by Matt Moss
I feel Donald beside me and straighten up. “You all set for today?” he leans close and talks low. I nod while keeping my eyes on the approaching farmhands. I hear them talking about something and Mr. Gibbs laughs. That’s a good sign. Hopefully they’ll be in a good mood all day. It’ll make this go much smoother.
Donald continues. “I’ll create a distraction right before quittin’ time. Everyone will be tired, slow to react. When you see it, run like hell. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Well, look at you two up and ready to go this morning,” Mr. Gibbs says as he strolls up beside us. He smiles at me. “Donald’s good attitude must be rubbing off on you, eh, Cole?”
“Well, I saw that chicken he was eating last night and it made me want one myself.”
“Ha! Told you Meat of the Day was a good idea, didn’t I, Red? Incentives get men motivated.”
“Meat of the Day,” Red confirms with a reply and sips his coffee. The way he said it and the way he eyes me and Donald makes me nervous, as if he suspects we’re up to something.
I feel my heart begin to race as the four of us stand there in an awkward silence. I feel that even Mr. Gibbs is giving us a suspicious look now as he takes a long, slow drag off his cigarette, the end of it softly lighting his dark, scruffy face underneath his ball cap. My foot automatically digs at the ground and I cast my eyes down in nervous anticipation.
Mr. Red breaks away and I feel a flood of relief through my veins. He raps on the barn door. “Get up. Time to go to work.”
Everyone is slow to rise but obeys without having to be told twice. Larry is the first out the door and stands on the other side of Donald. I keep my eye on him, leery that he might give away our plan after listening to him talk last night. He’s not his chipper self, and that worries me.
“Good morning, Larry,” I greet, trying to gauge his loyalty. He looks straight ahead with a long face and croaks out a reply. “Morning,” he says. My jaw clenches and I swear Larry will pay if he does anything stupid. Donald feels the tension and gives a sharp nod, telling me to let it go, that it’ll be alright.
After Abram and Benji join us, Mr. Red gives the order. We march to a different field with tools in hand. I squeeze the handle and feel the sting of the broken blisters that I earned from yesterday. It’s not an agonizing pain, but it’ll draw your attention real quick. And perhaps that is one of life’s true battles—the war of attention. Everything always trying to take it away and pull you this way and that. Never one thing, always multiple. Always stealing thoughts and time.
The sun begins to rise as we round a bend of trees. The field lies before us in waiting. What it’s not in width, it makes up for in length. My best guess is that it’s at least a quarter mile long. Tall pines line the side that would be closest to the barn, and thick brush line the other with a few patches of trees scattered about. I figure we must be in the midwest because, for the most part, everything is flat. It would be nice to see a mountain. That’s where I’d be heading after I take the ATV. Maybe we’re in Colorado. There’s mountains there—big mountains—but you wouldn’t know it if you were on the eastern part of the state.
Mr. Gibbs whistles and points to the rows that need to be tilled. We know the drill and take our place without him needing to say anything at all. Mr. Gibbs cocks his head and nods with an impressed look on his face.
I feel a small sense of pride in pleasing him.
What the fuck? No.
I shake my head and strike the ground. My strokes are hard and fast and, before long, I’m at least fifty feet ahead of everyone else. I stretch my back and brush the sweat from my head. After taking a few deep breaths, I go back to work, fully determined to finish well ahead of everyone else and show the farmhands what I can do. Someone else can have the Meat of the Damn Day. I’ll be gone.
I see Mr. Red leave Mr. Gibbs and walk towards the direction we came in from, assumably going to fetch some water and bring it back on the four-wheeler. Probably gonna grab some food, too, so we don’t kill over out here.
I straddle my line and bring the hoe down. The blade hits something hard and I feel my hands tingle with numbness.
“Really?” I scramble to the ground and begin to dig around the rock. As I claw and scrape at the earth, I realize that it’s bigger than the last one.
I’m not gonna let you kick my ass this time.
