The Farm

by Matt Moss

  “Can’t get much worse than Larry,” Donald japes.

  Abram laughs. “Calm down. If they come back, I’ll just have to offer them a drink. I’m sure they’ll be impressed by the ingenuity and craftsmanship of it. Besides, those tight asses need to loosen up a bit. If anyone needs a drink, it’s them.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  He picks up the bucket that’s about three-quarters full and places it to his lips. It’s quite a sight, really. I mean, who drinks out of a five gallon bucket?

  I watch him, anticipating his reaction and thinking about my own after I have my first taste. His eyes are closed as he pulls the bucket away. His head’s cocked back in ecstasy as he savors the drink before letting it slide down his throat. My mouth’s open, yearning to feel what he feels at this very moment.

  He opens his eyes and doesn’t say a word, simply allowing his face to tell how good it is. It passes to Donald next and he takes three deep swallows before coming up for air. “Blessed nectar of the gods, that’s good.”

  Abram slaps him on the shoulder “Told you it would be!”

  Donald passes the oversized cup to me. I feel their eyes upon me and I’m nervous. I want to drink but part of me remains reserved, almost telling me that I shouldn’t. It’s yes or no. Do or don’t.

  Do.

  It burns ever so slightly but lies somewhat sweet on my tongue. I pull away with blinking eyes and stare in wonder at what lies in my hands; life-giving purple water swirling inside its white walls beckoning me to take another drink.

  I do.

  I pass the bucket to Benji and feel the burn in my chest rising all the way to my tingling lips. It tastes…chemical, though I don’t know why or how. It just does. The bucket passes around and comes back to me. I drink deeper in attempt to bring on the feeling that’s promised. I’ve seen enough staggering, silly people on television and social media to know what happens after you drink too much.

  But for some reason, it doesn’t hit me like I thought it would. In fact, I don’t feel much different than I did ten minutes ago. “When’s this supposed to kick in?”

  “You should be feeling it now. I do,” Abram says before taking another drink.

  Donald laughs low and slow like a drunk uncle at a family gathering. “Yeah, I’m feeling it.”

  Really?

  “What’s it like?” I ask.

  Donald takes a drink then passes it to me. “Here. You tell me after you take another few swigs.”

  I begin to chug.

  “Whoa, whoa… take it easy,” Abram says and reaches for the bucket to drag it down. The interruption causes me to choke and I spit the red wine along his pant leg in reflex. I hack from the drink going down the wrong tube, and Benji begins patting me on the back. “It’s okay, buddy. Breathe.”

  Damnit… cough. Don’t touch me. Cough. Cough…

  I place the half empty bucket on the ground and, after a few moments of Benji beating on my back, begin to regain my composure.

  Thunder cracks overhead and the wind begins to howl. The barn is shut up pretty good for the most part and protects us from the storm. In unison, we all look up and wait for the rain to come. Moments later, it hits like a tempest and hammers the barn with cold blasts of fury. Inside the barn it smells earthy and new, the storm bringing dusty air from a countryside far away.

  Benji sits on the ground and wraps his arms around his knees. He’s rocking back and forth like a scared child and I offer him whatever comfort I can provide. “It’s okay, buddy. Breathe.” I sit down beside him and place a sarcastic hand on his knee.

  “Smart ass,” he scolds. “I don’t like storms.”

  Donald laughs and sits as well. Abram does the same and drags the bucket towards him to take another drink. Before he raises the bucket, Donald poses a question. “Should we save some?”

  “Nah. YOLO, son,” Abram replies and takes another shot.

  Benji cocks his head. “YOLO?”

  After Abram’s done, he passes it to his left. “You only live once,” he says with a wink.

  “Oh.”

  One could only hope.

  “Cole. Take the drink, man.”

  “Hmm? Oh, right.” My arms feel heavier than normal as I lift the bucket to my lips. I drink deep and as I pass the cup to Benji, the intoxication hits me. So this is what everyone’s talking about.

  A happy feeling washes over me and I become lost in the moment—not thinking about anything other than how good it feels. Donald and Abram are smiling at me like a couple of dimwits, knowing all too well that I’m feeling the same sensation as them. A smile creeps across my face as my senses dull.

  Lightning flashes, the light breaking through the cracks in the wood planks. After the slow rolling thunder passes, we all laugh out loud and for no reason. I laugh because they’re laughing, because it’s funny.

  Benji’s a little more calm now after taking a couple mouthfuls of Abram’s dark potion. A drop of rain hits his head and he wipes it away before it runs into his eyes. He laughs along with us. I take a breath and casually glance over to Larry and notice that he hasn’t moved.

  “How much is left?” Donald asks, leaning towards Abram to get a closer look.

  Abram leans in for inspection, hovering over the bucket that rests between his legs. “There’s only a quarter left. Cheers,” he says and brings it up for a drink.

  Donald turns his head and spits. “You were right, man. This is some good shit. Best I’ve ever had as a matter of fact.” No sooner than Donald says the words, Abram’s pulling away from the bucket with a mouthful of wine and throws his gaze to Donald. Without warning, he spews from the mouth and covers me and Donald.

  “What the hell!” Donald wipes his face and looks at Abram with confusion and anger. I bring my shirt up to dry my face.

  Before anyone can get mad, Abram’s laughing like a madman, nearly choking himself. Donald looks at him like he’s crazy, and I’m questioning his sanity myself.

  “What’s so damn funny?” Donald growls.

