“Bastard!” John shouted, before getting to his feet to hug Michael, “Dangerous, sneaking up on a man…”
“Who were you expecting? A burglar?” Michael laughed loudly at the stumpy man, just before finding a spare ratchet to take apart the round table a few feet away in the kitchen area.
“The neighbors here are a bit…unpredictable.” John itched his thick beard in thought, his deep, loud, and heavily accented voice filled the air. “It’ll be nice not having to worry about them any longer. Last night there must’ve been an all-out brawl just down the street.”
“Could’ve been the protest. I’m sure it got out of hand at some point.”
“Likely so.” After wiping away some sweat, John started back on unscrewing the bolts that held his bed together. The two of them spent some time talking politics and the state of the world. John loved to grumble about all things under the sun and Michael never knew a time that he didn’t like to make himself heard.
“Worthless protesters,” John started, after several quiet and busy minutes, “could barely make it through the crowd on my beer run.”
“Beer run, huh?”
“Hell yeah, my wallet may go dry, but I don’t plan on doing the same.” John poked out his belly as he rubbed it.
“Well, we got plenty of beer and wine back at the house.” Michael paused just after he finished taking the dresser apart. “As for the wallet, I may be able to find a place for you on the crew. Boss has many undesirables employed, myself included.” John walked over to him with a freshly opened beer that dripped with condensation. The two of them sat on the mattress that laid on the floor.
“Thanks, brother, really means a lot. It’s been dang near impossible these days. Everyone’s got their radar cranked to ten, with Unity cracking down and what not. If you ain’t payin’ those damnable taxes then good luck, ya know? Not many payin’ under the table these days.”
“Yeah, my boss is a real good guy and there’s actually a few of us Catholics on the site, several STORK opposing evangelicals too.”
“Well, I ain’t got much experience hammerin’ and what have you, and you saw how I struggled with this bed. But I’ll definitely take you up on that offer-” Just then, the door creaked open, interrupting John mid-speech, as Maria and Cole entered.
“Some new scratches on the furniture, huh?” Maria critiqued.
“Honey, we ain’t even carried it down the stairs yet, just you wait.” John smiled over at Michael. “Plus, the more scratches a piece of furniture has, the less noticeable it is.” He laughed. “And pretty perfect timing really, we’d just sat down for a brew.”
John reached into the ice-filled cooler and pulled out two more beers, opened them and handed them to Maria and Cole. Cole, after taking the beer and joining everyone in a toast to moving day, looked shocked and uncomfortable about drinking. He waited to take his first sip when no one was looking.
“Better start working on that a bit faster, brother,” John teased, chuckling at Cole. After hearing this Cole chugged his entire beer, something he had never done before in front of adults. He blushed as everyone laughed at the spectacle.
…
After their break, the four of them got right back to work with the move. They carried the furniture down the three treacherous flights of stairs per Maria’s instructions. She made sure to watch them closely as they maneuvered the bed and pivoted around the railing. Luckily, for John, the bed received no additional damage and he was off the hook for the time being, something they all laughed about in the cramped ride over to the house.
It wasn’t common for people to own vehicles, so they all rode together in the truck’s front seat. Michael was pressed against the left door, Maria sat in John’s lap, and Cole sandwiched between everyone in a sideways manner with his neck bent against the ceiling of the truck.
“What’s for dinner?” John asked as he rolled down his window. By holding his arm against the outside of the door he made a little more room for the other occupants.
“Well, Amelia told me last night that she was working on a feast of lasagna. We’ll probably have salad and bread as well.” Michael also lowered his window. A cool breeze flushed through the truck’s cabin. “And, of course, Father Burns will be there holding Mass before dinner.”
“Father Burns?” Maria interrupted, finally joining the conversation. “Thought he moved south. How long has he been back?”
“Well, he’s back. He’s been back for a couple of weeks now. Holds Mass at our house twice a week. He was only gone for a short while to meet with some clergy, I think he’s said.”
“Do you know what for?”
“I never asked.”
The road grew much darker due to the massive solar panels that draped across much of the outskirts of the city. There were even areas that had streetlights employed all hours of the day. For many people, even the inhabitants of these artificially darkened regions, the massive structures were awe-inspiring, though the lack of natural light filled them with a bit of gloomy somberness. Stars, clouds, and the moon were forgotten faces to the houses and streets there; only the rain and occasional wind made its way through the cracks. When she was younger, Maria commonly remarked how she detested the sight of them. It was much of the reason she and John decided to leave for the city once they married.
“I miss dad,” she said suddenly. “He’d drive us down past the edge to see the trees and animals, or take us over to Ruffner Mountain. We always pretended that we were time traveling.” John rubbed her back as she spoke. “We’ll have to go sometime soon, Mikey. It’s been way too long.”
“Absolutely!”
“What is there to do out there?” Cole asked.
“You’ve never been? Not even to Ruffner? You live just a mile away from it.” Maria’s eyebrows raised.
“No,” Cole answered, having always been a child of the indoors. He was more fascinated by the perfection of virtual reality than the grimy natural outdoors. Who could blame him, when within the comfort of his home, he could be adventuring in a fantastical land.
