by Lindsey Lane
JULY 6 . TWO MONTHS MISSING
WATERMELONS
Jake pulls his truck deep into the northwest corner of the pull-out, angling it so the bed faces out to the highway but the cab is shaded by the only half-decent-sized live oak in this dirt patch. Slowly, he unlatches the tailgate, careful not to let any of the fifty or so watermelons he has piled up in the back come tumbling out. Once the gate is down and none of the melons do a kamikaze dive off the back, he plucks one from the top of the pile. It’s nearly a perfect oval, deep green all the way around the middle, fading to yellow where he’d snipped it off the vine a couple of hours before. Balancing it on his knee, Jake slaps it, listening for that hollow thunk to tell him the fruit is firm, not overripe. He reaches in his back pocket and slides out his single-blade knife. Flipping it open, Jake slices the watermelon in one smooth circular motion. Then he pulls the two halves apart so they spilt with a crisp crack.
The fruit at the center is bright red and fades to pink next to the white rind. No matter how ripe, watermelons always smell like cucumber right after the first cut. Then as soon as the juice dribbles onto his jeans or on his hand, the sugary sweet smell makes his mouth water. Sometimes farming could be pretty dang monotonous, but cutting into a fruit or vegetable, full-grown from one puny seed, never failed to amaze Jake.
He sets the two watermelon halves on top of the pile so they stare out at the highway. Then he pulls the melon sign from the passenger side of the cab and leans it up against the bed of the pickup truck. In a way, the sign is overkill. If folks driving by can’t figure out what he is selling in the back of his truck, they’re either from another planet or they probably aren’t looking to buy any watermelons. But it’s tradition.
When Jake was little, his mom took scrap plywood from around the farm and painted each piece white. Every crop had its own sign. She wrote MELONS or TOMATOES or CORN in black letters, big, across the top. Then Jake painted the fruit or vegetable at the bottom of the sign. Every spring, they’d freshen up the signs together. Now his little sisters, Jessica and June-Bug, are starting to add their artistic touches to the signs. Jake had noticed that the tomatoes looked suspiciously like hearts.
He can still see the faded dollar sign under the white paint and an unidentifiable number. His dad asked them to stop locking in the prices with paint many years before. That was back when his older brother, mom and dad would come to the pull-out and sell the produce together. Now, his brother’s off at college. His mom’s at home with his two little sisters and his dad manages their satellite farm sixty miles away.
Every Saturday, Jake asks his little sisters to come with him. They want to come, and Jake bet his mom he could keep them busy for six hours. After all, he and his brother did the whole six-hour stint when they were way younger than his eight-and six-year-old sisters. But his mom is freaked out about the murder last month and Tommy’s disappearance two months ago. In fact, she’s lobbying hard to sell produce someplace else. Jake’s pretty sure his dad will wait the worry out.
He looks around the pull-out. Funny how small it seems now. He used to race his brother end to end and it seemed like he’d never get to the other side. Now he circles the whole thing in a minute. Ever since he found Tommy Smythe’s dirt bike stashed under the cedars two months ago, Jake walks around the pull-out every Saturday. If the trash can is dumped over, he rights it and picks up trash, if there is any. Truth be told, he’s keeping an eye out for any signs of Tommy. He still feels bad that he didn’t go out and look for Tommy that very day he found the bike.
When he called the Smythes to tell them he’d found it, they drove out immediately. They said Tommy had been missing since school got out the day before. They were kind of freaked out. Mrs. Smythe thought they should leave the bike in case he came back. Mr. Smythe didn’t want the bike stolen. Jake didn’t think there was anything to worry about. It’d been less than a day. He told them Tommy was probably camped out somewhere on the Stillwell Ranch. Jake felt bad that he didn’t get more worried right away. It just seemed that a kid like Tommy might wander off, get distracted, and maybe lose his way for twenty-four hours. Now that he’s been missing for two months, Jake wishes he’d driven his truck out in the field to look for him right then. He could have. They could have climbed in his truck and driven the ranch together. Instead, he helped the Smythes load Tommy’s bike in their car and watched while Mr. Smythe called Sheriff Caldwell on his cell. Mrs. Smythe sat in the car crying.
