Jerk, California

by Jonathan Friesen

  I jog to the truck and check my duffel. It’s been moved inside.

  I’ll come back, get my things, and go. In the distance a large shadow exits the barn. “Dirk. Glad I could introduce you and Naomi. I’m sure you two will get along famously.”

  chapter twenty-five

  MY HARD TWO-HOUR RUN ENDS. CRICKETS AND fireflies and bright stars remind me of home, but there are no trees, no landmarks, and I’m lost—lost and out of fuel. Legs cramp, and I plop onto the ground for a painful stretch. I feel exceptionally dumb.

  “Still running.” I wince, lie on my back, and stare. Stars visible only when a guy is nowhere shine clear down to the horizon, and I make a gravel angel for no reason. “Alone in this world.”

  A light flickers through cornstalks, then strengthens and becomes two lights. The beams turn on to my road and approach. I stand, brush myself off, and step into the ditch. But it’s too late and a squad car slows and stops. I shield my eyes as a door slams.

  “You Jack Keegan?”

  “To some people.”

  “Don Fast put in a call. He thought you might be lost. You Jack or not?”

  “Sure. Why not?” I don’t mean disrespect. I just don’t care.

  “Hop in, son.” The officer smiles and motions me into the backseat.

  Minutes later I stand before the Fasts’ farmhouse door. I walk the length of the porch and peek into the kitchen, where a lone bulb flickers above the sink. I don’t have anything in common with them, but my legs are too tired to run anymore. I light-foot my way into the kitchen. A note rests on the table.

  Jack. Please stay. Guest room off the parlor is all made up. We’re glad you’re here.

  I crumple the paper and enter the parlor.

  “Naomi,” I whisper.

  She half reclines on the couch, and a small lamp burns by her head. Doesn’t look like she’s moved from when I left.

  I’ve not seen a perfect human sleep before. No saliva pools, no snores, only gentle breathing. I step toward her, and she shifts. Her eyes open lazily before popping wide.

  Upright in an instant, she rubs her face, looks up at me, and exhales loudly.

  “Sam Carrier. Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

  “Do what? I went for a run, is all.”

  “You don’t get it. You really don’t.” She pushes by me, pauses, and turns at the base of the stairs. “Do you know how tiring it is to pretend? I need you.”

  She disappears up the steps.

  Collapsing onto the couch, I lift heavy legs horizontal. “You’re up, you’re down. What am I missing, Nae?”

  Morning fills with sounds of kitchen bustle. Dirk pounds around in search of food to feed his beefy body. I rise slowly and stretch. All I want is a bathroom. Dirk spots me and waves me into the kitchen.

  “You run that late every night?” he asks. I straighten because at least the guy’s dumb.

  “No. Last night was a special case.”

  “How far did you go?” he asks.

  “Don’t know. Couple hours.”

  Dirk pulls up a chair, plunks down, and motions me to another. “That’d be quite a workout. Coach never makes us run like that.”

  I sit and get ready to vomit if he answers yes. “S’pose you’re a runner, too?”

  Dirk smiles. “No, sir. Tight end. University of Nebraska.”

  “The Cornhuskers? You play football for the Cornhuskers?” As far as I’m concerned, that team is the only thing worth knowing about Nebraska.

  “Yes, sir.” He jams his face full of bread and downs a glass of milk. “Had plans to leave this state, but Presidential Scholarships are hard to pass up.”

  “So much for dumb,” I mutter, and twitch hard.

  “What was that?” Dirk tosses me the bread loaf.

  “So much to be done.” I bite my lip hard, and exhale when he stands.

  “You need to do anything before we head out?” Dirk asks. “Likely diggin’ most the day.”

  I remember the fence. They take days to raise.

  “Maybe I should let Naomi know we’ll be out there.”

  “I already talked with her about today’s plan. But feel free. She’s upstairs.”

  My tongue pushes out my cheek, and my face gets hot. Muscling in on my Naomi? This is my trip, not yours—we’ll see who can put in a day’s work.

  I down some water. No time for the restroom. “Let’s go.”

  The sun sets the sky on fire as we walk to the barn. The door opens with a creak. I step in, jump back.

