Against the Grain

by Phil M. Williams

  Emily turns to Matt. “I finished The Giver last night.”

  “What did you think?” he asks.

  “It was pretty unrealistic, but I liked it. It was a really easy read. Some of the stuff you give me is so complicated.”

  “But even the complicated stuff, you understand.”

  “I know, but sometimes it’s nice just to relax and read, not have to think so much. You’re worse than my honors English teacher. I did like the concept of sameness. Jonas lives in this community that is totally safe and secure without any pain and sickness, but the flip side is that there isn’t any real joy or love. I think there is a lot of truth in that concept. How do we ever truly appreciate love, if we don’t know what it’s like to have a broken heart? How do we really know and appreciate health, if we’ve never been sick? I think that’s why you see people, who have narrowly escaped death, living their lives with such joy.”

  “What about the allegory to government?”

  “I knew you’d bring that up. I hate politics. But, yes, I got that the elders are like the government, and they control everything and keep secrets and commit murder, but they call it release.”

  “If you or I killed someone, we’d go to jail, but if we kill someone in war with a uniform on, then we might get a medal.”

  “In The Giver, the people don’t know what they’re doing.”

  “But the elders do. Just like soldiers go to war and people think they’re fighting for freedom or justice or some threat. From the books I’ve read, they always say that they were just protecting their buddies, hoping to get out in one piece. I don’t know what makes the other side any different.”

  Emily sighs.

  “I know, I know, politics isn’t your thing. What do you wanna talk about?”

  Emily smiles. “Something fun.”

  “Did you find out any more about where your mom’s been going all summer?”

  “This topic’s not exactly a barrel of laughs either.”

  Matt frowns. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. It is on my mind. I should talk about it. I just wish I could drive. I’d follow her.”

  “Let’s go through the evidence again.”

  “Okay,” Emily says. “She leaves relatively early, dressed like she’s going to work, and she says that she’s going to work, and she probably is, but I think she’s going somewhere else too.”

  “And what evidence do you have?”

  “Last week, when I went to the mall with my dad for school clothes, we passed by the school. Her car wasn’t there, and it wasn’t there on the way back either.”

  “And you asked your dad about it?”

  “Yeah, that was the really weird part. I thought he’d be suspicious, but he totally wasn’t. He told me that she had a budget meeting at the district office.”

  “That sounds plausible to me.”

  “Yeah, but it took him like five minutes to come up with that. At first he said that she told him where she was, but he forgot what she told him. Then he remembered, out of the blue, like he finally came up with a good lie.”

  “Suspicious, yes, but still not conclusive. I think your most damning evidence is her clothes.”

  “Yeah, me too. She comes home every day in a good mood, with her scarf thing undone and the top two buttons of her blouse undone too. And this one time, I swear, she left in panty hose and came back with bare legs.”

  “But during the school year, it’s not like that, right?”

  “Exactly, she’s usually stressed and bitchy, and her clothes are still crisp and perfect, just like when she left in the morning.”

  Matt bites his lower lip and shrugs. “Could be that it’s just less stressful and less formal in the summer.”

  “You and I both know you don’t believe that.”

  “I’m sorry, Em. I really hope we’re both wrong about our theory.”

  “I wanna know who it is,” she says.

  “Maybe it’s best you don’t.”

  “That’s crap, and you know it. I thought you always wanna know the truth, no matter how painful? Didn’t you say that you can never truly be free without the truth?”

  Matt nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to be sad.”

  “You have to experience sadness to know true happiness, right?”

  Matt nods and puts his hand on top of hers. He leans over and kisses her plump cheek.

  “On the plus side, she isn’t hassling me about my weight,” she says.

  “I don’t know why she would. You look beautiful.”

  Emily frowns. “I look so gross all the time. I’m just so … heavy. Aren’t you embarrassed that we weigh the same?”

  Matt shakes his head. “You weigh almost the same as last year, right?”

  She nods.

