by Amy Stinnett
“Well, no, but we take the eggs. And we didn’t set any in the incubator. I figured you had enough on your hands already. And what’s the point? They won’t lay ’til fall, and the place will be somebody else’s by then, most likely.”
“Elliot, I have to tell you, I’ve really been struggling with selling the place.”
“I kinda figured. But I guess you’ll figure it out when you figure it out, right?”
“I don’t know if I can do it. And not to lay anything on you, I’m pretty sure I can’t do it without you. I been here long enough to know I don’t know shit about farming.”
“You can read, right? How do you think your daddy learned? Besides that, he wrote a ton of stuff. You can just read what he wrote, for beginners. And there’s stuff all over the internet. Geez, you got to give yourself a break. Besides, you still got me. I’m just down the road. People do for people here. Look, you don’t owe me a damn thing. I’m just your daddy’s old buddy. Sure, I do stuff around here, but that’s my choice, AND I get some money from it. But I owe you gratitude, not just for your dad and this place but for how you helped me with my mama and all.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t like to talk about stuff, but you were kind to me. I wouldn’t return that by lettin’ you down.”
“I know that. And you didn’t let me down. I just thought you’re going to be at the vet’s, so …”
“So, nothing. Just less time here. I’ll still help you.”
“Oh.” I wanted to hug Elliot at that moment, but neither of us was very comfortable with closeness, before or since his mother died.
He clamped his hand on my shoulder. “Looks like you got more help coming.”
Jodie’s little car turned off the main road and headed down the driveway. She leaned underneath the car’s visor and grinned at me. She had a ball cap shoved tightly down on her head with a pony tail hanging out the back. Why was she always so happy? Elliot waved at her and headed off to the goat barn.
“Here you go.” She handed me a latte’ from the convenient store. “I don’t go in until one today. What’s up?”
I thought for a second. “I was just about to go for a walk. You wanna come?”
“Sure.”
We went through the gate at the hay pasture and quietly picked our way through the uneven, half-frozen earth. With the dew steaming up from the field, the place looked heavenly. We stopped in a flat area and sipped our coffees.
“How are you doing?” Jodie asked softly.
“I’m okay. I had a hard night. We almost lost one of the babies.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
I sighed. “And that’s not all. I know the plan has always been to sell the place, but I’m having second thoughts. I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome, either.” I sat my coffee on a fence post.
She shoved me gently against my arm. “You can’t wear out your welcome in your own house. Derp.”
“I guess that sounded stupid, but do you know what I mean? Everyone has been great, but what if I can’t take care of this place? I almost killed a baby last night, what if I ruin everything? Besides, I had plans. I would have to just let all that go.”
“Well, it would be hard to take care of the place and go to school. I had to live in Boise my senior year because my family’s farm was too much of a distraction. What is it you want to do, though? It sounds like it’s not a simple decision anymore.”
“Well, no, it’s not. I don’t want to give up my career path, but … I love this place now, okay. I don’t know why, but I don’t want it to go away. I’m no farmer, but I want …” I looked to her for something, I don’t know what. “I want to keep this place the way it is, not turned into a McMansion or to add to some guy’s farm collection. What I really want is to share it with my dad.” My face went ugly to cry, so I grabbed my coffee and started walking again. Jodie followed me.
We reached another flat area just before a stand of trees at the end of the field.
“I’m sorry about your dad. If I could, I would bring him back for you.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not very stable right now. Sometimes I have all but made my mind up one way, and then some animal does something cute or I do something stupid. Liv would like it if I stayed, and I think Elliot would, too. My mom hated farm life, but she has a new family now, and she won’t tell me what she thinks one way or the other. I just want somebody to tell me what to do.”
“Well, that’s the sucky part. You have to decide. I can tell you I wish you would stay. I’ve just barely got to know you, and I think you’re amazing. But that’s selfish, and it wouldn’t be any good if you stayed and felt stuck here. If you’re looking for permission, you’ve always had permission to go, maybe you just haven’t given yourself permission to stay?”
“Maybe you’re right. Do you think I can do this?” I raised my hands to pan out to the entire property.
“With a lot of help, yeah. Yes, you could do this. You’re smart enough, and, you know, your dad had a lot of help here, too. Even a little farm requires a lot of people to do things. People to deliver things, haul away things, repair things, clean up things, plant things, harvest things. There’s no way you could do it all. My dad does a lot, but he still has had to hire somebody every spring and every fall. Even with me helping out. I know the internship means a lot to you, but couldn’t you finish the year and leave in good standing? And you have work here, too, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“So, you could stay current and take some courses online. I mean, if you want to do that.”
“I would be okay with that. I guess I’m just scared to take on so much responsibility.”
“The fact is, you already have the responsibility. It’s just what you want to do with it.”
I sat my coffee down on the ground, planted my feet, and looked her square in the face. “I want to stay. I’m going to stay.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “Then stay.”
“You would miss me if I left.”
“Of course.” She gazed at some bushes in the distance. “Billie, I’ve tried not to get too close to you, since you always said you were leaving, but I really like you. You make me laugh all the time, you’re cute, you’re intelligent, and I wish I had half of your swagger.”