Satisfied with the amount dug, and confident in my ability to remove the stone, I bend low and take a grip. A muscle twitches in my back and forces me to take a different stance. I attack it again, but my feet slip and the momentum causes me to crash. My right arm scrapes against the stone with all my weight driving into it, and I feel the hot sting immediately as I roll onto my side. My first reaction is to see if anyone noticed. Pride can sometimes hurt worse than physical pain.
Everyone’s about their own business and doesn’t take notice, which is good. I inspect my arm and can see the blood welling to the surface. I lay my head back down and stare at the clouds for a moment, trying to control the rage inside me. I don’t know why, but I feel it constantly—ever since I’ve been here. Like a newly caged lion.
“Son of a bitch. That’s it.” Standing and fully determined, I begin to dig around the rock to unearth it.
“Hey!”
Damn. It’s Gibbs.
“Go around!” he yells at me, his hand waving in a circular motion.
Last thing I need is to bring unwanted attention to myself and have them on my case the rest of the day. I look at the rock. “I’ll come back for you. Believe it.” The rock just sits there, triumphant, pompous. “You mocking me?” I threaten it.
“Damnit, Cole!” Mr. Gibbs says and starts stomping towards me.
“Alright, I’m going around!”
Begrudgingly, I skip over the rock and continue digging the row. I glare at it often until it’s far enough removed from sight. The blood has dried on my arm and rubbed clean against my shirt, leaving a dark brown stain on the brown cotton fabric.
“Cotton. The fabric of our lives.” A jingle from a commercial back when I was a kid. My pitch is off a little. Odd that I can remember that, but can’t remember important things like a family, or a job. First car. First kiss. Those are things people don’t really forget, I’m sure.
Thirty minutes later or so, I hear the four-wheeler in the distance. Mr. Red rounds the trees and comes into full view, riding my chariot of freedom. I drop the tool and begin to walk towards it, catching up with the others as we all arrive to meet him. Sliding to a stop, he cuts the motor off and jumps from the bike. Keys are left in the ignition.
“Help yourselves,” Mr. Red says and opens a large red cooler that’s strapped to the back rack. Not a word comes out of our mouths as we invade the cooler in a disorderly fashion, famished. Lunch consists of an ear of corn, an unwashed potato, and a few carrots. It’s better than nothing.
“Damn, y’all done drained the water cooler already?” Mr. Gibbs notes, frustrated that only a dribble filled his cup.
“I’ll run and get some more,” Mr. Red replies to which Gibbs immediately counters. “No, I’ll go. You stay and babysit for a while.” And just like that, Gibbs rides away on my bike. I tuck the carrot into my pocket and bite into the potato before walking back to my row. I toss the already-eaten corn cob and watch the arc, pleased with the distance as it bounces a couple times before resting in peace.
Donald slides up beside me. “So when we gonna do this?” he asks, talking low and keeping his head straight so not to give notice.
“Soon. Probably when he comes back. Then we wait until they split up and are away from the bike.” Looking to my right, over Donald’s shoulder, I see Larry eyeing us as we all walk back to work. “I don’t know about him,” I say and nod towards Larry.
Donald looks. “Who, Larry? He’s a touch crazy, but nothing to be concerned about.”
“I’m concerned that he’s going to tell them about our plan.”
“Nah. It’s going to
work. Watch for my cue,” he says then breaks away.
We all go back to work and the sun has passed its zenith. It’s beating down hot; unusually hot for spring where it should be comfortable weather.
An hour later, Mr. Gibbs comes rolling up on the ATV and jumps off to share something with Mr. Red. They raise their watchful eyes to us before turning their backs to partake in whatever it is that Mr. Gibbs brought back in a small plastic box. I wonder what they’re hiding? My attention is broke by Abram who is leaving his row on the end and walking towards the nearby brush line. He’s intently inspecting something, leaning in to get a closer look, but keeping his distance at the same time so not to alarm the farmhands. He looks back at them to make sure they didn’t see, then to each of us before turning and going back to work.
I shrug my shoulders and go back to work. Well, I make it look like I’m working anyways. Gotta conserve energy and watch for an opening. And Donald’s cue. He’s a bit unstable and not the sharpest tool in the shed. All I need is a distraction. Surely he won’t screw that up.