The more Jake thinks about how he didn’t jump in the truck and look for Tommy, the worse he feels. He hates how he waits around for things to happen. If that had been his brother or little sisters, Jake hopes he would have done it differently. At least he showed up for every search that Sheriff Caldwell organized.
Jake didn’t really know Tommy. He knew who he was. He seemed like a mini-genius but kind of odd, especially the way he would sit and stare at things, even people. He’d seen him drive by on that red dirt bike. Fast. Then he’d stop. Like almost in the middle of the road and stare. Jake couldn’t tell if Tommy was staring at him or particles in the air. Something. He was a strange kid. Still, he shouldn’t have hesitated. Ever since that Saturday, Jake keeps watching out for Tommy. Sometimes Jake really hopes Tommy will show up. Mostly he hopes Tommy will show up so he can stop feeling guilty about not looking right away.
Jake glances at his watch. Ten thirty. He probably has an hour before his first customers show up. Every fruit and vegetable has a best selling time. Watermelons sell better after noon. Cucumbers and tomatoes sell better in the morning. He’s tried to convince his dad of this phenomenon but he won’t have it. “Jake, we need to be there the same time every Saturday. Ten to four. Consistency is the key.” Jake doesn’t argue but he makes sure to tell his dad whenever his theory proves correct.
Today, it looks like he could get a little nap before his first customer. Jake walks back to the cab and climbs into the passenger side. He leans back and stretches his legs out so they rest on the door hinge. To someone driving by, this probably looks like the quintessential Texas scene. A pickup full of watermelons and some farmer in blue jeans with his boots hitched over the door. A photographer might slam on the brakes and take a picture thinking he’s capturing the essence of Texas. He’d have no idea that this particular farmer is a high school graduate who isn’t sure he wants to be a farmer.
Problem is, farming is all Jake knows. That’s what the Travers family is famous for: fruits and vegetables in the spring, summer, and fall; pies and canned goods in the winter. His brother went to A&M to study agriculture so he can join the family business. But Jake isn’t sure. He feels stuck. He graduated from high school but he doesn’t know what he wants to do. It seems like everyone else has a plan. His counselor made him apply to Shreiner, the liberal arts college about forty-five minutes away. He got in. He claimed his spot for the fall but he still isn’t sure he wants to go. Shouldn’t he know what he wants to study before he goes? Or maybe he should go and figure it out.
One of the cool things about farming is the seed knows exactly what it’s going to be. Yeah, Jake has to water and weed it, and worry about cold snaps and droughts, but if everything goes according plan, that tomato seed produces a bunch of tomatoes. There’s no uncertainty or wondering. The seed doesn’t have to figure out what it wants.
Honk. Honk. “Yo, Jake!”
Jake opens his eyes and looks at the car next to him. Four yahoos from Fred High, crammed into a maroon Trans Am, pull up next to him.
The driver leans out his window. “Hey, Jake, how much will you charge us for four watermelons?”
Jake unhooks his legs from the door and stands up but they’re dead asleep. He leans back on the seat until the blood rushes into his legs. “Twenty bucks.”
“Five bucks a melon? How much if I buy one?”
“Five bucks.”
“Aww, man. Come on.”
As soon as his legs stops tingling, Jake walks over to the Trans Am. He recognizes the drive
r. His dad owns Clark’s Salvage Yard. What’s his name? Oh yeah, Alvin. He glances in at the others. He only recognizes the Mexican kid in the back. Nando. His dad Enrique helps on the farm a lot. Nando nods at Jake but doesn’t say anything. Jake knows the nod. High school code for knowing someone but not really acknowledging that you know him.
“You can’t be asking for discounts at the beginning of the day, Alvin. Come back at four. I might sell you the whole bed for twenty bucks.”
“Fuck, yeah!” Alvin high-fives the kid in the passenger seat.
