Hi, I'm Abby.

I've worked a little too long on this chapter to not publish it. So, I published it. Idk if there's a story worth writing here, but I'll try my best.

Please, please, please leave comments. Any commentary at all helps.

Happy reading!

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Besides my disheveled ponytail and broken fingernail, humidity hung in the air like a bad omen. I was straddling an archaic piece of junk, otherwise known as my Dad's lawnmower, attempting to get it to show some sign of life. I'd take a wheeze of oily gears at this point. 

Anything to make the past hour of my life worth the grass currently buried in every last crevice of my sweaty body. I'd retained to kicking in the side of the mower with my big toe, the paint now beginning to chip away from the impact zone. Eventually, I keeled over in a final attempt, cranking the pull cord out over my shoulder. Once, twice, a third time, followed by another solid kick. And still, the lawnmower sat motionlessly. Dead. Silent. Mocking me.

Defeated, I finally plopped down in the overgrown grass of my parent's front yard. I looked out across the street of my childhood neighborhood. The asphalt road ran past mailboxes and abandoned basketball hoops, finally winding around another single-family home. It disappeared behind a two-car garage which obstructed my view of what was essentially more endless rows of Suburbia. It was the kind of white-picket-fence neighborhood people longed for, and those who lived in longed to escape.

The Patti's, our neighbors across the street, had a brick chimney rising from their own 2-story Victorian home, nearly identical to ours. They sat perfectly in line with our residence, mailboxes, driveways, and fences completely symmetrical. It was kind of unsettling, each cookie-cutter house, a replica of the one across from it. Even our trees kind of matched.

Pulling my eyes from the street, I kicked my legs out from under me and laid back into the lawn. Face up, I stared into an overcast sky. The sun was hidden from sight and yet I still had to squint from how bright it was. I was having a moment. A moment where I let time pass by, and the gray sky entertained my thoughts. I used to do this a lot more as kid before it got weird. People expect maturity at a certain age and laying out in your front yard, stretched like a starfish, doesn't meet that standard apparently. Adults aren't allowed to have moments.

I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once when a shuffling roused me from my daze. I whipped upright automatically. It could've been a squirrel for all I knew, but the figure coming around the cluster of shrubs was very much human. Plus a dog. There was a dog. I peeled off my mom's crusty gardening gloves, still cross-legged in the grass when my childhood itself veered into view. It was my kid-best friend, Bryce Bowser, who just so happened to stride down the sidewalk. His fluffy terrier leading the way.

"Kid-best friend" is a dumb label I made up a while back. Bryce is the son of my mom's best friend and therefore my childhood best friend by association. Our moms met through the PTA and they were both volunteer crazy. One thing led to another, and Bryce and I became school buddies, bus buddies, baseball buddies, vacation buddies, summer buddies, you name it. Every day after school, we'd chase each other home from the bus stop. The moms gossiped, while we wrestled in the basement. Kid-best friends by definition, before it all finally and inevitably fell apart.

And here he was now, years later. Bryce Bowser stopped in front of me, our eyes meeting. He had a dog leash in one hand, a Coke in the other, and a frustratingly neutral smile on his face when he caught sight of me slumped in the weeds. I wonder if he thought of me too, as his kid-best friend. I wonder if his entire adolescence flashed before his eyes like mine seemingly was.

"Need help, neighbor?" He called out, a chuckle breaking off the end.

Even at the clutches of oily lawn equipment, I wasn't one to ask for help. So, I stood up again, grasping the pull cord once more, helplessly throwing every last ounce of my energy into the darn thing. 

"Nah, I almost got it," I quipped.

And like a miracle sent from Heaven, the 20-something-year-old engine gagged to life at long last. I heaved a breath and my arms ached. Somehow, I was exhausted before I'd even begun, but I forced a heroic smile as I began to trudge forward. Unfortunately, my success lasted only a few glorious seconds before it whirred and sputtered out again. I'd successfully cut a patch of about five feet of grass.

Bryce's dog barked joyously at my failure. "Okay," I sighed, "maybe I don't got it."

I thought the interaction might end there. We could walk away with a good laugh at my unfortunate circumstances, but suddenly Bryce was strolling up the driveway. Once upon a time, this wouldn't have been weird at all, but things change. When was the last time he set foot in my direction? We used to walk into each other's homes unannounced and were treated like siblings. And this was the same house, we were the same kids technically. But time had worn away so much.

Years and years of time could dull anything. My mom's once obnoxiously yellow door she'd handpainted was faded, my handprints in the driveway pavement were cracking, and the kid-now-adult who stalked towards me was different too. What was Bryce hoping to get from this? Things would never be like they used to be. I didn't know how to force normalcy, that's not a social skill I'm known for anyway.

For the second time, I collapsed into the grass as the smelly doggo trotted over to greet me, sniffing my face. Bryce was still a whole leash-length away before he too hunkered down in the yard with me. His legs longer than mine and his khaki shorts rubbing against the dirt. For the briefest of moments, if you closed your eyes and we didn't speak, we could've been those same goofy kids again. For a teeny-tiny millisecond, in a neighborhood that at least looked the same, I was taken back to hot summers where school, responsibilities, and relationships didn't matter. The world was just play dates and snack time.

But I only had to take one glance at Bryce to realize that that reality was long gone. This was a man sitting next to me now, someone entirely different. Someone I wouldn't recognize if I'd moved away and then come back. He had a scrappy beard and a large Adam's apple that complemented the deep voice. He was muscular from years of baseball, but nothing too impressive. And he had wavy hair he'd grown out a little after years of his Dad buzzing it. I was a full-grown human too, I guess. Different. Changed. But I certainly didn't feel that way.