  “But you’re three inches taller and more muscular. Muscle weighs more than fat. I bet you’re in better shape than most of the girls at school.”

  “I still feel so fleshy and wide.”

  “You’re not. You just have a distorted view of yourself.”

  “I’m just being honest with myself.”

  “No, you’re not. I don’t know how you could be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your mother cooks low-calorie meals for you, while your brother and your dad eat whatever they want. She locks up the snack cabinet, and you’re the only one in the house without a key. I think that’s cruel, and the way people have treated you has given you a distorted view of your body.” Matt squeezes her hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  Emily shrugs and looks down. “Well, she doesn’t seem to care what I eat now. You know what’s messed up?” She looks at Matt.

  He looks at her.

  “I actually think I look a lot better than last year, but nobody notices, and I still get made fun of.”

  “I’m sorry, Em.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Matt turns toward the sound of approaching bicycles.

  Emily shrinks in her chair. “Shit,” she says under her breath.

  Tyler and Colton pedal their BMX bikes toward the stand with shit-eating grins on their faces. Emily tucks her chin to her chest that has spontaneously erupted in red blotches. Colton hangs on to the studded belt that holds his black jorts halfway down his ass, as he steps off his bike. His nipples and tan lines are visible through his tight white tank top. Tyler drops his bike. He looks like a white Incredible Hulk, with spiky hair and acne.

  Tyler cackles as he saunters up to the stand. “I fuckin’ knew it. I just had to see it for myself. I knew you weren’t hangin’ out with Sophia and Megan.”

  “Whaaaatttt, farmer faggot tryin’ to be a playa.” Colton says.

  Tyler glares at Colton. “More like farmer faggot’s a chubby chaser.”

  “Oh, snap, farmer faggot be liking them big ole booties.”

  Emily buries her head under her arms. Matt marches around the stand, placing himself between Emily and the teenagers.

  “It’s fine if you wanna be mean to me,” Matt says, “but I don’t understand why you have to be such an asshole to your sister.”

  “Damn, farmer faggot standin’ up for his ho,” Colton says.

  “You two are not welcome on my property. I’d like for you to leave,” Matt says.

  Tyler chuckles. “You gonna make us leave?”

  Matt thinks about the knife attached to his belt, under his T-shirt, but decides that the escalation is too violent.

  “I’ll do the best I can to make you leave,” Matt says.

  With the speed of a viper strike, Tyler has his hands around Matt’s neck. He lifts him up off the ground with ease. Matt’s face turns red; he can’t breathe. He grips Tyler’s wrist, trying to pry him off. Tyler grins at Matt and drops him on the ground. Matt wheezes.

  “You ain’t gonna do shit,” Tyler says and struts over to Emily. “You better say good-bye to your faggoty little boyfriend, because I’m tellin’ Mom and Dad.”
<
br />   Emily looks up, her chubby face red and tear streaked. “Please don’t,” she says. “I’ll do anything.”

  “How much money you got?”

  She reaches into the front pocket of her tan shorts and presents a five-dollar bill.

  Tyler shakes his head. “That it? You think I work this cheap?”

  Matt stands up, rubbing his neck. He staggers toward Tyler.

  “You want some more?” Tyler says, his fists clenched.

  Matt reaches into his pocket and hands him the fifty-dollar bill. Tyler and Colton’s eyes widen. Tyler snatches the bill and shoves it in the pocket of his jean shorts.

  “Damnnnn,” Colton says.

  “That’s more like it,” Tyler says as he turns around and gets on his bike. “Farmer faggot and buffalo butt, such a cute couple.”

  “Later, bitchez,” Colton says.

  [ 4 ]

  Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

  Matt rearranges produce on the stand, prominently displaying his fall fare of apples, winter squash, spinach, lettuce, pawpaws, sweet corn, and peas. He hears ten-speed bike brakes squeaking behind him. He turns to see Emily. She puts down her kickstand and steps off her bike. She has her book bag tight around her shoulders. Her feminine curves are prominent in her designer jeans. Her face is round and symmetrical, but no longer chubby. Her mouth is turned down.