“I might. Probably won’t. But I’ll definitely give you a discount. What do you want with four watermelons anyway? A circle jerk?”
“Whoa! Does that even work?” asks Alvin.
“Cost you twenty bucks to find out.”
“Seriously, man. I’m asking. Have you ever done it?” Alvin’s eyes shift from Jake to the watermelons. It looks like he’s trying to assess whether or not Jake is pulling his leg or if it is, in fact, possible to plunge his dick into the guts of a watermelon.
Jake smiles. “I highly recommend it. Seedless is better. You can scratch the shit out of yourself on those seeds.”
“Are those seedless?” Alvin asks.
“Mostly.”
Alvin looks at the other guys. They’re all listening. “Well, like how do you do it?”
Jake can’t help but laugh. “Wait. You guys don’t know how to jerk off?”
Everyone in the car but Alvin laughs. Jake sees his face flush red. “Fuck you. That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking about, you know, how you do it with the watermelon.”
“Oh, you want my recipe for watermelon delight? That might cost you more than twenty bucks.”
“You’re fucking with me. You’ve never jerked off in watermelon or a peach or a potato.”
“A peach, yes. Once the pit is removed. Very satisfying. A potato, no, unless it is cooked, mashed, and cooled. Also quite delightful.” Jake is having too much fun to stop. He can see Nando in the back trying not to laugh. Unfortunately, Alvin is not laughing. Jake had heard stories about his old man’s temper. And his drinking. He backed off. “Seriously, Alvin, why do you need four watermelons?”
“We’re going down to the arroyo behind Nando’s house and use ’em for target practice.”
“Wouldn’t cans be cheaper?”
“Yeah, but they jump around too much. You’re always chasing ’em down. Watermelons are cool cuz you can start big and then keep shooting smaller and smaller pieces.”
“So start with one for five dollars. If you still want more at the end of the day, come back and I’ll sell you two for five.”
“Deal.” Alvin pops out of the Trans Am and walks around to the back of Jake’s pickup.
“Here. Let me get you one that might be a little green.” Jake digs out a melon from the front corner of the bed.
Alvin hands Jake five dollars and hefts the melon onto his shoulder. “Hey, man, can I ask you something?”
Jake nods.
“Are you going to college?”
“I haven’t decided. Why?”
“I’m gonna be a junior next year and that’s when they start talking to us about college. My old man says school’s a waste of time. But I’m not so sure. You know I built that car?”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, I rebuilt that kid Tommy’s bike.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that.” Jake is impressed.
“Yeah. So I’m wondering if I need to go to college. Or even finish high school. Like, what can I learn there if I already know how to make a living?” Alvin turns to walk back to his car. “But then, I was talking to that kid Tommy and he knew some really wild shit, so it made me think that, you know, maybe I should think about it. Like maybe I could be more than a car mechanic. I don’t know. It’s probably a stupid question. I thought since you graduated that maybe you might be able to tell me if it was worth it.”
Jake leans on the bed of the pickup. What should he tell Alvin? He doesn’t want to bullshit him but he also doesn’t have a very good answer. “Hey, man, I don’t know. I mean, I wish I could tell you that it all made perfect sense and that high school made a difference. But I can’t. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I think I’ll figure it out. Some days, it’s about getting up and doing the next thing, right?”
“Yeah, I guess I wish it was more certain.” Alvin opens the car door.
“Me too. But hey, there’s always watermelon delight.”
“Fuck, yeah. I’ll get back to you on that one.”
Alvin starts the Trans Am with an unnecessary roar. Jake doesn’t like those muscle cars but he’s impressed that Alvin built this one. He’d never said two words to this kid in high school. True, Alvin is two grades behind him, but still, who knew that he could build cars? Not only that, even with a pretty awesome skill, he feels the same purposelessness that Jake feels. Maybe it’s okay, not knowing what the next step is. Maybe it’s normal.
