Tanglewood Road

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

Cody opened his eyes shortly after noon and hopped into the clothes he’d worn the day before, not wanting to dirty anything clean while mowing. And the occasional grass stain looked kind of cool on his black T. It gave it character.

He considered going online and posting an ad on Craigslist or searching through the hundreds of posts in his area, but figured it would probably be fifty-year-old guys hitting on fresh meat. Cody hadn’t wanted to have s*x since he realized he was gay, but he wanted to have friends with whom he could talk about his feelings. The pervs on Craigslist didn’t seem to be viable candidates. It was easier to hold it all inside.

He trudged out into the sweltering garage and pulled the door up. He checked the fuel in the mower and poured in some gas from one of the plastic fuel canisters kept on a low shelf. The smell lingered on his hands. After rolling the red mower out onto the lawn, he held down on the handle and pulled the ripcord twice.

He pushed the lawnmower around the front yard in narrowing rectangles and around palm trees. After a half hour, he looked like he’d been swimming. His hair was matted down on his forehead and his T-shirt was soaked.

I need to get a couple lighter shirts. Maybe I should go shirtless and see if that gets any of the neighbors’ attention. Maybe the whole place is a relocation program for creeps and they’re not allowed to talk to me? Mom would freak.

Cody realized he could play the clueless teenager card if he combed his hair back and adopted a vacant look in his eyes. He released his grip on the lawnmower’s handle and it shut off.

“Aw, man! This sucks!” Cody shouted in case anyone could hear. “I don’t know anything about how lawnmowers work! I’d give someone fift—uh, ten—bucks to help me out!”

He looked around, waiting for a response.

The whole thing drove him crazy. There had to be someone around. Wasn’t Florida supposed to be full of retirees? Someone had to be home on a weekday afternoon.

“Screw this,” Cody muttered. He stormed onto the sidewalk and headed for the next house over.

The one-story home looked similar to his own, with a large, screened-in entryway. He knocked on the outer entrance and then decided to open the screen door.

“Hello?” he called out. He spotted a buzzer and pressed it. “Just a friendly neighbor in need of some help. That’s all.”

He pressed the buzzer twice more before giving up and moving on to check the next house.

“Not here to murder anyone, just having some mechanical problems. Anyone home?”

But no one answered that door, either, or the next three he knocked at. He even tried the handle of the last door, only to find it locked. He returned to his house, took off his sweaty shirt, wrung it out on the lawn, and then finished mowing.

The sun beat relentlessly down on him, and he felt exhausted from pushing and pulling the lawnmower, but he finished the job after another hour, and returned the machine to the stuffy garage.

He pulled the heavy door down and slid the metal lock through the grooves, sealing himself in the darkened room. He headed toward the door leading inside, but it wouldn’t open.

“What the hell?” He didn’t think he’d locked it. His chest heaved, still exhausted from the workout. It was even hotter in the garage than outside. He tried the door handle again, but the door wouldn’t budge. Sweat dripped off his long hair and chest.

He fumbled for the light switch but the bulb didn’t turn on. He felt dizzy and could barely see. Cody turned around and stumbled toward the garage door. He tripped over a toolbox and crashed onto the hard floor. He felt dirt and oil on his chest and legs. His right knee throbbed and he sucked in hard to regain his breath. He got a whiff of a foul stench and heard something nearby.

The sound had a steady rhythm, like something breathing in and out. A spider skittered over Cody’s fingers. He panicked—energy shot through his arms and he bounded to his feet. He imagined large spiders and cockroaches lurking in the dark.

The breathing continued—far too close—raspy and wet.

Cody hurried to the garage door and grabbed the square handlebar. Hands stinging, he yanked up, but the door stuck on the lock. The breathing sounded closer and he felt a presence over his shoulder. Fingers trembling, Cody pulled at the metal lock and then heaved up on the door.

Sunlight poured into the room. Cody leapt into the driveway and spun around to confront the breathing.

The garage looked just the same as it always had, with the addition of a blood smear near the scattered tools. Cody looked down at his own body, grimacing at the scuffed knees and grit on his chest.

Cody lowered the garage door with a bang. He crossed in front of the house and tried the front door, but it wouldn’t open.

“Come on!” He feebly pounded on the door “Please…”

He checked his pockets. He didn’t even have his cell phone. He dropped to the front step and put his head in his scuffed hands. His mom wouldn’t get back for hours. He considered trying the pool area, but he knew the backdoor was locked. He considered diving in the pool to cool off, but he was afraid to get chlorine in his cuts.

He remembered his bedroom window, and hoped that wasn’t locked.

Cody stood back up and shimmied between the orange stucco wall and the shoulder-high hedge. The branches stuck out and slapped his chest and legs. He pictured the frogs, spiders, lizards, snakes, and bees that probably inhabited the hedges. He could practically feel scales on his ankles and wet slithering across his skinny torso.

He rounded the back of the house one careful side step at a time and finally reached his bedroom window. He quickly put his palms under the wooden crossbeam and pushed up.

Nothing happened for a second, but the window gave way and swept up. The cool air inside sucked out like a nice breeze on Cody’s face.

“Gym class finally paid off,” Cody muttered as he hoisted himself into his bedroom. He crashed down on the other side, bruising his shoulder and hipbone. He rubbed at the tender spots, thankful for the dirty clothes that slightly padded the hard tiled floor. He stood back up, shut the window, and got himself a large glass of water in the kitchen.

Cody’s head spun, so he sat on the couch, panting and miserable. His sweaty back and legs stuck to the couch and he stank, but back inside he felt safe once again.

The water gone, Cody shuffled into the bathroom, slipped out of his shorts and boxers, and turned the shower on. The water scalded him, but he hung his head, his thick swatch of black and yellow hair forming a triangle pointing at the grit and grime washing off his body. He stood still for a few minutes, staring at the dirty water swirling down the drain.

The moment Cody turned the water off, someone knocked at the front door—three steady, authoritative pounds. Cody panicked, haphazardly rubbing a towel over his chest and legs.

“One minute!” Cody shouted.

Three more knocks sounded.

Cody thought all the service guys had already been there. The pool guy, the cable guy, the gas guy, and the Internet guy. He tossed his shorts on and hurried into the living room.

“I’m coming,” Cody called out.

He swung the front door open, preparing to deal with an electrician or proselytizing Mormon, but he didn’t see anyone.

“Hello?” Cody asked the thin air.

He made sure the door wasn’t locked and left it open as he jogged out to the street, hoping to find a Jehovah’s Witness knocking at either of the neighbors’ doors. No such luck.

Cody sniffed the freshly mowed lawn before returning to the house to brood silently until dinner, when he would brood loudly to his mom.