Something from my writing journals: Timed Fiction-

"This is what the Neighbors Saw"

 

 

Jorge never liked his body, but it was something he had made peace with, regardless. He had poked and prodded it along through his younger years, using it to great effect when his hormones and time schedules matched more securely and he did not have to think about those things very frequently. He had taken the time to avoid fried foods, the gift of his heritage, whenever he could; having a gym in walking distance to his condo was motivation enough to ride the bicycle, even on the cloudiest of days.

Because of the time he afforded it, he was allowed, nightly, to stay in bed when others his age found their bladders swollen enough that hourly urination gave little satisfaction. He could just lie there. The abuses he felled upon his own prostate in his youth he figured he could count on to haunt him; however, the ongoing gym membership afforded him a good night's sleep. Never once did he find himself getting up before a decent six hours of slumber were conquered. And even that was an issue of size, not age or health of various organs.

It was a Saturday morning when those six hours had stretched to a good ten. He treated himself the Friday night prior to finishing a paperback. The week was far from decent, lunch hours were kept in the company of unruly teens, instead of his green tea and reading. So as the end of the week surfaced, he found the time to polish off his leisure reading on the couch and sleeping late. The coffeemaker had done its job; the carafe was still piping hot when he awoke and shambled into this kitchen.

The condo was the last on his lot, a beauty in that it afforded him a decent view of their courtyard before the pool. An open expanse of bright green blades of lawn and swingset. Normally, he would have afforded a robe at this hour. But the Florida sun was in repose this winter, the pool across the way, empty. His boxer-briefs hung at a sad, low angle, but he was not one to care before coffee.

He did not even jolt when the drivable lawn mower came into view. They were traditionally there every Saturday morning, and they never seemed the wiser. Jorge got a thrill out of their presence, since they seemingly were all 18-19 and in the fittest of shape he once hoped for. They creatively removed large swatches of clothing every week, from an exposed midriff or a shorn sleeve, showing their latest tattoo or keeping their strong tanline.

Today's show involved a red-headed lad who wore very, very large headphones. Jorge guess the form of the things kept the sweat away from his temples, but would suffer from horrid smells in the truck ride home. But it wasn't his problem.

The youth was too new to the job. He didn't know the rules of the retirement community. You were not allowed to take off your shirt.

He wasn't going to complain, however. At least not before coffee.

Jorge scratched himself, unthinking, and maneuvered to see better.

(Unfinished, timed out)