  “Mornin’, boys.” Don looks up from his milking seat. “We’ll give Naomi another crack at this tonight. Her hands chafed something fierce her first go-round.” He strains his neck to catch a glimpse of the sky. “You’re getting a late start, Dirk. Have a tough time sleeping?” Don throws a sly smile at him and scoots up to the Hereford. “Someone on your mind?”

  Dirk reddens. “We’ll catch up by noon.”

  He leads me past his father and out the other end of the barn to a small shed. We grab some post diggers, sling them over our shoulders, and traipse into an open field. Dirk pauses and peeks at the second story, at a silhouette in the corner bedroom. I join him and we stare at the smooth movements behind the curtain.

  So beautiful.

  The curtain flies open. Naomi throws back her hair and smiles down at us.

  “Shoot!” Dirk spins. I don’t have tight-end reflexes and stand gape-mouthed, caught in the act. Naomi looks beyond me to Dirk in full stride away from the house.

  “Figures.” I sigh.

  Her gaze falls to me. She lifts her hand and presses it onto the glass, leaves it there. I feebly raise my hand. I spin and catch up to my competition.

  “Think she saw me?” His foot bounces, he can’t keep still.

  “She sees everything.”

  He nods and jams his post digger into the earth. “Doesn’t she make you—”

  “Feel like you’re walkin’ around buck naked? All the time.” I toss my digger onto the ground. “Where do we start?”

  Dirk exhales and shakes his head violently.

  So that’s what I look like.

  He points out the boundaries of the horse pasture. “Tore down the old fence day before you arrived. If you’re leavin’ tomorrow, Dad’ll keep us busy until sundown. You ever done farmwork? If you’re not up for it—”

  I watch my shoulders and biceps tense and relax. Probably the most worked-out muscles on the planet. “Walk the boundary.”

  We mark the location of each hole with a stake from the pile near the clothes line and start to dig.

  Plunge the digger. Pull up dirt. Check Naomi’s window. Keep up with Dirk.

  The pattern normalizes, and after a few hours we each have twenty holes dug.

  Plunge the digger. Pull up dirt. Check Naomi—

  Her face beams, and my pace quickens. So does Dirk’s, who works the opposite side of the fence line. Plunge. Check. Plunge. Check. Dirt flies, shoulders twitch, mouth curses—I’m a twisted, gnarled, feverish-looking creature.

  “Huh. Huh.” Dirk’s grunts echo across the pasture as we chase each other around the perimeter. Forty-one. Forty-two. A quick check. She’s gone, and I collapse by a hole, grab my stomach, and moan.

  “Might as well . . . be digging . . . my own burial plot . . .” I gasp up at blue sky. “Dirk wins. He wins. I can’t keep up.”

  Rolling onto my side, I glance at the victor. Dirk doubles over and vomits all that hulk food onto the field.

  “Well, now.” I wince and rise. I walk to the next stake. Plunge. Plunge. Plunge. It takes three times as long, but I dig it.

  “Hey!” Dirk’s voice reaches me, and I glance in time to see another good heave.

  Where’s Naomi when the show gets good?

  “Noon,” is all he can say. He motions for me, and I jog over to him.

  “You want me to carry that?” I point at his digger.

  “No, sir.” He straightens, his pale face level with mine. “Y
ou can sure go. Ever play football?”

  I smile and waggle my head. Together we stagger toward the back door.

  Dirk goes inside to take the first shower. I pace near the entrance.

  After all that work, my muscles are still. Why can’t she see me now?

  Don strides around the corner of the house, stops, and stares at me from frothy face to mud-caked shoes. “Ain’t supposed to eat dirt, Jack, just dig it out. Where’s Dirk?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Hose down outside. Towels by the door.” He points to a green one heaped on the step. “Hurry up. We’re all at table.”

  I wait to move until he steps inside and the screen door slams behind him.

  I find the outside spigot and strip to my boxers. Once clean, I drape the towel around my waist and enter the mudroom.

  “Naomi.”

  “There you are.” She looks at me a long time.

  “I was just—”

  She smiles, spins, and walks into the parlor.

