The third wood step up from the ground creaked when Weedeater put his weight into it. He continued testing it like the outcome might change. He sat on the small deck that led to the trailer’s front door. Fifth step up. He kept bouncing his thirteen-year-old left foot into that third plank. He liked how the wood gave way as the heel of his Payless sneaker pushed down on the center of the two-decade old lumber. It had enough give to feel bouncy. Never remembered a time the wood was firm. Sometimes he thought about his fat Grammy stepping on that board and it giving way. Her crashing through the wood. Hollering for help. That thought wasn’t near his mind tonight. He was too anxious.