“I can’t believe this, Mikey. How have you not taken this boy? You oughta be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m always too busy!”
“Well, you’re gonna have to make time!”
Amelia’s slender figure towered over the soapy dish water in her sink. Her shoulder-length hair was wrapped up on top of her head in a messy, sort of half bun. Wispy, dirty blonde hairs poked in every direction, barely tamed by her elastic hairband. Everything from the warmth of the water and the wonderful aroma of cooking lasagna brought great joy to her. The house may be old and need some updating, such as the fifty-year-old cabinets and out of style blue and green tiles that Michael’s grandparents had installed, but there wasn’t a speck of dust on anything. She plunged her hands into the water and grabbed the nearest glass, scrubbing it relentlessly with her rag. Whenever she cooked, she cleaned before, during, and after. Amelia brought her head up momentarily to gaze outside the window, just as a reflection from the approaching truck caught her attention. She quickly wiped her hands dry with an out of season Christmas-themed towel hanging near the sink and darted out the front door.
“Wow, y'all got that done a lot faster than I thought you would’ve!” She shouted excitedly, hugging them as they exited the vehicle one by one.
“Have you seen Stone today?” Cole asked.
“I’m sure I heard him go in his room earlier. Haven’t seen him though. Guess somebody had a late night.”
“Wake him up, Cole. I want to unload this truck before Father Burns gets here,” Michael ordered as he climbed into the back of the truck and turned on the light. It wasn’t yet nighttime, but the overshadowing solar panels made it much darker in their neighborhood.
…
Cole entered the bedroom he shared with his brother. He saw Stone stretched across the lower half of a bunk bed, but he wasn’t asleep, Cole could see the glow of a screen illuminating his brother’s face.
“Sup?” he asked the intruder, turning on the light next to him.
“Mikey wants you to help us finish up the move before the priest gets here.” Cole cleaned his glasses, even though there wasn’t anything on them.
“Kill me,” Stone sighed just before placing a pillow over his shaved head.
“What?”
“Maush wnd relemd fimnshi shighe…,” he replied, his words muffled and incomprehensible.
“Please. Mikey will pitch a fit if you don’t come down. He’s already sorta pissed about you not showing up this morning.” Cole watched his brother remove the pillow covering his face. “What happened last night, anyway?”
“It was amazing. Me and the boys went out to see that protest.” He reached for the laptop on his nightstand and opened it up to show his brother the footage he recorded the night before with his camera. “I’ve already put a video together. Close the door quick.”
Cole watched the video with his brother. The opening scene displayed a crowd of hundreds, holding their signs and shouting chants. They were assembled in front of the waterless Storyteller fountain, some hanging off of the statue of a ram, shouting and crying out in the cool night air. Seconds later, a fight broke out, for which Stone was, evidently, one of the instigators.
He and his friends approached, armed with nothing more than their fists, and started to rip signs out of the protesters’ hands, then tearing them to pieces. Stone and his buddies had their faces covered in a variety of ways to conceal each person’s identity. The only apparent uniformity was that many of them sported hastily painted crosses on the backs of their jackets and hoodies.
Cole recognized the symbol from the news. He never wanted to bring it up to his brother, whom he loved very much. It pained him greatly to imagine what Stone must be getting involved in. His mind drifted as the montage played, trying to find an excuse for his brother’s behavior.
Maybe he isn’t a part of the really bad stuff. He could just be screwing around, Cole thought. His spirit lifted briefly only to fall away again. He hid his sadness beneath a slight smile, trying to sell that the video entertained him. Or maybe he doesn’t know what he’s involved with. Images of the recent bombings and crying and bloodied people from the news flashed in his mind.
“Check this out. It’s the best part. I can’t believe I got it on camera.” Stone nudged his younger brother.
Some of the larger protesters emerged from the gathering and struck Stone’s camera out of his hand as they attacked. The camera flipped multiple times before landing on the ground, capturing video of debris and streamers floating by. The footage displayed a perspective that gazed out across the street. Cole saw strobing red and blue lights as the loud wail of sirens drowned out the screams and cursing of those engaged in an all-out brawl.
After a few moments of loud thuds and the snapping of wooden signs, canisters hurled from down the street landed nearby and gas sputtered from them. Stone’s bloody hand came into view as he grabbed the camera, his masked face looked over the lens while he dusted it off. After a brief retreat, he continued to record the dispersing of the protesters and rioters alike, darting into the alleys and behind buildings, vanishing into the midnight.
“Cole!” Michael shouted as his footsteps led up the stairs to their room. Stone quickly closed his archaic laptop and placed it under his pillow just before the door swung open.
“We’re on our way down. He was just telling me the game plan,” Stone responded calmly, without the slightest bit of guilt on his face.
“Where the hell’ve you been all day?”
“I completely forgot about the move. I stayed over at Jeremy’s house last night after we all went into the city.”