  “Dirk!” she says, and disappears into the kitchen.

  “Go, go.” I whisper directions to my legs, but they don’t move. “Get in there, Carrier.” I tiptoe forward and peek into the kitchen. Naomi’s back is to me, and barf-boy sits beside her.

  That’s my spot!

  Legs spring free. I leap into my room, dress in seconds, and pound into the hushed kitchen.

  “I’m here!”

  “And so we thank You, dear Lord, for all these blessings.” Don cracks an eyelid and winks at me. “Including Jack, who is now here. Amen.”

  chapter twenty-six

  “I’VE NEVER SEEN HOLES DUG AS FAST AS YOU TWO dug ’em.”

  Don’s mealtime comment hangs with me as Dirk and I haul back to the pasture. We don’t talk, which is good because the morning wasn’t fair. Dirk sneaks upstairs, changes, and comes down clean. I stagger half nude into the mudroom. This Cornhusker snatched my victory. It’s nothing new, just something I thought I’d left in Minnesota.

  We finish the remaining ten holes and firm in the posts. It’s a two-man job—there would be no more competition as we’d work side by side. Words come slow.

  “So you two aren’t serious?” Dirk finally asks.

  I don’t like the question, but he’s the nicest guy I’ve ever hated and deserves the truth.

  “Not even close.” I pound a post deeper, stop, wipe sweat from my brow. “Just two people heading west in the same truck.”

  “Where west?”

  “Jerk, California.” Another swing. “Heard of it?”

  He shakes his head. “Me neither,” I say. “A friend of mine left me the address when he died.”

  Dirk chuckles. “George got us laughing like no one else. Loved it when he passed through.”

  My sledgehammer falls to the ground.

  He continues: “Oh yeah, I knew George. He’d stop in, or we’d head north to see him and your dad.”

  “You saw my dad?”

  “That’s what I’m told, but I was too young to remember.” Dirk takes a swig of water and reaches me the bottle. “We were up when his accident happened.”

  I freeze mid-drink, and water gushes down my cheeks.

  “Had to be hard losing him so young.” Dirk takes the bottle from my hands. “You okay?”

  I twitch and sit. “Didn’t know you folks knew him like that.”

  “You’re kidding. Dad’s full of stories, ask him.”

  He whistles and gets to work. I stand, lift my hammer, and pound. But I’m tired and weak and finishing this job doesn’t matter anymore.

  Dirk blabbers—his sentences sprinkled with “Naomi” like Old Bill sprinkles pepper on tomatoes. That’s fine by me, but though it aches my gut, I want more about Dad.

  In the distance, Stu pops out of the fields and crosses the pasture. He stares at the hundred or so wooden fingers poking straight and true out of the ground. Stu scratches his head. “All today? What got into you two?”

  Dirk elbows me and smiles. “More like a who, right?”

  For once, the thought of Naomi brings no joy.

  Laughter floats from the front of the farmhouse, and while the Fast brothers head inside to clean up, I wander toward the sound that comes from the cattle barn. I peek inside. Naomi sits with jaws clenched in front of a full cow and an empty bucket.

  “I’ll milk you if it’s the last thing I do,” Naomi says, and throws back her hair.

  “Will be if you keep squeezing like that.” Lizbeth laughs along with Mary. The girls part as I walk in from behind.

  “They give you any pointers?” I ask.

  Naomi whips around. “They just yank on this thing and milk comes out.” She scowls at Mary. “But now they’re content giggling at me, aren’t you?”

  The two break into more laughter.

  “Scoot up,” I say.

  I ease down behind Naomi on the stool, and my legs straddle her body. I catch a whiff of myself, wince, and try to keep space. “Lean over so I can reach.” She moves forward, and I wrap my arms around her and grab the udder. My mouth fills with sweet-smelling hair.

  “I’m sorry.” I start to stand. “I haven’t showered yet. I must—”

  “Stay.” Naomi grabs my forearm, pulls me against her, and whispers, “Show me.”

  My arm jerks and twitches within her grasp, and half of me wants to run, but I force myself to sit. “It’s in the wrist and fingers. Squeeze from the the top.” A shot of milk hits the pail.

  “Let me try.”

