by JT Pearson
*
My brother Frank came to visit with his wife. He told me that he and Erica had decided to buy the farm. I asked about his kids and he told me that the kids had already been integrated into their new school for weeks and were still getting used to the change. I thought that Frank’s change of occupation was a bit careless, having six children to support, but I found myself admiring his spontaneity and his love for adventure. I watched the excitement in his eyes while he showed me pictures of his farm and expounded on the virtues of having land. “See all of this grass over here, that’s mine. This shrub, that’s mine. All of these rocks in a pile right here, mine. This dirt, this hole in the ground, this hubcap that someone abandoned on my property, mine – that is, if I want it. That’s the way it is when you own land.” I couldn’t help but envy him. We also talked about other things than the land that he lorded over. He told me that he was a little worried about Gemma. She had grown depressed and had begun speaking morosely about strange subjects in gory detail. He told me that if her strange behavior continued he was going to seek professional help for her. She had always been such a bright little girl, a burst of sunshine, a model of perennial happiness, a tulip really. What had happened, I thought to myself. I asked Frank whether he thought it was just a poor adjustment to the change of school or something more. He didn’t want to assume anything. He hoped that it was just the change. We both secretly feared that it might’ve been something more. The onset of something that galloped through our family tree, but was rarely mentioned, as if the topic were even spoken of that it might come after us like an angry ghost that had been laying dormant for a while. Schizophrenia.
It was a beautiful afternoon but I couldn’t help feeling depressed. I kept wondering how anyone could be so depressed on such a glorious sunny day. Things had really been going poorly. But there was one bright spot in the day when the mail came and it was delivered by a new mailman.”
I took my letters from him and said, “The other guy finally just up and quit, huh?”
“I guess,” said the new guy and kept walking.
I opened my letters and crumbled up two fresh rejection letters from subpar publishing houses. Every day was sunny for weeks but my heart painted all of them gray. It was so bad that I didn’t want to write or eat or do anything or go anywhere. I just wanted to lie in the chair out on my porch and listen to Druckerman talk about the varying quality of underwear.
One afternoon, Frank showed up in front of my house in his minivan with a trailer full of goats and a van-load of miserable, bruised and soiled children. He got out of his vehicle, soaked and dripping, and approached.
“What happened?”
The door to the van started to open again behind him but he yelled at the kids to stay put for the moment. The door closed. “Me and Erica bought some goats and we were trying to transport them in the van with the kids but everything went wrong. The goats shit on me and all of the kids, he said, looking down at his clothes. One of them even managed to open my laptop and shit on the screen and then close it again. Goats can be really mean. I called a friend on my cell and he’s bringing us a trailer and cages for the goats. I was wondering if we could use your garden hose to wash up? And then maybe do you think we could borrow some old shorts and t-shirts?”
“Yeah, of course, Frank. You know where the hose is out back. I’ll grab soap and towels.”
Frank motioned to his family and they got out of the van and headed for the back of the house. A couple of his children waved, their tiny hands dripping with goat shit, and laughed a little. I smiled and waved back. I looked around for the cat but he was nowhere to be seen. I ordered some pizzas while they got cleaned up. Frank transferred the goats to the cages on the trailer. They stared at me the entire time. I loaded Frank’s van with plastic and towels and then he and Erica took the van to a car wash to see what they could get done with it. I visited with his kids while they ate. We put a movie on. Something about ducks that robbed banks. I kept wondering what in the hell ducks would do with money. Gemma sat down next to me and I eased us into a conversation about how things were going.
“Have you been sad lately, Gemma?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“There’s a teacher at school that’s against me. And a few of the kids too.”
“People can be so rotten, Gemma. What have they been doing?”
“The teacher bullies me in front of the class and everybody laughs, and the kids follow me home and throw rocks at me and tease me.”
“That’s horrible, Gemma! We’re going to put a stop to that right away. We’ll kill that teacher!”
“Mao,” the cat agreed.
“No. If you guys help me it’ll just be worse for me later. I’m going to handle it myself. I don’t want anyone’s help.”
“No, Gemma. We can’t let that go on.”
“Mao,” agreed the cat.
“I mean it, Uncle Jake. Even though I really like you, if you meddle I’ll never forgive you.”
She folded her arms and tightened her lips.
“You need to talk to your dad about this or I’m going to.”
“No! Keep out of this! Let me handle it. You don’t remember what’s like to be a kid anymore. To be honest with you, Uncle Jake, I can’t imagine you ever being a kid.” She patted my shoulder. We sat in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry I yelled. If I haven’t got this problem under control within a couple of months I’ll talk to my dad. Okay?”
I sighed. “Alright. If that’s what you really want.” I smiled at her. “You’re so tough.”
“I know.”
“Mao,” agreed the cat.
“We can talk about something else if you want, Gemma.”
“Okay. Did you ever see someone’s eyes pop out and all of their blood shoot out of their face, Uncle Jake?”
“No. I never have, Gemma.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
“Mao,” said the cat.
“Did you ever see someone get their arms ripped off?”
“Nope. Not yet.”
“Me neither.”
“Mao,” said the cat.
That was the way the conversation went until my brother and his wife returned.
When Frank and his wife got back, I just advised Frank that he find time to spend with his daughter, maybe even visit her at school when he got the chance. I felt a little guilty about saying that to him but I didn’t really think that I actually broke my promise to Gemma. Frank assured me that he was going to visit the school as soon as he got a chance. I walked back into the living room with Frank as he gathered his kids to leave. I turned and looked out the window. Gemma was sitting in the yard with the cat, rubbing her belly. I was amazed at how well they got along. The cat might’ve even liked Gemma better than me. I felt a little jealous.