“Swagger?” I snorted, but my heart was racing.
“Well, persistence, maybe. You work so hard. You’ve learned so much in the short time you’ve been here. And you aren’t full of yourself.”
“Are you insane? I am about as incompetent as they get. I can barely breathe half the time. Why have you never said anything?”
“This is the part where you say out loud that you find me adorable.”
“I do. Since the day you showed up here to shovel my driveway.”
“You are a slow learner, aren’t you?”
“Not that slow.” I took her hands, leaned in, and kissed her. Her eyes closed, and her face smoothed and leaned into mine. The bill of her hat tapped my forehead, so I slipped it off and let my hand rest on her shoulder.
“I believe in you.” She kissed me again.
“I’m getting that. It means everything to me. You mean everything to me.”
“I just couldn’t be the only reason you stay.”
“There are so many reasons to stay, but I think you’re the best reason.”
“I mean it, you can’t just stay because of me. We have a lot of things to figure out, a long way to go before …”
“Before what?”
“I don’t know, we become ‘we’.”
“Are you out, you know, to your family, at work? No one has ever said anything to me.”
“Some places, yes, others I’m more guarded. It’s complicated. Something we can talk about later.”
“Okay, get this on the books. I am staying first and foremost because I love this goddess-forsaken place and some of the people here, you being one of them. The main one of them.” I wrapped my arms around her. “I would stay even
if we were just friends, if that’s what you mean, but I think you were right. I needed to give myself permission. You helped me. And, I hope going forward, whatever happens, there will be a ‘we’.”
I became aware of a crunching sound, something treading on dry leaves.
“Look there.” Jodie pointed to the dead-looking bushes, and I saw a dozen or so turkeys walking through the grass.
“They’re beautiful.” The sun highlighted their feathers, making their pod shaped bodies appear like shiny chrysalises. Their long necks jutted forward, and their legs moved, pushing their bodies along, too. They maneuvered around the bushes, checking the grass for bugs, each moving independently, yet still obviously tied to their flock.
“Oh, just wait.”
We stood in silence, holding hands and listening to the bird calls. Nothing like the “gobble-gobble” I’ve always heard about. It was almost like a bark “rawk-rawk-rawk, rawk-rawk.” The birds edged our way, gleaning the field for treats. When they were within a couple dozen yards, Jodie motioned for us to sit down. Instantly, the birds took flight and soared across the field towards the road. We could hear the whap, whap, whap of their wings as they nearly flew over our heads.
We lay back on the cold ground and stared at the bright blue sky for a long moment.
“So, you’re staying?”
I turned and gazed into her eyes. Every worry I’d had for the last two months seemed to fall to the way-side. I was here, lying in a cold hay field in Nowhere, Idaho with a beautiful librarian, watching birds fly across the property – my property – and enjoying this exact moment in time. There were tragic and wonderful events that led me to this place, and the best way to honor my father, my mother, Elliot, Jodie, and all of the people that care about me is to be open and let it all in. I felt Jodie’s fingers intertwined with mine and I rolled over and kissed her again.
“Wild turkeys couldn’t drag me away.”
Excerpt From:
Chickenshit Volume II
March 30, 2013
At the risk of sounding like a girl. I am in heaven. Jodie and I finally went on an actual date last night. We went to Boise, of course, to a movie at The Flicks, followed by a late dinner at a Pho restaurant a few streets over. I don’t know how, but we never run out of things to talk about. Not only that, when we are quiet for a moment, there’s this warmth, a connection between us, that makes the silence comfortable, too.
We sat close together on the hood of my car, holding hands and gazing out over downtown from the top of the parking garage. Drunks of all types, North Enders, families, couples, and loners shuffled along on the streets below us.
“There used to be a Subway, over there.” Jodie pointed. “My family had a booth at Saturday Market one summer, back before it was so big, and I would run over and grab a sandwich. My parents always gave me shit about eating fast food when there was so much good food at the market.” She shrugged. “I was a kid; I was kind of limited. That Pho was great, though. I’ve never had it, or those spring rolls.”
“It’s kind of a Seattle staple. I never had it growing up in Sacramento. Chinese was about as exotic as it got there. They do have Pho now, though.”
“My mom loved Chinese food. We have the place in Emmett, but she liked this restaurant here that used to be over next to the steakhouse. A few streets over that way.” She arched her arm and pointed like a bomb dropping. Billie found it endearing the way that Jodie liked to use her hands to speak.
“You don’t talk about your mom much. It must still be really hard for you.”
“Well, yes and no.” She sat, thinking it over. “She’s everywhere. And that’s both comforting and heartbreaking. Sometimes at work, I feel like she’s about to hand me a book to re-shelve, and when they call me Mrs. Miller, I want to turn around and look behind me.”
“She must have been an amazing mom; you turned out great.”
“Well, she wasn’t great when I was little. She would be the first to tell you she wasn’t perfect. She drank a lot and kind of got around, if you know what I mean. My biological father could have been one of any number of guys.”
