I told Nancy that the lawn mower should have two seats so I could bring a friend to make
the chore less boring. Taping this sponge to my ride-on mower was as close as I could get.
I drove it around to the driveway where Nancy was getting into her car. She pointed at it, “Is that the new sponge?”
“Yeah.”
She looked at the sponge, then at me. “I’m going to tai-chi.”
“Alright,” I said, pushing my earbuds in.
I listened to Spotify while I mowed substituting “sponge” wherever I could in the lyrics.
Bluetooth earbuds are a blessing and a curse. Their sound drowns out the lawn mower but they leave the listener awash in the confidence that comes when the sounds of the outside world are cutoff, like singing in the car with the windows up.
I mowed around the garden and by the corral then headed up toward the street. The song playing was briefly interrupted by a text alert then resumed. It was my sister so I stopped to text her back.
A tap on my shoulder scared the shit out of me.
“JESUS!” I pulled the earbuds out.
“Oh, sorry, man. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” It was the mailman.
“No, that’s ok. I was just zoned out texting and listening to music.”
He handed me an over-stuffed manila envelope I was expecting from my lawyer. “This wouldn’t fit in your mailbox and I figured you’re right here, save myself a trip to your door.”
“Yeah, thanks, that’s fine. I’ll take it.”
“Did you just sing ‘killing me softly with his sponge?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I looked at his mail truck behind him in the street. “Hey, where’s Andy?”
“He’s on vacation. I’ll be around for the next two weeks.”
“Oh, good for him. I’m John, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, I’m Tim.”
I looked at my sponge. “You hear that, Timmy? He’s got the same name as you!”
“Really?”
“A little resemblance too, the eyes I think,” I added. “Tell me, what do you think of this idea: two-seater lawn mowers? Cup holders, one seat could recline-
“-Are you saying I look like a sponge?”
“Well, I mean, I’m looking at the smile, too. Similar.”
“Wow.” (Not the exhilarated kind of “wow” but more like a “wow” with the air let out of it, like the kind that prefaces “-you’re a turd.”)
He walked back to his truck.
I had to diffuse the situation; he’ll be handling my mail for the next two weeks. “Hey, Tim. Ok, ok, there’s no similarity. Really. And I don’t even know my sponge’s real name.”
The truck was already running so when he got in he immediately drove down to my neighbor’s mailbox.
I looked at the envelope and wondered if the law firm could just email big files.
I reinserted my earbuds and mowed my way back to the house.
I put the sponge in the sink.