“Right, so you just forgot our entire conversation from the night before,” Michael growled, as the last of his patience drained away. “Just get your asses downstairs and help with what we’ve got left. We’ll talk later, after dinner.” He stopped abruptly as he caught a glimpse of a red knit ski mask poking out just below Stone’s mattress. A hand-painted white cross just above the eye holes shone brightly against the red fabric, the symbol was used only by the lower ranking Zealots; however, it made no difference to Michael -- trouble is trouble, no matter what stage it’s at.
Cole walked out of the room with Stone following him, but Michael stopped Stone by pressing his hand against his chest. Michael’s eyes glittered, ablaze with anger. Blood rushed to his face, flushing it a deep red. He pushed Stone back into the room and slammed the door. Stone, shocked, backed himself into a corner of the room, knocking over a lamp.
“What the hell is your deal?”
Michael bent down and grabbed the mask, gripping it tightly in his hands. Looking down at it he shook his head, his teeth were fully gritted, and his lips tightly pinched together.
“I know you’ve been out,” he began, speaking in a hushed, but harsh tone. “At first I thought it was just the typical parties, but then I began to suspect you were up to something. I never would have guessed this. This symbol here isn’t something to take lightly, Stone.” He looked up at him, his finger on the cross.
“It’s nothing.” Stone tried to laugh it off, scratching his forehead.
“No, there is nothing excusable about this. I don’t care if you’re a poser or trying to fit in with the other kids. This clique you’ve mixed yourself up with are terrorists. They’re honest to God terrorists and nothing more. I won’t tolerate even a hint of it here.” He folded the mask in his hand and placed it into his back pocket.
“I haven’t done anything like that, Mikey. My friends and I just wear that when we go out screwing with the protesters.” Stone looked out the bedroom window. He could see Cole and the others unloading the truck, so he cautiously drew closer to Michael. “They call all of us terrorists when referring to anyone associated with our faith. They make signs with the pope’s image in league with tyrants of the past. They literally chant and call for the heads of the Faithful.”
“And when you go out to pick fights with them, you’re only stoking the fire.” Michael looked directly at Stone, disgusted and no less enraged than before. “If I find that you haven’t stopped this after today, then you’ll be out.” Michael turned and opened the door with no further words.
With the two of them working angrily, they finished the job quickly. The others could see clearly that there had been a disagreement. John tried multiple times, in vain, to crack jokes, but only received laughs from Amelia and Cole. Nothing he said had lightened the mood and nothing changed, even after the truck pulled away to return to its home lot.
…
All of Maria and John’s belongings sat in their room, the same room she painted green in her late teen years. The couple unpacked and arranged their stuff. All things considered, they were happy and feeling excited about the change. Amelia continued to work in the kitchen, she lowered the temperature on the oven and prepared the table for her guests. Cole and Stone sat upon their bunks, resting from all of the lifting they did, as if it had been so brutal on them. Their faces were lit with screens and grungy music filled their room.
But Michael sat quietly on the front porch, enjoying one of the few personal pleasures he knew. The crackling sound brought him peace as the cigar burned, his face made orange by the hot end. He watched the lights along the streets flicker and glow underneath the dark solar panels that stretched over all the houses. No grass, no trees, no flowers, nothing grew in the yards, only concrete and gravel lots with decaying homes sitting upon them. He could hear the neighbors arguing and sirens wailing on a nearby street. Even so, Michael’s bliss only grew deeper as the smoke twirled and curled around him. The sweet scent of the cigar masked the reek emanating from the nearby trash bins stacked along the sidewalks.
As he flicked the ash from the end of his cigar, his eye caught a movement in the outer darkness, just beyond the nearest streetlight. He had been waiting for that movement. An older man, tall and taking long strides entered the f
lood of light before him. His silver hair shone brightly as did the spectacles clenched against his bearded face. It was Father Burns, the priest who visited twice a week to hold Mass and eat dinner. Michael raised from his chair, shuffled down the stone steps and along the sidewalk to meet Burns by the street.
“Care if I have a puff?” Father Burns smiled, reaching his hand out greedily to receive the cigar.
“Be my guest,” he responded in monotone. His mind in another place.
“Mmm, this one’s quite sweet. Thank you, Michael.” Michael didn’t respond and stood quietly next to him. “Something seems to be troubling you,” he said bluntly. Michael clearly wasn’t his normal self.
“I’m not sure if it’s my place to share, Father. Maybe you’ll hear of it in someone’s confession tonight.” Michael pulled the mask from his back pocket and presented it to the priest.
“Perhaps my homily will speak to its owner tonight,” Burns replied, his surprise dying quickly. This wasn’t the first time he had seen such things.
“I surely hope so, Father.”
“Well,” he said, standing in front of the house, “let those sinners know I’ve arrived and that I’ll be in the backyard for the forgiveness of their sins.” Burns laughed as he placed his collar around his neck and his stole over his shoulders. “And come to me, if you need to talk.”
“Yes sir,” Michael answered as he snatched the cigar from the priest’s lips. “Maria and John are crashing here for a while as well. They may come down for confession shortly.”
Sowing Season Page 2
