Be It Ever So Humble

by Jenifer Jenkins

  “Well, it was only a couple years ago that he visited you in New York, wasn’t it? You were in that play,” Kenny said.

  “Our Town,” Martha chimed in.

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” Kenny continued. “John went to see you at a matinee, and the two of you went out for coffee after the show.”

  “No, he didn’t. And no, we didn’t. What are you talking about?”

  Kenny rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t know...”

  “That never happened,” I reiterated. “I can see in your faces you think something’s wrong with me and that I can’t remember, but that truly never happened. I’ve never met John. I certainly never had coffee with him. I would remember that.”

  “Oh,” Martha’s voice trailed off. “Well, what about when you were kids? You don’t remember playing with him here when you were a kid?”

  This conversation was bizarre, and I wondered if I had gone crazy somewhere between Hollywood and here. Or maybe that plane ride had actually flown me into an alternate universe. Maybe I’d gone from Berenstein to Berenstain. I secretly believed I belonged in the Berenstein Universe. “I didn’t play with other kids when I visited. Mom would never have allowed that.”

  “You don’t remember the Will Reed Fundraiser you put on?”

  At first, I didn’t. Will Reed? Who was that? I kept repeating the name in my head while I rummaged through memories until a rush of fuzzy visions flooded in. When I was about ten years old, I went on a goodwill tour of sorts. I had played the title character in Where’s Rosie, a family sitcom about an orphaned child taken in by her grandfather, since I was five. The show had stalled in ratings. I was beginning to lose that “cute kid” appeal. There was talk of bringing in a new child to costar and bring back the cuteness factor—kind of like when Raven-Symoné joined The Cosby Show. My mother thought that would be disastrous for my career, so she pleaded with the producers to give me a chance to drum up some interest in the show. During the months between filming, I traveled across the states visiting sick children in hospitals and feeding people in various shelters. Mother thought it would be good for my image, and the studio loved the idea. One of my stops was here in Camden County.

  I vaguely remembered hosting a charity auction for a man who was suffering from... something. I couldn’t remember what disease it was, but I remembered that it was something terminal. Will Reed. That was his name. And he’d had a son. His son was a year or two older than I was, and my aunt and uncle thought it’d be nice if I spent some of my downtime with him. I just remembered that he was a little blonde boy who didn’t talk much. We played Connect Four basically the entire time we were together. He seemed so sad, and at the end of it all, I kissed him. I’d felt bad for him. Even at that age, I knew his dad wouldn’t make it. The only way I could think of to make him feel better was to kiss him. It was the first time I’d kissed a boy. That boy was John. John Reed.

  John was the boy with the dying father. John was the boy I’d kissed. I thought about our interaction yesterday and was disgusted by the memory. Yuck. I kissed that.

  “I remember,” I finally responded. “But I only met him that one time. How was I supposed to know who he was? That was years ago, and he doesn’t exactly look the same.”

  Martha grinned. “No, he doesn’t. He’s grown into quite a handsome young man.”

  I audibly gagged. “Gross! We have two very different ideas of handsome.” Then I looked at my uncle and amended, “Except when it comes to you, Uncle Kenny.”

  “Why, thank you,” he responded, an impish gleam in his eye.

  “So, you sent him thinking we were old friends?”

  Kenny replied, “Well, we thought you’d recognize him from his New York visit.”

  “There was no New York visit. I am positive. I haven’t seen that guy—in his current form at least—ever. Also, not to change the subject too much, but a little warning would’ve been nice. I mean, if you weren’t going to come yourselves...” Martha and Kenny became shifty-eyed, and it dawned on me. “You were trying to set us up!”

  “What? No,” they replied almost in unison.

  “Well, there is no way that is happening. I want you to know that right now. If you’re bringing him around here because you think we’re going to... Well, it’s just not going to happen.”

  Martha reached across the table and clasped my hand in hers. “We just thought you could use a friend, Sissy. One your own age.”