He inhaled a long breath, as if the lawnmower had exhausted the both of us. It was a weird atmosphere, drifting between comfortable with an old friend and unsure as if we were wandering strangers whose paths just happened to cross. What were we supposed to talk about? Should I be saying something? Should we reminisce about our childhoods or are we even old enough for that yet? His scruffy dog sat between us, while words completely failed to capture my thoughts.

"So," he started awkwardly, "your parents doing okay?"

My parents? He wanted to know how the Mr. and Mrs. were doing? Really? It seemed so far off what I'd expected, but then again who knows what I'd really been expecting. Bryce's parents split awhile back, around freshmen year as everything in life was going to shit.

"My parents, uh," I paused searching for the right words, "they're good. My dad is actually looking to retire somewhere, which is crazy. Cause like, I can't imagine them living anywhere but here, you know?"

"Yeah, there's toddlers running around the neighborhood again. And their parents," he cracked an awkward smile, "they're not that old. If you know what I mean."

I knew. The next generation was moving in, the old moving out. And somehow by some crazy, nonsensical concept, the new Moms and Dads were closer to our age than to our parents. It was absolutely mindblowing.

Time was slowly chipping away at my life. Time brought a new generation to kick out the old—or new "toddlers," as Bryce had put it. And that's why everything felt wrong, like even the atmosphere had changed, because it had after all. Time had changed it all, and that struck home.

"What are you getting at, Bowser?" I asked, my hands pressed into the uncut blades of grass.

"I dunno. We got old."

So, we were on the same scary life-is-moving-fast page after all. Funny, how that happens when you least expect it.

"Dang Bryce, did the lawnmower malfunction bring on all this introspection or was it the dog taking a shit?" Awkward jokes are always a surefire way to keep reality at bay. Anything to avoid having real conversations with people.

A goofy smile spread across his face almost instantaneously. Turns out I did have the slightest bit of charm leftover. Maybe high school hadn't drained us completely after all.

He answered with a shrug, "Both probably."

"Both," I repeated in mock laughter, and then after a beat. "Okay, call me crazy, but maybe we should hang out some—"

Suddenly his phone started ringing, a generic ringtone that fully managed to ruin the somewhat serene, front-yard, lawnmower moment we were having. No matter how short-lived it had been. I heard a muffled voice on the other end, very much feminine and whoever she was, she had a lot to say. I didn't recognize the voice though, so it wasn't his mom. All the meanwhile, I awkwardly tussled with the dog as the clearly more important conversation took place.

It was only thirty seconds, but I felt like I was getting robbed of a year's worth of catching up that could've been happening. I mean, I hadn't seen Bryce since we left for college in August. It was May now, and honestly who knew how many summers like this we really had left. Maybe one more, if we got lucky.

Eventually, some finalizing remarks were made. Something about dinner tonight, a reservation, and a taut goodbye followed quickly thereafter. In one smooth motion, Bryce had hoisted himself from the grass and slipped his phone into a back pocket.

I stumbled after him, trying to insert myself into his life again. A moment ago, I would've been perfectly content watching him walk down the sidewalk with little more than a wave, but now I realized all I wanted was a halfway decent conversation with the guy. This is that old-friend-friendship everyone goes on about. It's supposed to be sacred or something. I couldn't bring myself to ignore his existance all summer long again. 

"Alright, well," he tugged the dog leash gently to get his furry friend back to his feet, "I gotta blast. My girlfriend is getting all frantic about her mom's birthday plans."

Ahh, girlfriend. I should've known.

"Oh yeah, I get it." I muttered. But I desperately hoped my eyes conveyed a different message. Like, maybe: Hello! Don't forget your kid-best friend. Your first kiss, might I add. Pre-puberty. But he didn't seem to get the message.

He started down the driveway, but I was almost too antsy now to let the moment pass, high on some feel-good nostalgia. I just wanted to continue the conversation, mess around like we used to do when we were kids.

I mean c'mon, he and I, we were the absolute peak of childhood. I wasn't ready to admit that that portion of my life was behind me. Why couldn't we have one last sweaty, happy hurrah? Ride bikes, play video games, drink juice boxes on someone's back yard trampoline? It wasn't like the lawnmower was going anywhere anyway.

"Bryce, wait." I jogged down the driveway after him, suddenly aware that I was wearing a grass-stained T-shirt and sweatpants. We met by the mailbox where his dog decided to relieve himself. I scrunched my face at the sight, before making direct eye contact instead. I just needed him to give me something to do over the summer, nothing beyond that. There was no one else left anyway.

All of my high school girlfriends were doing internships, summer classes, or were abroad somewhere. I didn't have any ex-boyfriends lining up to rekindle previous flings, or cute, new guys moving in down the street either. Bryce was right, this place was overrun with toddlers again.

"Its been a while," I prompted, "maybe we should get some friends back together." I couldn't actually think of any mutual friends off the top, but that sounded less threatening than just one-on-one.

He raised his eyebrows, considering my proposition, before shrugging it off. "Yeah, maybe. If I can get away from her," he gestured to his phone, "but she's been kind of needy recently."

Oh great, she's a naggy girlfriend too.

"We can hit some of the old places," I suggested, "like the creek." Yes, I was aware I was dragging out the conversation, but I was hoping he'd also pitch in a little more. Suddenly though, he was speaking over his shoulder instead, as his dog continued to trot back down the road.

I was never good at reading body language, but from what I could tell he didn't seem that interested.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll contact you later, Marlene, good luck with the front yard." He smiled, but it wasn't very convincing.

You'll contact me never, I thought, but I forced a smile anyway. "Do it, Bowser. For old times sake."

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Alright.

I guess that's it. An opening chapter about a lawnmower. 

Let me know what you thought or even where you think the story should go from here. 

Seriously though, I need some ideas to get the creative juices flowin'.

Until next chapter, byeee!