When Vince turned twelve, he bought a used push-mower at a “spring cleaning” garage sale for ten bucks. The owner claimed it didn’t run anymore, so Vince decided to put those words to the test. After tinkering for an hour, he brought the thing back to life and cut his neighbor’s lawn for the heck of it.
“Vincent, thank you dear,” old Ms. Loomis said upon completion. She slipped him a crisp ten-dollar bill and a handful of butterscotch candies. “That was so thoughtful of you.”
Grass clippings clung to Vince’s old white Nikes, staining them green. After pocketing the butterscotch, he gripped the bill in his oil-stained hands. His heart pounded in exhilaration.
It was the first money he’d ever made.
In the months to come, Vince abandoned his baseball cards, bicycle, and friends.
“It’s a good thing,” his father argued to his mother one night after dinner. Vince had left the kitchen, but remained within earshot. “Boy’s starting to make some money – make something of himself. What’s the problem?”
“He’s twelve, Chuck, for God’s sake. Shouldn’t he be out playing with his friends?”
“He’s doing what he wants to be doing. Let him be.”
“So that’s it, huh? Just let him go?”
“He’s a good kid, Trisha. Let him go.”
So they did – and away he went.
The boy’s lawn mowing business took off, and by August, he was cutting two or three different lawns, seven days a week. The feeling of fat, folded-up bills in his newly purchased wallet grew addictive. Some nights he stayed up late, organizing his money into piles, thinking about what he was going to do with all of it.
One night, Trisha came into his room and sat beside him. “Hi, honey.”
“Hey Mom,” he replied, without taking his eyes off his notebook. He had drawn a makeshift schedule, complete with a Paid on time column and one named Late.
“What’re you up to?”
“Nothing. Just some work.”
“Your old baseball team won the championship last night. I thought you might want to know.”
“’Oh, good for them.” Vince kept scribbling. Sacred minutes passed in silence.
“Don’t forget about me someday, okay?” Trisha smiled as her voice cracked, almost cleaving her in two.
Vince stared at his mother, deep in thought.
He never figured out what she meant.
Thank you for reading “Away He Went” — I hope you enjoyed it. And thank you to Dascha Paylor (who writes over at her Substack newsletter, Fiction in 50) for the original inspiration behind this story.
Have a great week!
Vince will probably go on to become a successful entrepreneur and not understand what his Mother meant until he is old man and sees the foolishness of sacrificing his life in the pursuit of money.
Good job, Justin.
This story touched my heart.