened.
He had only just started his job of pretending to mow the lawn when Rudy appeared at the fence, and Dietrich tensed up again trying to pretend Rudy wasn’t there. Rudy was waving at him, yelling, then making a slashing motion with his hand. He held something in the other hand. Dietrich turned to him, his mouth and eyes opened wide: Rudy had a gun in his right hand. Rudy climbed the fence and hobbled over to him as fast as he could, hitting the choke to the mower, then pulled Dietrich’s muffs off.
“Kid! Did anyone run across here just now.”
Dietrich just stared at him, wanting to run but he was frozen in place.
“Kid! Com’on! Snap out of it!” It registered on Rudy’s face he’d remembered he was holding a handgun and he stuck it in the back of his pants, “Jeez, kid, I’m not going to shoot you! Did you see anyone? Hear anyone?”
He had only just started his job of pretending to mow the lawn when Rudy appeared at the fence, and Dietrich tensed up again trying to pretend Rudy wasn’t there. Rudy was waving at him, yelling, then making a slashing motion with his hand. He held something in the other hand. Dietrich turned to him, his mouth and eyes opened wide: Rudy had a gun in his right hand. Rudy climbed the fence and hobbled over to him as fast as he could, hitting the choke to the mower, then pulled Dietrich’s muffs off.
“Kid! Did anyone run across here just now.”
Dietrich just stared at him, wanting to run but he was frozen in place.
“Kid! Com’on! Snap out of it!” It registered on Rudy’s face he’d remembered he was holding a handgun and he stuck it in the back of his pants, “Jeez, kid, I’m not going to shoot you! Did you see anyone? Hear anyone?”
Dietrich shook his head.
“Christ on crutch! Ffff…” Rudy spun around, looking in every direction. He hobbled back to the fence and turned pointing a finger at Dietrich before climbing over, “You and your sister really screwed me kid! If you see me in the paper – it’s your fault!”
Rudy moved quickly, groaning at times. He picked up his garbage bags and loaded them into his car parked at the front of the drive. Dietrich watched him from around the corner of Mrs. Abalos’s house. He saw Rudy toss the handgun onto the passenger seat of his station wagon, get in and speed off, checking first to see who might be watching, but the street was clear.
Dietrich moved away from the corner of the house and watched Rudy drive away. He looked back at the garbage can and felt his smile fade even as it formed. His stomach started to churn, and his breathing grew shallow. He thought about his hiding spots, or how to explain a brand-new bank account to his parents. Dietrich looked at the Douglas house, thought about the new owners. Maybe they’d pay him twenty a week to mow the lawn? He figured he’d set the money back right where he had taken it from. Minus the cost of a set of bagpipes, however.
“Christ on crutch! Ffff…” Rudy spun around, looking in every direction. He hobbled back to the fence and turned pointing a finger at Dietrich before climbing over, “You and your sister really screwed me kid! If you see me in the paper – it’s your fault!”
Rudy moved quickly, groaning at times. He picked up his garbage bags and loaded them into his car parked at the front of the drive. Dietrich watched him from around the corner of Mrs. Abalos’s house. He saw Rudy toss the handgun onto the passenger seat of his station wagon, get in and speed off, checking first to see who might be watching, but the street was clear.
Dietrich moved away from the corner of the house and watched Rudy drive away. He looked back at the garbage can and felt his smile fade even as it formed. His stomach started to churn, and his breathing grew shallow. He thought about his hiding spots, or how to explain a brand-new bank account to his parents. Dietrich looked at the Douglas house, thought about the new owners. Maybe they’d pay him twenty a week to mow the lawn? He figured he’d set the money back right where he had taken it from. Minus the cost of a set of bagpipes, however.
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