THE OUTDOORSMAN’S
SON
DANIEL ELIJAH SANDERFER
Copyright 2019, Blue Cottage Publishing. No portion of this manuscript may be used or reproduced without permission from the author.
DERRICK
How did I end up here? Oh yeah, its because my dad needed a stupid part for the tractor. Hi, I’m Derrick, and I just moved here with my folks. Welcome to Dale, Indiana.
Yeah, I know, I had never heard of it either until mom and dad decided to move here after my grandpa Tom died last year. He was my dad’s father, and no we weren’t very close.
It took us a while to get moved here because we had to sell the old house just over the state line in Kentucky. Don’t get too excited; there is nothing to do here. We have a Dollar General and a Denny’s.
With the glum surroundings, I’m sure you are wondering how I keep from going crazy in this redneck nightmare. No worries; mom and dad make sure I have plenty to do, and if I complain, dad just quotes Grandpa Tom, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
I know you can’t see, but I just rolled my eyes so hard thinking about it. Anyway’s today I had to pick up a part for dad’s tractor so he can get the garden ready for Spring planting, and that’s why I’m standing in line at Dale’s Outdoorsman’s Paradise.
It’s more like Dale’s Outdoorsman’s Hell. Here I am a skinny gay boy surrounded by more testosterone than a college frat house during a Superbowl party, and still, I would rather be there than here. At least there would be something to look at in lieu of the elderly man in front of me scratching his buttcrack through his overalls. What’s he even looking for in there?
As I approached the counter, I diverted my gaze to the boy working the register. Something happened when he turned around. I’ve never felt this way before, and I will never feel this way again. It was as if my soul climbed to the top of the highest mountain in the world and lept to its death
His hazel eyes were dark, like the deepest night and the gleam inside of them when he spoke shone brighter than the most beautiful star in the heavens.
The low timbre of his voice was enough to drown out the rapid beating of my heart. His midwest accent, warm and comforting like the distant twang in the background of a sad bluegrass melody, and I would have sold my soul just to live forever in this moment with him when he turned to me and said, “Can I help you?”
Oh, please, I’m seventeen; I can be dramatic if I want. My point is that he was gorgeous. I cleared my throat, struggling for the words to answer his question, and attempt to divert the eyes that were piercing inquisitively into my soul.
I quickly replied, “Um, my dad needs a part for his tractor.”
I had temporarily forgotten what I was even there for. Turning to his dated computer; he replied with a warm smile, “Well, we have everything you need, do you happen to know the make and model?”
I could feel a tinge of blush sear my cheeks. I had no idea. If my brain were a cartoon, little men would be scrambling around searching through filing cabinets to find the answer to his question. Lord knows I had heard my dad say it a thousand times when he was bragging about it to my uncles and his work buddies.
My heart rate increased as I stood before this beautiful boy looking like an idiot only managing to utter, “Um.”
His patience must have been as strong as his biceps, because he merely smiled and mumbled in reply, “Take your time. I’m here all day.”
Finally, I blurted out, “John Deere!”
A little louder than I had intended to. He pecked a few keys on his computer and arched his brow, “That’s a great start, now whats the model and year?”
My initial nervousness had begun to subside, and my clever wit kicked in to replace it. I think it’s a defense mechanism for when my brain can’t think of how to respond. I promptly replied, “Can I phone a friend?”
Thankfully, mom and dad had bought me a Tracphone in case of an emergency. He smiled again, “Sure, just step to the side, so that I can assist the gentleman behind you.”
I turned behind me to see a large man in blue jeans and a flannel shirt scowling at me. I quickly apologized, “I’m so sorry, sir,” as I stepped to the side fumbling nervously with my phone to find dad’s number.
The phone rang a few times before he replied, “You got Dan.”
“Dad!” I retorted.
He mumbled, “Is everything okay bub?”
I quipped, “Yeah, yeah, I just need to know the year and make of the tractor again because I forgot.”
Dad sighed, “You’ve heard me say it a thousand times. If you’d pay more attention…”
I interrupted because I wasn’t about to endure another speech about getting my head out of the clouds and focus on the world around me instead of the one in my head.
He interjected, interrupting my impatient silence, “A 4020 John Deere, 1965 model.”
I fired back a quick, “Thanks dad,” before hanging up and turning my attention back to the cute cashier whom I had convinced myself while talking to dad was, in fact, an angel on earth.
After placing the item, the man in front of me returned back on its shelf; he proceeded back to the counter. Clicking his mouse a few times to wake the system, he diverted his eyes to mine, “Now what was that model number and year?”
I replied confidently as if I knew exactly what I was talking about all along, “It’s a 1965 4020 John Deere.”
As he typed in the details, my mind was racing, dying to know his name. I searched for a nametag, but none was visible. Growing more desperate by the second I permitted my eyes to drift lower, and at last; clipped to the belt loop of his jeans was a nametag.
Shit! It was backward, and all I could make out was the name of the store. As if he knew I was staring he mumbled, “My name is Timothy, but you can call me Tim.”