  “How was the first day of tenth grade?”

  Emily slams her book bag on the ground behind the fruit stand. “I am so sick of everybody at that stupid-ass school.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She purses her lips and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just so tired of how cruel and immature people are.”

  “What happened?”

  “At lunch, these tenth grade boys were throwing rolls at this girl. I got in their faces and told them that they were immature. And then they were like, ‘Relax, buffalo butt.’ I could’ve wrung their little necks. I told them to shut the F up, and one of the lunch monitors heard and sent me to the office.”

  “What did your mom say?”

  Emily shakes her head. “It’s so ridiculous that she gets to discipline me at school. Isn’t that like a conflict of interest or something? She gave me Saturday detention, and those boys …” Emily clenches her fists and tightens her jaw. “Nothing, they got nothing. My mom said she didn’t want it to seem like she was favoring me. It’s such bullshit.” She exhales and plops down in a plastic chair. “So I can’t hang out on Saturday.”

  A rusty Ford F-150 stops at the end of the driveway. A thin elderly man with a full head of white hair steps out, with the speed of a tortoise.

  “I wish you could just study with me,” Matt says, watching the old man.

  “Me too. I learn more here than I do at school anyway.”

  The old man shuffles toward the stand, bent over with his head down.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Miller,” Matt says.

  “Matt, how are you?” he says.

  “I’m good.” Matt grabs a box of produce from behind the stand. “I put the best stuff in here for you.”

  “They don’t grow good food like this no more,” he says. “In my day farmers grew food, not a bunch a corn to feed a damn animal that eats grass.” He glances at Emily. “And who’s this pretty young lady?”

  “This is my girlfriend, Emily,” Matt says with a smile.

  Emily blushes and shakes the old man’s hand.

  “Much obliged,” Mr. Miller says.

  Matt carries the old man’s box of mixed produce, and Emily carries the box of sweet corn to his pickup truck. He opens the tailgate and slides the box inside. Emily does the same. Mr. Miller reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick wad of cash. He licks his thumb and flicks out two twenties.

  “Thank you, young man,” he says, as he hands Matt the cash. “It was very nice to meet you, young lady.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Miller,” Matt says.

  They watch with bated breath, as he slowly merges onto the busy highway.

  “I’m not sure he should be driving,” Matt says. “If we had a truck, I could do deliveries.”

  “You need a license first. One more year.”

  “For you maybe. No sense in me getting a license. We’ll never get a truck.”

  As they walk back toward the stand, Matt grabs Emily by the arm. He points to a small hole in front of them near the driveway’s edge.

  “Careful,” he says, “yellow jackets.”

  Emily looks down. The wasps fly in and out of their ground nest, the flight path coming from the wood line. They step around the nest.

  “It doesn’t look like that many of them,” Emily says. “I mean, the honeybees have a lot more bees coming in and out of their hives.”

  “The honeybees have about eighty thousand bees in a hive. Yellow jackets usually have only five thousand, but they’re far more dangerous, because they’re so aggressive, and they can sting over and over again. I should probably put up a barrier so people don’t walk on it.”

  “What would happen if you stepped on the nest?”

  “A couple of years ago, I was cutting some grain with a scythe, and I hit a small stump, and yellow jackets poured from the nest. It was fall, so I had on gloves and a sweatshirt, but they stung me right through my sweatshirt. I ran like crazy, but they chased me, and they wouldn’t stop stinging me. I had to crush them with my fingers to get them to stop. I must’ve been stung twenty times.”

  “Maybe we could put up some temporary fencing.”

  Matt nods. “That’s a good idea. I’ll bring the fencing up tomorrow.”

  They plop down in their plastic chairs. Emily opens her backpack, and pulls out a notebook and a purple pen. Matt grabs the tattered text from the edge of the fruit stand.

  “What are you working on?” he asks.

