It was hot! Not the kind of heat one would feel in most areas of the country in July, but the humid, oppressive heat that was common in any part of South Florida except the beaches. That's what it was like when Josh stepped out the rear door of the nondescript concrete block house in the Northwest part of Fort Lauderdale. The house had been built in the forties by a family who had aspired towards farming without success and now existed as a lonely rental structure a good three miles from the center of town just a few hundred feet from the North branch of New River. Josh had to laugh at the label of 'river' because from what he could see it wasn't more than twenty-five feet wide. At least not in the area he was familiar with. He had always felt that the river should have been named 'Gator Creek' due to the large number of alligators and snakes populating the water near the house.
Their presence in the black water of the river had provided Josh with un-counted earnings when he was in his early teens by recovering misguided golf balls of the many golfers in the Wilton Manors golf course that bordered the road across from where he lived. Josh would hang out near the green located at the river's edge and when he would hear the tell-tale 'plunk' of a ball hitting the water, he'd wait for the irritated golfer to walk up to the green, take one look at the dark waters and mumble about his lost golf ball. Josh would quickly take advantage of the situation and volunteer to recover the ball. For a small tip, of course, which would usually result in an easily earned dollar or so. He had learned quickly that if he made a lot of noise when he entered the water he had nothing to fear from the populace of the dark denizens. He had received a scare one time when a water moccasin had wrapped around his leg, but then skittered away without sinking it's fangs in Josh's leg. Another time Josh did suffer a painful nip from a blue crab but the pain from the claw's pinch was short-lived when the golfer had tipped him five dollars to compensate for his minor pain. It might have been a minor pinch, but Josh had played it to the full, screaming in agony as he pried open the crab's claw.
Joshua was just eighteen that summer of 1959 in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. He was deeply tanned from his days in the sun, his hair bleached almost white, his brilliant blue-green eyes contrasting with his sunburnt features. His appearance had always made him popular with girls in school, beginning even in the girl-hating early elementary grades and continuing until that June when he graduated. Once Josh began to take notice of the opposite sex as something other than individuals to make fun of or antagonize, he often took advantage of their girlish flirtations, making it with those who would and playing with those who wouldn't. With his many conquests, Josh felt he knew all about making love to a woman, or so he thought.
Josh wasn't looking forward to the chore his mom had given him that morning before she left for work at the restaurant down at the corner of 16th street and St. Andrews but, with a resigned sigh, he stepped off the rear porch and walked up to the Poinciana tree and pulled the old mower out into the opening. As he filled the mower with gas, he looked out at the back yard and shook his head. As usual, the grass had thrived in the heat and summer showers and Josh knew that he was in for at least a couple hours of hard mowing, often having to re-crank a stalled mower when the thick grass would cause it to choke.
Josh pushed the old mower to a bare spot in the back yard and pulled the starter cord, once, twice, three times, and then the mower started, sputtering to life, coughing, then roaring, the muffler-less motor loud enough to wake the dead. Josh hoped that their neighbor wasn't still in bed, but he wanted to get an early start on his chore so he could go to the beach later with his best friend. He had waited until ten in the morning; certain Mrs. Davis would be up by then. He liked their neighbors, particularly Mrs. Davis, because she was always nice to him, giving him whatever treat she had made for the day, always friendly and cheerful. Not that Mr. Davis wasn't friendly, for he was, and he often would let Josh ride their old mare on the weekends when he was home. The Davis' didn't have any children and they seemed to have adopted Josh in their minds, paying him more attention than Josh's brothers or sisters.
Josh thought no more about his neighbors as he pushed the mower through the tall grass, having to constantly back up and go forward again to keep the old motor from being choked by the dew-wettened grass. He was shirtless, wearing just a pair of swimming trunks, the oppressive heat already making his tanned body run with sweat, rivulets coursing down his almost-hairless chest, down his backbone past the waistband of his trunks, to tickle the sensitive skin between his muscular butt cheeks. Often, Josh would stop to wipe the blinding sweat from his forehead with an old washcloth he carried, but the relief would only be temporary in the sultry weather, as his exertion brought forth more sweat.
Josh was just mowing the last strip of weeds and grass in the back yard, a portion of which was also the neighbor's back yard, when he heard someone call his name. The voice was coming from the neighbor's house, a low building that at one time was a feed barn and had been converted into living quarters. Josh couldn't see the person who called him, although he recognized Mrs. Davis' voice. He cut off the mower and stepped closer to the building so he could see what she wanted, having to step under the overhang of the metal shutters that hung out from the building, completely shading the interior.
When he got within a couple of feet of the window, Josh saw Mrs. Davis standing there, her head and shoulders visible above the window sill. "Hi, Mrs. Davis," he greeted. "Did I wake you up?"
"No, no, Josh. I was awake. I just wanted to thank you for cutting our part of the yard," she replied in her soft voice as she peered out at the profusely sweating teen.
Josh wiped his head with the washcloth. "Glad to, Mrs. Davis. I had to do our's, anyway." Josh moved a step closer to better see her shadowy face.
"You poor dear," Mrs. Davis said in her sympathetic tone. "You're soaked with perspiration. It's too hot out there to be mowing."
Josh nodded, "yes, ma'am, it is, but I'm finished now." He studied her mature face in the dim light, wanting to verify that she hadn't been asleep when he was mowing. He had always been struck by the older woman's elegant looks, even though she was about the same age as his mother. Her hair was silver, without even a hint of color, and he wondered how a woman in her thirties could turn gray-headed. Not that it subtracted from her looks, because she was quite attractive, with soft, rounded features, a tiny nose, and full lips, her skin like alabaster, appearing as smooth as silk.
She seemed to be studying his face a moment before she asked, "would you like some lemonade, Josh? It'll help cool you off."