He stretched out his hand to shake mine and to say I was nervous again was an understatement. My palms were sweating so badly I just knew I would faint from dehydration Tim could find the part for dad’s tractor.
What could I do? We had only just met, but the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him. I know it’s stupid, but I wanted so desperately for him to like me.
I wiped my hand on the side of my jeans and cleared my throat. I felt his soft hand grip mine, and as our palms made contact I blurted, “Wouldn’t it be funny if I said my name was Timothy too?”
He winked, “Not at all, although too is a funny last name.”
I laughed a little harder than I should have. An awkward silence followed his jab, beckoning me to dispell it by revealing my real name, “I’m Derrick.”
He smiled warmly as he scrolled through the parts displaying on his computer screen; his eyes met mine again. “So, Derrick, what part are you looking for?”
I froze, and my eyes widened. My mind had gone completely blank again. My silence prompting him to ask, “Do you need to phone that friend again?”
I laughed nervously before replying, “Um, it’s the belt thingy that makes the blades spin.”
Tim arched his brow and quipped, “A fan belt?”
“Yes!” I shouted as I pointed at him. I quickly withdrew my finger; recoiling it to my chest awkwardly while he turned to the rack behind him and handed me the exact item I had requested.
Part of me was disappointed our exchange was ending, but the other part of me was relieved to be escaping our awkward and painful moment.
After I paid him and turned away from the counter; I could feel the strings of my heart pulling me back to him. Like a little kid desperately trying to show his parents something, my heart was trying to show me something and that something was he and I were meant to be we. But I continued walking away num
bly to the truck not knowing if I would ever see Timothy again.
CONFESSIONS
As I drove home, I was too distracted daydreaming about Timothy to realize how long I had been away. Picking up a simple fan belt should not have taken over an hour, but when I glanced at the clock on the dash of the pickup; it had.
Reaching for the door handle, I sighed; I knew I was in for it the second I saw dad standing on the front porch. The expression on his face was highlighted with hints of frustration, and I could tell by the way his arms were crossed that he wasn’t happy.
His voice boomed as he spoke, “What the heck took so long, you were just picking up a simple fan belt!”
I retorted, trying to play off the fact it took over an hour, “I wasn’t gone that long.”
Dad sighed an audible sigh of frustration mingled with disappointment. It seems like the old I get the more often it happens. It was a visual representation of our relationship and proof that no matter what I did; I was never going to be the man he wanted me to be, on a positive note, mom’s standards weren’t so high. To her, I was still mommy’s little man even though I would be eighteen in just a few days.
I regained my composure and went into the house. Mom was inside, still trying to make Grandpa’s house her own. Although she had nothing against John Wayne; I could tell by the swift way she was taking down Grandpa’s pictures she didn’t want the walls covered with his face.
The sound of the screen door slamming prompted her to call to me, “Derrick, is that you sweety, can you come help me when you get a chance?”
I replied as I grabbed a Coke from the fridge, “Yeah mom, be right there.”
Mom was on disability ever since she fell at work. She used to be a nurse, and I will never forget the day I got paged at school to come to the principal's office. I thought I was in trouble, but to my surprise; Dad was there waiting for me, and when I asked him what was wrong, he informed my Mom had fallen and cracked her hip.
I entered the dining room to find her on tiptoes at the top of a step ladder, struggling to reach a velvet painting of Elvis hanging toward the top of the wall near the ceiling. My first thought was, who would attach a picture that high anyway, but I remembered vaguely that Grandpa Tom was super tall.
After taking a sip of my coke; I shouted, “Wait, Mom, your hip, I’m coming to help!”
She glared at me, “I’m fine, but I can’t bear staring at the king any longer.”
I chuckled as she climbed down and pushed my shaggy hair to the side. She arched her brow, “When was the last time I cut your hair?”
Smearing down my cowlicks, I quipped, “It’s fine mom, I like it this way.”
She shrugged with a resigned sigh, “Okay then, I just don’t understand how you see, but whatever makes you happy.”
I often thought Mom should have been Jewish instead of Southern Baptist because she could lay on guilt like peanut butter on a jelly sandwich. I quickly removed the painting from the wall and climbed back down. As I turned to leave, I asked her, “Is there anything else you need me to do?”
She smiled warmly, “Nope, not right now, just go check on your father; he’s in the garage.”
Grandpa Tom had lived in this house his entire life. It was over a hundred years old, and before Grandma died, it was well taken care of. Now it was in a sad state of disrepair that would have made Grandma Tootsie whack Grandpa with a rolling pin. She wasn’t one for disorder.
The few times in my life I had met her; she was very sweet and always offered me candy from her purse, but she had this look that read don’t cross me, or you’ll pay.
Mom and Dad had made it their mission to restore the place to its former glory, and I guess I was along for the ride. On the bright side, maybe dad would send me back to the Outdoor Paradise so I could see Timothy again. Ever since I found out his name, it had been replaying in my mind like a broken record I couldn’t fix, even if I wanted to.