Jake watches the Trans Am pull away. Nando is looking at him. Jake sees him wave a little. Maybe he feels more comfortable acknowledging that he knows Jake. Or maybe Jake seems cooler after joking around with them about watermelons. He shakes his head. That kind of thinking drives Jake nuts. That was high school. He is done with overthinking shit like that. Maybe he’s overthinking his future. Maybe he should just make a choice and see what happens.
He walks over to the cab of the pickup. Just as he is about to sit down, he hears another car turn in. It’s a light green minivan. The driver, a woman, pulls in at the opposite end of the pull-out and hops out. Right behind her, a little boy scrambles out of the van. He looks to be June-Bug’s age, maybe five or six.
“I gotta go, Mom. Now.”
“Okay, honey, let’s go behind the bush.”
“I wanna go by myself.”
“Travis…”
“Mom…”
Jake points to a break in the cedars near the two logs that lay askew along the edge of the pull-out. “Private restroom right behind those cedars.”
Travis looks at Jake. “See, Mom?” He runs off.
The mother sighs.
Jake knows that exhale of breath from his own mother. “Don’t worry. There’s no cliff back there.”
She smiles at Jake. “What about poison ivy?”
“Not sure about that.”
The mother looks after her little boy. She takes one step and stops. “Oh well, if he gets it, he gets it.”
“He’ll never get it again.”
The mother laughs. “That’s for sure.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a wallet. “How much for a melon?”
“Five dollars.”
“Could you pick it out for me? I always seem to get them overripe or too green.”
“Sure. No problem.”
Jake slaps and thumps a few of the melons. He tends to pick the ones that have the most hollow thunk sound. Problem is they could be too green. He pulls one from the pile. “This one might be all right.”
“Great. Would you put it in the back of the van?” She turns to the bushes. “Travis, are you okay?”
“I’m peeing on ants, Mom. It’s so cool.”
Jake walks around to the back of the van and opens the door. Just as he sets the melon down, a head pops over the back seat. A girl.
Jake jumps a little. “Oh sorry, I didn’t know there was anyone else in here.”
The girl stares at him. Jake doesn’t think she is in high school yet. She looks a little too young, too pudgy, but she has eye makeup glopped on and is sporting a “Who do you think you are?” look on her face. Jake had barged into that expression dozens of times in high school. Girls have a unique way of sizing you up and dismissing you in a split second.
Instead of looking away like he did in high school, he braces the watermelon in the back of the van and looks at her. “Let me guess. You’re going into high school next year.”
She blushes. “How’d you know?”
“A talent.�
� Jake doesn’t say the talent comes from years of crushing on girls from afar, trying to find out everything about them so he could ask them out, only to be shot down because they weren’t interested in him. Maybe if he had walked up and asked them out right away, he would have had better success. Or it might not have hurt so much when they said no.
The girl hangs her head over the back of the seat watching him, kind of like a little kid would. Except she isn’t. Or she’s trying not to be.
“Did you go to Fred Johnson High? I mean, Fred High?”
“Just graduated.”
“Oh wow. Did you like it?”
Jake knows that his street cred had gone up by telling her he’d graduated. Maybe that’s why it seems like everyone, well, two people, are asking his advice today. Maybe he should try to tell her something important. Or wise. Something that might make high school easier. Or more fun.
“It was okay.” Jake rolls his eyes inwardly. Oh that’s brilliant. “I mean, there are good and bad days like any school.” Man, he is sounding stupider and stupider. He smiles a little at the girl. She doesn’t smile back. She looks like she is trying to figure out if he is cool or if he is a loser selling melons on the side of the road. He really wants to say something that will make high school better for her. “I mean, the worst part of high school is always trying to act way cooler or more together than you feel.” Jake slaps the melon. “Just be the melon if you’re the melon. Don’t try to be a peach or a tomato. If you’re a melon, be the best darn melon you can be. That’s this loser’s advice about high school.” He smiles at her. Her face is blank. Jake closes the back door of the van. Well, at the very least, she’ll always remember him when she’s eating a melon.
The mother is standing near the cedar break under a scrawny branch of a mesquite tree. The sunlight through the leaves speckles her arms. “Travis, honey. Are you about done?”