“Russ isn’t your real dad? I mean, your biological dad? But you look alike.”
“Not really, but people always say that. We have the same smile and mannerisms. I look more like my mom, Basque, some Mexican. But I wanted to be just like Russ from five on. The way they met … Mom was actually on her way back from a “date” when her tire blew out. Dad stopped and changed her tire, made sure she got home okay. Typical Russ. The next day he went to the diner where she worked and asked her out. By the time I was six, everything had changed. Mom rarely ever drank, we had a real home, you know. Mom got a job at the library part time and eventually moved up. She only had her AA degree – she did that online mostly.”
“Oh.”
“I went through my own wild period, too. Nothing like my mom’s, but I drank and smoked pot when I moved to Boise. I dated guys and girls. I almost bombed out, one semester. It wasn’t fun, so I gave it up. I used to go to The Balcony. Back when I was trying to work through my sexuality, it was a place I could hang out with gay friends who weren’t afraid to be out with me and straight friends who didn’t care. How ‘bout you? When did you figure it out?”
“Oh, I think I always knew. Way back in kindergarten I fell in love with a girl in first grade, Lilly Jett. When her class would walk down the hallway past our door, it was like she was moving in slow motion, you know, hair blowing, her head turning towards me. I went home and asked my mom if girls could like girls. She said they could, and I took it from there. I know I’m lucky in that. I’ve heard lots of horror stories. Were your parents okay with it?”
“Well, I actually never told my mom. We didn’t talk about sex at home, and our church said it was a sin. We went to a Catholic church, Mom and I. Dad was raised Presbyterian, but he doesn’t go to church or make a big deal about it. He says your beliefs are your own, and there’s no call for trying to make others believe the way you do. Anyway, by the time I figured my sexuality out, Mom was sick and I didn’t want to upset her. Eventually, I told my dad. He wanted to know if I had a girlfriend or if I was exhibiting any risky behavior, whatever that meant. It made me laugh, on both accounts, because I am basically a hermit. But you know, my dad’s pretty sheltered. Anyway, he’s cool. He likes you.”
“Really? Does he know we’re …” I hesitated. There have been times in my past when defining a relationship in any way was the kiss of death. “Seeing each other.”
Jodie laughed at me. “He’s pretty sure we’re dating, but we haven’t talked about it. He raises an eyebrow and says ‘Again?’ when I tell him I’m headed over to your place. That’s his way of letting me know he cares without trying to tell me what to do. If he had a problem, he would have said something when I stayed over those couple of times.”
“I like your dad a lot.”
“Me, too. He has always been there for me. I wish he would date or something, but he won’t even hear of it. When he’s not working, he’s hunting or fishing. I go sometimes.”
“You hunt? Like you shoot deers?”
“Deer, yes.”
“And cut out their guts? And tie ‘em on your truck?”
“My dad’s truck bed, but yes. One deer will last us all winter. If we get a second one, we can give it to a family that needs it. And there is always a family that needs it.”
“Wow.” We had been staring at the building across the street. “What’s that mean? ‘Union Block.’ Is that about the mining unions? I heard there were a lot of conflicts over unions out here, like spies and mining ‘accidents.’”
“There were. You know, we could take a day trip up to Silver City sometime, if you want. But that building was actually named by some pro-Union people, from the Civil War. There’s more Civil War history around here, if you look for it. Most of the historical markers talk about the Oregon Trail, though.”
“Yeah, that’s mostly what I’ve seen.”
I started to get cold, so I stood up to go. “Shall we?”
Jodie held my hand on the way back to Milepost. It was close to midnight when we got back, but even though she couldn’t stay, she came in for a few minutes and we plopped onto the couch.
“I wish you could stay.”
“I know you’re used to things moving faster, but I think we should take our time. There’s no rush.”
“I’m okay with that. I think about you all the time, though. I like being with you, no matter what we’re doing.”
“Me, too. But I don’t think I can stay over here again and not jump your bones.”
I laughed. “Jump my bones?”
“Sorry, I’m around older people a lot.” She shrugged but then leaned across me and gave me a long, soft, wet kiss. The kind of kiss that caused or ended wars. The kind of kiss that made people cross the ocean or catch red-eyes across continents. The kind of kiss that made me want to bolt the door behind us and not come out until summer.
“Gotta go.” She stood up.
“Ugh! No way.” I went to one knee.
“Hey, this hurts me more than it hurts you.”
“Gotta grab the bull by the horns.”
“What?”
“I thought we were trading random expressions.”
“Ha.” She took a deep breath and looked at me. “I gotta go.”
“I know. See you Sunday?”
“With bells on.”
I stood at the edge of the porch and watched her drive away. Despite the cold, I was still warm from being close to Jodie. I sat down on the step and looked up at the millions of stars in the sky. I found the big dipper, which pointed me to the Little Dipper and Polaris, the North Star. The star to guide your ship by. I stared at Polaris and did the ‘arc to Arcturus,’ and I would have ‘spiked to Spica, but the trees in the yard were too high. I breathed in a sigh of, what was this, happiness? Huh. So, that’s what that feels like.
April 1, 2013