When I reached the garage; I found dad under the hood of the tractor, working on replacing the fan belt. I was seated next to him on an old bucket, and he turned to me and asked, “Can you pass me that socket wrench over there?”
I stared blankly at the barrage of tools that cluttered the floor and then glanced back at him with my brow arched inquisitively as if to ask, “What?”
He sighed, “The one with the long handle and lug nuts on the end.”
I grinned, “Oh,” and promptly passed it to him. After a few grunts and a muttered, “Damnit;” it appeared he had managed to achieve what he wanted to do, So I took the opportunity to ask, “Dad, can I ask you something?”
Dad glanced at me and said, “Sure?” His concerned tone indicated he was bracing for another challenging question to which he wouldn't know how to answer. However, he seemed to handle it well when I asked, “What did it feel like, the first time you saw mom?”
He paused from his work and wiped his brow before staring into the air with a reminiscent smile, “Well, bub. She was wearing a pretty dress, working at the old diner back in Kentucky. I had come in with a few of my buds from school for lunch, and she was our waitress.”
I smiled as he continued, “I’ll never forget the sound of her voice; so country, so confident.” He sighed, “I knew at that moment I had to make her mine.”
I smiled, thinking about how nice it was to see the romance between them alive after so many years. I figured now was a better time than any to break the news to him.
I hesitated as I searched for the perfect way to tell him, but my words were eluding me. As if he knew something was bothering me he mumbled, “You know son, if there is anything you need to talk to me about; I’m always here for you, there is nothing you can say to take my love away from you.”
I didn’t want to cry, but it was the most he had spoken to me in years, and I could no longer control the urge I had to let a few rogue tears fall. I turned away from him and whined, and like a geyser, under pressure, more tears began to fall.
I could feel his hand on my back as he attempted to soothe my pain, “My God, Derrick what happened?”
I shook my head and gasped before turning back to face him, “Dad, I know we have had trouble expressing our feelings, but there has been something eating away at me for a while now.”
He sighed and turned away from me, “I already know son.”
An awkward silence fell over the garage as I stared at him in shock, “What do you mean you already know?”
He turned back to face me and pushed my hair to the side, “Son, I know you have never had a girlfriend to speak of, and I’ve seen the way you go silent whenever a boy your age is around.”
Part of me was outraged that I didn’t get to have my dramatic coming out moment. But the other part of me was relieved that he seemed to be taking it well for a man who I always thought was the epitome of an alpha male.
He sighed again, “Look, we don’t have to put a label on anything, and it doesn’t matter what I think about it. All I know is you are my son, and I can’t change that. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
I shot him an inquisitive glare, “Be careful?”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and whispered, “Listen bub, special boys like you aren’t as accepted in these parts of the country as they should be, and I don’t want you to find yourself in a situation that you can’t joke your way out of.”
I smirked, “You don’t have to worry about that, it’s not like I’m going to walk up to some guy and say, golly you’re hot; wanna be my boyfriend?”
Dad’s face turned red, and he shouted, “Damnit Derrick, why do you have to make things so awkward.”
I shrugged, “This is who I am.”
He tousled my hair and quipped, “I know son, but I’m guessing this conversation wasn’t a coincidence. Who is he and how did you guys meet?”
I paused before replying, “Well, technically we haven’t become acquainted yet. I just saw him today at the Outdoor Store.”
Dad rolled his
eyes and glanced upward, “Lord help me get through these teen years.”
I frowned as he diverted his eyes my direction, “Listen, son, you can’t go all googly-eyed over every nice looking young man you see.”
I retorted, “Why not?”
Dad sighed again, “Doesn’t your mom need some help in the house?”
Unwillingly to cut him any slack I grinned, “Nope, she told me to check on you.”
He waved in dismissal, “Well, I’m fine so take your hormones and go somewhere else.”
I fired back with a sharp inflection, “Like back to the outdoor store?”
Dad scowled, “Please Derrick, I feel like I’m being tortured and you’re making me watch videos of people being tortured.”
I purred, “If this is torture, chain me to the wall.” As I sprinted away, I shouted, “Love you, dad.”
He shook his head with a grin and mumbled, “I love you too, son.”
CHANCE ENCOUNTER
Over the weekend, Mom and I spent time painting the house while dad continued tinkering with his tractor. Come Monday morning things were starting to take shape, but dad needed my help to pick up some parts from a man in town who sold tractor parts.
I didn’t want to go but riding with dad to get parts for the tractor was better than staying at home and listening to mom rattle on about the fifty shades of blue she had picked out at Outdoorsman’s Paradise for the living room.
The day was unusually warm for late Spring. It felt more like summer as the sun beat down through the windshield of dad’s old Chevy as we bounced down the graveled road toward a giant farm that sat just on the outskirts of town.
I playfully waved my hand up and down through the wind blowing past the pickup, like a surfer catching waves as we made our way ever closer to our destination.
The vibes between my dad and I were calm and comfortable, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could talk to him about something without him freaking out or lecturing me.
As we pulled into the driveway, I could see the outline of a man stacking hay inside a large red barn. Little did I know the universe had made a trick move in this chess game of life.
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