  I bit my lip. Something in her words and her voice touched me. I felt that pang in my chest that I always felt when I could cry. Martha and Kenny cared about me after all these years apart. They cared enough to take me in when I needed to escape. I decided I was going to try very hard to be a good houseguest and a good niece. If they wanted me to be friendly with John, I would try. At the very least, I would act civil. I hadn’t been nominated for two Emmy Awards for nothing.

  The front door swung open, and in walked John, cowboy hat first. I jumped at the surprise. He sure did make himself at home walking in without as much as a knock. Also, did Kenny and Martha not lock their doors? It wasn’t the 1950s! I would have to check the doors every night to ensure they were properly secured before going to bed.

  Kenny stood up to shake John’s hand. “Oh, good. You’re here.” He pulled out his chair and motioned for John to sit. “We’ve got bacon and eggs on the stove if you want some.”

  “Thank you.” John nodded at Kenny. “Martha,” he said and nodded in her direction. “Sissy,” he said, and I swear he tipped his cowboy hat to me.

  “Sure. Why not? You can call me that. What can I call you?”

  “John,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I rolled my eyes. It seemed characteristic that he would use my nickname, and I had to call him by his regular, boring name. “What are you doing here so early, John? Kenny said you’d be here this afternoon.” So I was off to a rough start in being nice to him. I couldn’t help it. Something about his arrogant cowboy hat nod and his even-keeled voice brought it out of me.

  “That’s quite all right,” Kenny intervened. “I was just saying I needed to go into town. Sis, you write up that list, and I’ll be on my way.”

  As if reading his mind, Martha was already at my side with a notepad and pencil. “You just write down anything you might need. We only go to town about once a week.”

  “Oh?” That shocked me. I was used to going somewhere every single day. “While you’re out, would you mind... um... That mattress isn’t the most comfortable, and I wondered if you could find some sort of topper or memory foam?”

  I heard a low snicker from John and scowled.

  “Well, I’m not going that far into town,” Kenny replied.

  Martha smiled. “We have some extra quilts we could throw on the bed to soften it a bit until Kenneth can get there.”

  “Oh. All right,” I mumbled. “That’ll be fine.”

  John snickered low again. Why was he so insufferable? Being nice to him even for Kenny and Martha’s sake was going to be quite the challenge.

  I jotted my list onto the notepad: avocados, bananas, almond milk, almond butter, gluten-free bread, and baby carrots. My list would have been much longer, but I didn’t want to overwhelm him. I was already fairly certain he would not be returning with the right bread. Kenny tore the paper out of the notepad and thanked me. I found it humorous that he would thank me when I was the one making demands. I didn’t thank him in return initially. I guess thanking people wasn’t something I’d done too often in recent years. This realization struck me, and I felt a pang of guilt. How many people had looked after me in recent weeks? Months? Years even? Kenny kissed Martha on the forehead as he left the kitchen. Forehead kisses always seemed so genuine to me, at least in the movies. When someone kissed you on the forehead, you knew it was true love. He was already walking out the door when I yelled after him, “Thank you!”

  There was no response. Too late. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John smirking at his plate
of bacon and eggs.

  “So... did you just come over here to mooch food off of Kenny and Martha, or...?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he retorted. “I could ask you, but I won’t because I know the answer.”

  “You do?” I worried my aunt and uncle had told him the reason I was there.

  He nodded. “You’re no mooch. You’re going to earn your keep around here.”

  “I am?”

  “Mhmm. I could use some help with a few things today.”

  I noticed Aunt Martha had disappeared sometime after my awkward moment of belated gratitude towards Kenny. So this was how it was going to be. They were just going to leave me to fend for myself with this guy. “Well, I’m not sure I would be much help. I’m assuming you’re talking about farm work?”

  Another nod. He still wasn’t much of a talker, it seemed. “Don’t worry.” He laughed at whatever my face must have been doing. “I’ll go easy on you today. You won’t have to do anything too labor-intensive.”