  “I’m taking a creative writing class. The teacher, Ms. Pierce, wants us to keep a journal. She says we can write anything we want—no judgment. I really like her. She’s funny and pretty and so smart. My brother and his stupid friends drool over her. It’s so gross. I don’t know what she’s doing in this hick town.” She glances at the book in his lap. “What about you?”

  “I’m reading Anatomy of the State by Murray Rothbard. This guy tells some serious truth.”

  Emily groans. “Sounds like more boring government stuff.”

  “It is, but can I read you this one passage? It won’t be boring, I promise.”

  “Do I have a choice?” she asks, grinning.

  Matt smiles and flips to a bookmarked page. He glances at Emily to make sure she’s paying attention.

  The State is that organization in society which attempts to maintain a monopoly of the use of force and violence in a given territorial area; in particular, it is the only organization in society that obtains its revenue not by voluntary contribution or payment for services rendered but by coercion.

  “What do you think about that?” Matt asks. “The idea that government is forced upon us.”

  Emily shrugs. “I’m not sure it’s forced. We do get to vote. Well, we don’t. But, when we turn eighteen, we do.”

  “But what do we get to vote for?”

  “Politicians who try to do what’s best for everyone. Not that they ever do exactly, but the majority decides. That seems fair to me.”

  “What if there were two wolves and a sheep voting on what’s for dinner? Would voting be fair then?”

  Emily frowns. “That’s kind of an extreme example, don’t you think?”

  “Fair enough. How about you have a Democrat and a Republican, and they both believe in taxation and using your money to finance the military. But you don’t want taxation or the military. But they are the only choices. You can’t simply opt out and say, ‘I’ll keep my money, because I don’t like what you’re doing.’ That’s never an option.”

  “So you don’t think voting is fair?”

  “I think it’s—”

  They hear the thump of bass in
the air. Matt frowns; Emily clenches her fists. A red lifted Jeep hops the curb and drives onto the grass, stopping within a few feet of the stand. Gangster rap blares from the speakers. Colton bobs his head to the beat, and Tyler grins from the driver’s seat. He cuts the engine and hops out.

  “What up, bitchez,” Colton says, as he walks up to the stand.

  Tyler saunters toward them, his arms bent, as if his muscles are too big for them to hang normally. He puts his hands on the apples and leans forward. His nose is filled with blackheads, and his cheeks are a mass of puss-filled lesions.

  “I need a twenty,” Tyler says.

  “Fuck you,” Emily says. “I told you last time, we weren’t doing this anymore.”

  “Oh, fuck me? I guess I’ll just tell Mom about your little boyfriend.”

  “I really don’t give a shit what you do anymore. Just stay away from us.”

  “Damn, buffalo butt’s pissed off,” Colton says.

  “Shut up, Colton. Your ghetto act is so lame. Your dad’s the chief of police. You’re the whitest person I know.”

  “It ain’t my fault Pop’s in the popo.”

  Emily frowns and shakes her head.

  “You just gonna let your girl fight your battles for you, farmer faggot?” Tyler says.

  “She’s doing a pretty good job,” Matt says with a smile.

  Emily crosses her arms. “We’re not giving you any more money.”

  “I think twenty bucks is a small price to pay,” Tyler says with a smirk. “I could tell Mom and Dad that I saw you two havin’ sex or doin’ drugs. You’d never see each other again.”

  “We can’t keep doing this,” Emily says to Matt.

  “You’re right,” Matt replies.

  “So which one of you is gonna gimme my twenty dollars?”

  “No more,” Emily says. “Go away.”

  Tyler shakes his head. “Don’t make me beat his little ass again, like I did last year. Open the box and give me a twenty, or I’ll just take the whole thing.”

  Matt and Emily sit silent. Tyler reaches for the box, but Emily grabs it and tosses it to Matt. He sprints toward the driveway. Tyler and Colton give chase. Matt stops at the edge and turns around. Tyler and Colton slow to a strut.