He looks up and gives me a sharp nod, then inclines his head to the farmhands, telling me to look. Sure enough, Mr. Red is walking back towards the barn and Mr. Gibbs is moving towards the tree line. Without thinking about anything else, the tool falls out of my hand and I begin to walk. Donald scurries to me bent low then speeds past, moving fast towards Gibbs while I keep a straight line to the four-wheeler. Halfway there and Red’s out of sight. Gibbs bends slightly, then thrusts his hips forward as he takes a piss at the edge of the pines.
My heart is racing, pounding inside my chest. Adrenaline kicks in and I can already imagine myself jumping on the bike and tearing away. Then a thought hits me like a cold bucket of water—why didn’t Mr. Red take the bike back to the barn?
Did he take the keys with him? Does Mr. Gibbs have the key? What was in the plastic box? Before I realize it, I’m standing still and less than a hundred yards from freedom. I look to my side and see Donald standing guard between me and Gibbs, looking to him, then back to me. The farmhand still has his back turned.
I run for it.
I can hardly feel my body move due to the rush of excitement and nervousness, but somehow my legs keep driving, digging into the field. I sail over Donald’s row, knowing that if I trip, it could all be over with. There’s no room for mistakes when you’re playing high stakes.
My breathing becomes labored; mostly from nerves mixed with fear mixed with anticipation. Ten more seconds and I’m there. I’m running faster than I ever have before.
Five more sec—
Something hits me like a ton of bricks from my blindside and my feet leave the ground. Heavy weight crashes on top of me and the wind rushes out of my lungs on impact. I hate that feeling. It’s one of the scariest feelings ever the first time it happens. You wonder if you’ll ever breathe again as your body fights for its life. Eventually, the lungs begin to purchase small amounts of life-giving oxygen again and breathing returns to normal. It’s still scary as shit when it happens.
“Mr. Gibbs! Help! He’s trying to escape!” Larry yells from on top of me. His grip bites into my wrists and he’s much stronger than I imagined. I feel his long nails dig deeper into my skin as he tries to control my arms.
I grind my teeth and strain my head to see Gibbs running towards us. Donald has a confused look on his face and doesn’t know what to do. He’s froze and looking to me for an answer.
I give him a look that says I got a crazy guy on top of me right now, Donald. Maybe you could help.
Damn you, Larry.
I buck my hips which causes him to lose balance and attempt to throw him off me. He regains the mount, but allows me enough room to wiggle a leg up and wrap it around his waist. With leverage applied through my hips and upper body, I roll him over and can see the scared look in his eyes.
He cries out. “Mr. Gibbs, help!”
I break the hold on my wrist and bring an elbow down to his face.
I feel his nose break and I cringe for a split second upon hearing the sound that it made. Larry is screaming in blinding pain as I compress myself on him and pin his arms to the ground. His face is beside mine, blood is pouring from his nose, and for a second we lock eyes. I’ve seen that look before; on the nature channel, I believe. It’s usually found on a gazelle or some other animal in search of water when a crocodile lunges up and latches onto their neck. Maybe it’s a little water buffalo that lagged behind and fell prey to a pack of lions. It’s a wide-eyed look full of terror and dismay. It’s the look in Larry’s eyes right now.
I wonder what he sees in mine.
Then Larry does something I don’t expect; he head-butts me. I black out for a split second and my strength fails just enough for him to roll me over.
I can’t believe the son of a bitch just head-butted me.
He commences to pummel my face with his fists. I can hear Mr. Gibbs yelling at him to stop. “He’s trying to take it all away!” Larry cries. “I won’t let you take it all away!” he tells me. I avoid damage the best I can by turning my head from side to side and blocking hits with my arms, but he’s so damn fast. My head’s numb at this point and everything’s getting fuzzy.
It’s clear that he’s not going to stop, and at this point, there’s not much I can do about it.
I feel the weight of the world lift off me as Donald pulls Larry aside.
“Arghh, let me go! He’s going to take it away, can’t you see? Can’t you see!”