  That sounded promising, I guessed. I didn’t particularly like that John was telling me what to do and acting like he was in charge around here. Where had Aunt Martha gone anyway? Since she wasn’t around, I figured I could get away with sassing him a bit. Just because I was going to play nice when they were present didn’t mean I had to when I was alone with him. “What makes you the boss around here?”

  “We have an arrangement, Ken and I. We help one another out. Hell, we’re practically business partners nowadays.”

  “Business partners?” I asked. That left little chance of avoiding John during my stay.

  “Mhmm. So don’t think of the work as you helping me out. Think of it as you helping your aunt and uncle who have so generously taken you in during your time of need.”

  I didn’t like that at all. “What do you mean by that?”

  “What?” There must have been fire in my eyes because he looked almost scared.

  “What have they told you about me and my situation? Why would you say that?”

  He chose his words carefully, and I wasn’t sure whether he was crafting a lie on the spot or attempting to diffuse my sudden hostility. “Ken and Martha told me that you needed a place to stay. They didn’t tell me why, and I didn’t ask. That’s your business.” He frowned. “I’m sorry. I was just teasing you. I shouldn’t have said that—not when I don’t know your situation. I’m sure you don’t want to work with a stranger, but your aunt and uncle could use the help right now.”

  I was starting to realize that everyone looked at me like some fragile thing—maybe a baby bird that couldn’t fly yet and had fallen out of the nest trying. I didn’t like that. I’d always tried to appear tough, unbreakable. My weaknesses were not for others to see. That wasn’t because I was a celebrity. It was because I didn’t like people getting that close. Oh boy, this visit was already off to a rough start. I wasn’t sure I could handle this much soul-searching. I was on my way to having more breakthroughs than a Dr. Phil marathon.

  “You don’t mind getting that dirty?” John pointed at my outfit.

  I scoffed. “This? Pssh. I don’t care.” It wasn’t like I was wearing my fancy clothes. Getting my outfit dirty didn’t bother me as much as the getting dirty in general did.

  “Well, good. I’ve got some boots for you in my truck. Best get to it.”

  Great. What was I getting myself into?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Sure you don’t want to change into something a little less... nice?” John asked once more as he handed me a pair of dirt-caked, flimsy rubber boots.

  I scoffed. “Why does everyone think this outfit is nice? My shirt has words on it. These jeans have holes in them.”

  “There’re sparkles on those words. And, yeah, your jeans have holes in them, but they’re strategically placed holes.”

  So now he was criticizing me for having holes in my designer jeans? “Listen, I’ll be fine. You just calm down.” Then I considered the reasoning behind his concerns. “Exactly how dirty do you think I’m going to get?”

  He eyed me mischievously. “That depends on you, really.”

  When he said no more, I scowled. Was that all he was going to give me? I gingerly dusted the leaves and dirt off the edge of the truck bed and sat on it, trading my customized gray on gray Chucks for his soiled boots. Shaking the boots upside down to make sure no nails or snakes or spiders fell out, I tried not to peer into the void in which I was putting my foot. I was pleased to be wearing socks, as if socks would protect me from any of those things.

  The boots felt disgusting even through the socks. When I stood up, I heard a squish. The feeling was as if I’d stepped into a pool of gak.

  “Oh, they do that when you first step into them,” John warned me too late. “It has something to do with air pockets or...” He saw my horrified face and laughed. This changed my look of horror into a look of fury. He laughed harder then. “I spray them down after I wear them. Promise! Those boots are perfectly sanitary.”

  “Sure,” was the only response I could manage. “They’re huge. What size are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “I’m a size six in women’s,” I said. As I calculated the difference, I thought about the old saying about men with large feet. My face reddened, and I hoped he didn’t notice. “What exactly am I going to be doing in this very fashionable footwear?”

