One Fat Summer Read Online Free PDF

engine, and every time I turned to start a new row, pain exploded in my wrists and shot up my arms into my shoulders. My fingers were numb, I’d never be able to pry them off the handlebar grips. My back hurt. My head hurt. My feet were very hot. I was sweating all over, even my knees and elbows were sweating. Each scorching drop of sweat rolled slowly down my chest and back like a scorching drop of acid burning out a furrow in my skin. If only I could take off my shirt like everybody else who cuts grass. But my pants weren’t buttoned, and, anyway, I never take off my shirt when people are watching.
    Everything was getting hazy. Trees swayed and there wasn’t even a breeze. The lawn began to move. It rippled. Everything was wavy; it was like looking at the world through a fish tank. The lawn began to roll like the ocean. I was getting lawn sick.
    And then the motor stopped. Just stopped dead. I hadn’t realized how loud the mower was, how its roar banged against my ears and cloggedmy brain, until it was suddenly silent and I heard birds tweet again and crickets chirp and the whoosh of traffic on the county road. Far away, a dog barked.
    Why did it stop? Did I break it? The sweat turned cold on my skin. I have to start it again. The rope was still on the handlebars. I tried to remember how Dr. Kahn had started the engine. Wind the rope around the cylinder, and pull. I had trouble opening my hands, they were locked into hooks around the grips.
    Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dr. Kahn step off the porch and start down the lawn toward me. My hands slowly opened. They were red and swollen. I wrapped the rope around the cylinder, and pulled. The motor whined, and died. I tried again. This time, nothing.
    I heard his slippers slapping against his heels. I pulled with all my might, lost my balance, and tripped over the mower. I could have just stayed there, sprawled out on the lawn, my face in the sweet grass. But he was coming and I jumped up.
    â€œYou’re out of gas,” he said. The shotgun eyes blasted right through me. He unscrewed alittle cap on the side of the motor and stuck his finger in the gas tank. It came out dry. “A gas mower runs on gas. Did you know that?”
    â€œYek.”
    â€œThe gas is in the shed. And don’t forget the funnel.”
    The hill seemed steeper now, it was like climbing a mountain. A very steep, short mountain. I was much closer to the porch than I thought. I hadn’t cut all that much grass.
    I felt better in the shed, soothed by the coolness and the darkness. I found a gallon can of gasoline and a funnel. Outside again, the heat slammed into me like a wall of hot wet cotton. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I could hardly breathe.
    â€œIs this job too tough for you?” Dr. Kahn had followed me up.
    â€œNnnnnnn…” It was the best my stuck tongue could do.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    â€œWa’er. Nee’ a glath wa’er.”
    â€œThere’s a spigot on the side of the house. You’re not to go inside.”
    I stumbled toward it. A water hole in thedesert. Or a mirage. Until I touched the rusty handle, I was sure it would disappear. The water wasn’t cold and it tasted like metal, but I drank it out of my hands until I thought my belly would burst.
    I staggered back down the hill, burping. Even with the funnel, I spilled some gas on the lawn. It took four hard yanks, but the green machine roared back to life.
    Cut on, and on. And on. Back and forth, side to side, watch for stones, keep a neat row.
    I wanted to stop. Just leave the machine and go home. Nobody at home knew I had a job so nobody would know I quit. This is torture. Who needs it? I’m walking on burning needles. My blisters have blisters. Hammers banging on my shoulders. Electric jolts in my wrists. I can feel every inch of me, and every inch of me hurts. Just stop and walk away.
    A long black car swept down the driveway, stopped and