“Hold him, Donald!” I hear Mr. Gibbs yell as he runs to the ATV. He unties a rope from the front rack and hurries towards us. As he approaches, he pulls a knife out of his pocket and unfolds a blade.
“I’ll kill you!” Larry strains against the hold, but Donald’s got him tight. “I’ll kill you!” he threatens me, seething with rage. I believe that he would if he could.
Mr. Gibbs doubles the rope over and, with a swift cut, splits the rope in two equal parts. He helps Donald pin Larry to the ground who’s still thrashing around like a wild animal. With deft hands, Mr. Gibbs binds Larry’s wrists together with the rope. His speed and fluid motion; it’s as if he’s done it a thousand times before. I saw hog roping on television once done in a similar manner.
A wave of relief washes over me knowing that Larry is subdued. The feeling goes away when Mr. Gibbs aggressively rolls me over and begins to tie my wrists with the other piece of rope. “What are you doing? He started it!” My protest falls on deaf ears and Gibbs hauls me to my feet.
“What the hell were you doing, Cole?” Gibbs asks.
Through the swelling in my brain, I’m slow to react, but I know what he’s talking about. I play dumb. “I… just wanted a drink of water. The next thing I know, Larry’s on top of me.”
“Why the hell were you running so fast. Don’t bull shit me, now.”
Good question. I look down because I don’t know how to answer it. Guilt takes hold and surely they can see it all over me written plain as day. Donald puts both hands behind the back of his head, his chest heaving from struggling with Larry, face wet with sweat. He looks at me like there’s nothing he can do, and he would be right. I got caught.
Gibbs spits on the ground near my feet but he’s not too upset over the whole ordeal, surprisingly annoyed more than anything. He swipes the hat from his head and wipes his brow before flipping it back on. By this time, Abram and Benji are gathered around. “Work’s over for today. Let’s go,” Mr. Gibbs says and gives me a subtle shove. He hauls Larry up. “I don’t wanna hear one more word from you, understand?” Larry nods and gives me a go-to-hell look. I keep my head down as we all walk in silence back to the barn.
Mr. Red walks out of the white house as we approach. “What’s going on?”
“These two got in a fight. Work’s over for the day.” Mr. Gibbs pulls Larry by the wrist towards the house.
“What are you doing with him?” Mr. Red asks. Mr. Gibbs cocks his head like he should know what he’s doing with Larry, but do
esn’t say anything. Before Larry enters the white house, he looks over his shoulder at us with wide, frightened eyes. Gibbs closes the door after they go in.
Mr. Red steps up to me, presumably taking me away to face the same punishment. He holds a finger up in warning before pressing it against my chest and pushing me backwards. “All of you in the barn for the rest of the day. I don’t want to hear of anything else, do I make myself clear?”
“Yessir,” Benji says. We all turn around and go together.
There’s still hours of daylight left, but my body is more than ready for bed and I nearly pass out as I sit on the dirt floor. Over a throbbing head, I can still feel their stares, the disappointment and the shame.
“Well, today went to shit,” Donald states and scuffs his boot on the ground, digging.
“I knew it would. We told you not to try it,” Benji says.
“Piss off, Benji,” Donald replies. “Maybe next time you can grow some balls and help instead of bitch about everything.”
“I’m sorry, guys.” I croak out. “It was supposed to have worked. It should have worked.”
After a brief moment of silence, Abram begins humming cheerfully to himself as he lays down on his bed.
“What are you so damn cheery about,” Donald asks.
Abram sits up. “Today wasn’t all shit. I found something while you all were messing about.”
Donald snorts. “Oh, and what’s that?”
“There’s a patch of blackberries on the other side of that field.”
“I like blackberries. Cobbler and a little vanilla ice-cream can’t be beat,” Benji says.
Donald shakes his head. “And I suppose that makes everything better. What the hell good does that do? Blackberries ain’t gonna help our situation here. Unless they’re magical blackberries that grant us the ability to fly.” In sarcasm, Donald flaps his hands like they’re wings.
“I beg to differ,” Abram says with a grin. “Blackberries make a mighty fine wine.”