  John regained his composure, and I had a feeling he was trying to be serious and professional so as not to upset me further. “Now I told you I’d go easy on you, didn’t I?”

  I nodded suspiciously.

  “You can start off by cleaning out the feeding troughs and filling them with new food.”

  I clenched my jaw. That didn’t seem like “going easy” to me. In fact, it sounded downright icky. “Oh? Is that all?” My words dripped with sarcasm.

  He shook his head. “I was going to give out your tasks a little at a time so you wouldn’t feel overwhelmed, but I can just as easily tell you now.” I squinted, and he continued. “When you’re finished with the feeding, you can clean out the stalls.”

  “Stalls?”

  “Yes, the stalls. There are two sets: one for the cows and one for the goats.”

  I thought aloud, “Cows and goats. Exactly what kind of farming does Kenny do anyway?”

  “He’s a dairy farmer,” John spoke as if the answer should have been clear. “How do you not know this? They’re your relatives. You’ve been here before.”

  “Yes, but we never discussed work. Well, we never really discussed Kenny’s work. Or Martha’s for that matter. Just mine.” I stopped for a moment only to realize how bad that sounded. How did I not know this? It was kind of an important fact. My ears were hot; they got that way when I was self-conscious. “I’m a terrible, selfish bitch who only talks about herself and never thought to ask what her aunt and uncle do for a living. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Okay...” John began to back away. “Well, I’m gonna get to work then. As much as I’d like to stand here and play therapist to you all day—”

  “Therapist? You know who needs a therapist? You! Because you are a rude young man who is just standing there with your judgey face just... judging people constantly when you don’t even know. You don’t even know me or what I’ve been through. So you can just take your bad manners and—”

  “Right.” He stepped back further with no intention of listening to my tirade. “Well, there’s a shovel and a bucket in the shed behind the house. You might even find some rubber gloves in there. I’ll be around if you have any trouble.”

  Trouble indeed, I thought. I wasn’t going to have any trouble. I was going to do the best-damned job at feeding livestock and cleaning stalls that any city girl had ever done. That’s right. John was going to be eating his words at the dinner table.

  Fuming as I watched him walk away, I wondered what he would actually be doing if I was doing all of this dirty work. It didn’t matter much as long as whatever he
did was happening far away from me. Wiggling my body from head to toe, I tried to expel the negative energy. Should I start my one hundred breaths? Where had I left off the last time I’d had to occupy the same space as John?

  I headed to the shed, harrumphing the entire way. Walking in the boots proved to be quite the challenge since my feet slid around inside them. I had to walk bow-legged like I'd ridden a horse and hold my arms out to my sides for balance. That seemed to help anyway. Surely it looked ridiculous, and I was glad John had already walked away before he had another excuse to make fun of me.

  In the shed, I found the shovel and bucket and even the rubber gloves. That was a relief. I was surprised that John would give me these duties without proper instructions. I had no idea where the food was for the animals, and I had no idea how to clean a trough. There weren’t any Lysol wipes in the shed, so it was safe to assume that I wouldn’t be using those. I figured I would just start with the first task and do a mental checklist as I went. I loved lists. I loved making them, and I loved checking things off of them. Sometimes I would think of things to do just so that I could put them on a list and cross them off. That wasn’t neurotic. It was organized.

  I headed down a hill to the left of the shed where I could see a structure in the distance. That must have been one of the feeding stations or... What did John call it again? It didn’t matter. Still walking in that absurd way, I made my way over and was happy to find a bag outside the building that read: “Goat Feed.” Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all. The inside of the structure reeked of hay and manure. Looking around, I saw that most of the cleaning job would involve shoveling animal poo and other disgusting piles of goop.

  There were four goats. That didn’t seem too bad. Certainly I could handle feeding four goats. I held my nose with my thumb and pointer finger and peeked into one of the stalls to look for a feeding trough. I figured it would look something like a bucket or a basket. The goat stared at me while chewing his hay. He seemed to be judging me hardcore the same way John did.