The Mower Man.....

Yes, it was still raining, on the first day of summer. Riley, the Mower Man, huddled in his work vehicle, gazing in despair at sheets of pounding, flooding rain. Spring had been like this too. He was way behind on all his gardening rounds, his clients kept sending him despairing text messages.

"No one can stop the rain," Riley told himself. This morning, his significant other had given him the shopping money and told him to shop for the family groceries. As if he didn't have enough to do! Riley and his flame, Olivia, had one child between them, plus his two sons from different mothers. Trent was seventeen, Jake was eleven, and Tilley was their three year old pride and joy.

Riley did need an offsider, an apprentice, for his one man mowing business. Trent did not finish high school, so Riley had taken him on as his sidekick. Trent worked for two days. His dad had been his alarm clock, getting him up and showered. On the third day, Trent stayed home in bed, and continued to do so. He sent his middle aged father, Riley, off to work to support him. Olivia and Riley had shared cross words over Trent. Olivia had told Riley that his eldest son was disaffected and disengaged.

Jake was heading the same way. He was the world's cheekiest tween, in Riley's face every time he was corrected, or asked to do something simple like homework. Jake had read his Universal Charter of Children's Rights, and was so full of it. Riley had been brought up the old-fashioned way, and longed to give both his sons a hiding to sort their challenges in life. Might be the making of them both, but it was all part of the vast conspiracies in the working man's daily toil. Kids were hard work, and expensive.

Riley sat in his wheels, the rain was pouring. On his phone, he looked up 'disaffected'. There was no use looking in the rear view window. Once he had been a good looking red headed rooster, a surfer. He had lived the good life, following his young mates, doing nothing except odd jobs, chasing that perfect wave, greeting each dawn and sunny days on his surfboard.

Now Olivia wanted to plan another afterbirth. Even in the good weather, Riley could not afford that, let alone Olivia's hairdressing bills. Tilley was only three years old, but born at least forty. She even had her own full make up kit. Before Riley could leave the house in the morning, Tilley refused to let him go to work until his face was plastered with a full makeover, complete with glitter lip gloss.

Riley kept a packet of wipes in his vehicle. He had to sit there and wipe away all this glowing make up before he could appear in his workplace. He never told his clientele, but every one of his toenails was adorned with different shades of nail varnish, thanks to Tilley. He hid all that in his sensible work boots, for mowing and weeding.

This was a world where no one was truly alone. A higher power had granted the world the existence of weeds. Riley stared at the overgrown weeds he was supposed to be removing, impossible. "I think I am disaffected, " he told himself. He could get to the grocery store, then head off home and sort his latest taxes for his small business, the Mower Man.

But, no,. Feeling disaffected, Riley drove to the hotel, and walked in to ask for a beer. The good old beer, he knew what to spend the shopping money on. He gaped in horror, as the bar attendant rang up the tally for one small glass of beer. It was half the size it used to be, and cost Riley $18. His beer came with a receipt, the price included a tax on Goods and Services, also with a fee for Services and Handling as well.

Riley could not drink this beer all at once. He glanced around the bar. Empty. No working man could afford to drink any more. "I hear you, working class men of our land," Riley thought. All that tax on a shrunken glass, did not even touch the sides. Yes, there was a great conspiracy going on today. The excessive taxes were funding their nation's duly elected politicians. They could all have fat cat salaries, and cheap subsidized bourbons and vodka in their parliamentary bar. Drunk, the land's team leaders then chased firm young staffers, preferably some blonde bimbo, in parliament's throes of passion.

Yes, one conspiracy rumor on social media that Riley believed, was that their chief politician was seeding the clouds, to make both politicians rich, and destroy the livelihoods of working class men, just like Riley. They had to battle rising rivers, not earn any wages. The average workforce were having their salaries and conditions reduced by the rising cost of living.

Yes, Riley accepted that theory. Made perfectly normal, paranoid good sense to him. After all, it was still raining. He was now even too scared to make love to Olivia, in case of pregnancy. He was now living disaffection. Some Mower Man. He needed to find some clarity in his future. Riley wanted to feel the sun, the sea, the surf again. While Olivia and Tilley were occupied with some expensive, energetic toddler taming class, Riley sneaked home. He needed to manifest some self-kindness, attain personal zen.

He grabbed his surfboard and wetsuit from the garage, cluttered with all his mowing equipment. Trent could sell it all the pawnshops. Hell, Riley was overcoming being disengaged. He drove to the airport, instead of feeling like a beggar at the pricey supermarket.

Riley left it all behind. He still knew where his old mates were on earth. He left his wheels in the long term car park. Family life was no longer going to be his problem. Using cash and his credit card, he bought a one way ticket to a tropical archipelago. He was determined to survive. The big plane took Riley far away.

Meanwhile, back in suburbia, Olivia did not miss him too long. Tilley did like her new uncle, and her baby brother. Trent made some cash from his welfare, then got his teenage girlfriend pregnant, so he went to shack up with her. Jake was sent to a foster home. He ended up in a juvenile detention center, with no role model. The police force did not think of him as their favorite defendant.

Riley found his long lost mates. Their hair was grey, their bellies sagged, they lived in little huts or vans. At night, they sat together, singing their old drinking songs. They could sing every word of 'Grease', but what did that that say about them? They all thought they were John Revolting. Their ex women thought they were nauseating.

Riley had 'found himself'. Every morning, these good old boys rose early, and went to a different beach, chasing their zen. They paddled as individuals beyond the little ripples, fully engaged. They were eternally hoping for that perfect wave, that perfect ride. Life was too short to be an overtaxed working man. Riley had left everyone in their hour of need. He tried to forget all those struggles. He was no longer, The Mower Man......