  Naomi fights that cow.

  “Too much pull.” I wrap my hand around hers, my body around hers. “Like this, and this.”

  After a few squirts, she turns her head and smiles. I feel her breath on the side of my cheek, and I tense and stare straight ahead.

  “It’s about relaxing, isn’t it?” she asks.

  I let go of her hand and sit back. “Yeah. Relaxing.”

  She pats that cow, and soon milks with ease.

  “I did it. I did it!”

  I stand and back up. “Yeah. You did it. Lizbeth, you could have given her a lesson.”

  I turn and stare at the faces of Don and Kate. Mr. Fast’s hard stare travels from Naomi to me and back to her. But Mrs. Fast smiles and speaks softly. “Supper time.”

  My chest tingles all through my shower.

  “What was I doing, George? I lost my head. Like I have a right to saddle up to your granddaughter and bear-hug her from behind. What do I say to her now?”

  I step out of the shower and peek out the window. The Fasts circle out front for a pre-barbecue blessing.

  I’m sure there will be plenty of good stories told tonight, but I got something to do. I walk into my room, close the door behind me, and fall back against it.

  What a fool. Like anyone wants to be that close to me. I wrapped my arms right around her.

  I walk over to the desk, where I grab pen and paper.

  Dear,

  I ball up the sheet and toss it back over my shoulder.

  Naomi,

  I messed up. I should never have

  “I can’t even write it!” I grind my teeth, exhale hard, and face my pad.

  Hey, I shouldn’t have assumed I could reach around you like that. I understand if you don’t want to be near me anymore. Dirk’s a good guy. So maybe we need to talk about the rest of the trip. Anyway, Sorry.

  Sam

  I walk my note up to her bedroom and freeze. I know the soft sound coming from inside her room, the sounds Mom made late into the night. Naomi’s gentle cry grabs my gut and squeezes.

  What is going on?

  I stare down at my note. It’s clear I don’t know Naomi at all, don’t know what aches her when she’s alone, and that makes what I did worse. I quickly slip the paper beneath the door, and jog down to my room. Minutes later there’s a knock. I don’t make a move to get it.

  I don’t see Naomi that evening, and she’s not at breakfast. I feel too stupid to ask. I poke at eggs and trudge back out
to finish hanging the rails.

  Dirk’s in fine form.

  “Let’s get these hung.” He reaches down and lifts a rail into position against the post. “I’d like to go to the city this afternoon before you go.” Dirk whistles and tosses his hammer into the air, catches it.

  “What city?”

  “I’m thinking I’ll go to Lincoln with Naomi. Say, you don’t mind me showing her around, do ya?”

  Oh, hell, no. Makes me all cuddly inside.

  I hoist the other end of the rail, place the nail, and pound my thumb.

  “Ah! Dammit.” I drop the plank and shake my hand. “Go ahead. I don’t care what you do.”

  “Great!”

  He whistles and chuckles and waits patiently for me to hang my end of the rail. I move to the next post and hate him. Then the idea comes.

  “Let me follow you around the perimeter,” I say, and we switch places. Together we lift the plank, pound in our ends with three nails, and move to the next post.

  While Dirk pounds, I dig out two of his nails and pound in only one myself. When he turns to move on, I give the whole rail a whack, and it hangs a-kilter. All afternoon we work—Dirk in his happy place and me sabotaging the fence. We reach the last rail just as Kate rings the lunch bell.

  “Hey! Great timing!” Dirk runs his hand through his hair and straightens.

  “Um, Dirk? Looking at the fence, it seems a little . . . crooked.”

  “What do you mean?” He squints at the rails and drops his hammer. “No. No. He runs to the last post. “What’s happening?”

  “Bunch of your nails were loose when I came to ’em.” I shake my head. “I had trouble, too. Oh well, we almost got ’er done.” I walk cheerily toward the house and listen to Dirk’s frantic pounding.

  “Need you inside, Dirk,” Mr. Fast booms from the farmhouse.

  “But I was going to take Naomi—”

  Mr. Fast stares and Dirk kicks at the ground and hollers, “Fine!”

  Don closes the back door, and Dirk loses it.