  Abram pauses through the laughter to answer. “You said it was the best you’d ever had.” His eyes go wide at Donald and then his mouth goes wide, spewing more laughter.

  It takes a minute to sink it but we all eventually begin to laugh with him. I laugh so hard that my stomach knots up and I panic for a moment wondering if it will ever go back to normal. It does, and everyone settles back down after the joke’s over.

  It’s my turn again. There’s not much left.

  “Here, Benji, finish it.”

  He waves me off. “I can’t.”

  “Quit being a bitch, Benji. Finish it.” Donald says.

  Benji glares at him. He digs deep and braves up to the challenge. “I’m not a bitch, you bitch.”

  “Oh, shit!” Abram says and puts a hand to his mouth. “Benji just called you a bitch.”

  Donald shows a mouthful of teeth and nods in appreciation. “It’s about damn time, Benji. That’s what I’m talking about!” He reaches across the space between us and offers his fist. Benji bumps it with his own and puts the bucket to his lips. It’s more than he thought it was, but he doesn’t bring it down until the wine’s gone.

  “Hell yeah, son!” Donald says and jumps up to congratulate him.

  Benji tosses the empty bucket behind him and stands tall.

  Lightning flashes brighter than usual and we all turn towards the direction of it. The shadow of Mr. Gibbs is standing in the doorway, his silhouette made clear in the lightning.

  The thunder rolls.

  He walks into the light of the barn with cruel intentions.

  “Mr. Gibbs!” Abram calls to him. “We were just talking about you. Come in out of the weather and join us.”

  “There’s none left,” Benji whispers out loud.

  “Shut up, Benji,” Donald spits back.

  I’m the closest one to Mr. Gibbs and feel like he’s coming straight towards me. To my surprise, the other guys step up and stand beside
me. For the first time in my life, I know what it’s like to have friends.

  Mr. Gibbs meets us but keeps his distance. “What the hell do you all think you’re doing?”

  “Playing truth or dare,” Abram smarts off. “Care to join us?”

  Mr. Gibbs isn’t amused and I see his hand twitch at his side, but I can’t see what he’s holding in the dark.

  Donald takes a step. “You look like a ‘dare’ kind of guy, Mr. Gibbs.” I see Donald’s fists are clenched and he’s looking for a fight. “So what’ll it be. Truth? Or dare?”

  Shit.

  Mr. Gibbs’s wants to throttle us here and now, and it’s not just the fury on his face that gives it away. It’s in the way he stands and composes himself, like an outlaw from the old west ready to draw. He’s waiting on an opening; some action from one of us to give him reason to react without abandon. Mr. Gibbs is the type of man that doesn’t stop until it’s too late and he’s gone too far.

  “I’ll ask one more time. What do you think you’re all doing?” His white eyes stare dangerously at the four of us, seeking an answer that he already knows.

  “Getting drunk,” Abram says and throws his hands up in defense. “Is there something wrong with that? I mean, what else are we supposed to do in this godforsaken hell?”

  Mr. Gibbs looks around the barn then takes us all in. His lips curl as he sucks air through his teeth. “Have fun, then.” He glares at us with eyes that promise punishment is soon to come. “See you in the morning.”

  To all of our surprise, he turns and walks away. After he’s good and gone, Benji runs to shut the door.

  “That’s it. We’re screwed.” Benji stomps up to Abram and puts a finger to his chest. “It’s all your damn fault!”

  Abram shoves him back. “I didn’t make you drink.”

  “Might as well have! It’s all you’ve been talking about for weeks now.”

  “Alright. Let’s all calm down,” Donald says in attempt to break the tension. “It’ll be alright. I mean, what are they gonna do… eat us?”

  I throw my two cents in. “Donald’s right. The only thing they’ll do is work us a bit harder tomorrow and probably serve us nothing but beans for supper. I’m not worried about it.”

  My words seem to soothe Benji and he calms back down to his normal, skittish self.

  “Right. What are they gonna do? Can’t get much worse,” Donald says, inspiring hope.

  “Yeah. Everything will be as shitty as normal,” Abram agrees. “That’s why I wanted this tonight. For one night, we lived on our own terms. And it feels damn good.”

  “Fuckin’ A.” Donald throws his hand out and Abram grasps it, solidifying the mutual bond between the two of them.

  The next few hours are blurry but jovial overall. The four of us bond, and there’s an odd sense of brotherhood between us that seemed to come out of nowhere. Strange how the strongest bonds can be made through bondage. It’s us four against them.

  With blurred vision, I look to Larry. He slept through the whole thing.

  Tomorrow’s going to suck.

  And with that thought being the last of the day, I pass out.

  Six

  I’m awake.

  I don’t know what time it is, but I know the farmhands will be here any minute now. Waking up at the same time every day for an extended period of time will give you a sense for what time it is in the dead of night. I’ve been awake for the past hour now.

  My head’s splitting and now I know what a hangover is. Wave upon wave of brain pain, mixed with that sweetness that sits on the back of your tongue just before the urge to throw up. My body’s burning up and soaked with sweat, and to make matters worse, it’s humid as hell after the storm. The barn feels like a sauna.

  At least two others are snoring in their beds and prolonging the night as long as possible. Everyone knows today’s gonna be trouble. But it’s the fact of not knowing what they’re going to do that sits so uneasy on me. I have no idea what’s to come.

  With my eyes adjusted to the night, I see that Larry still hasn’t moved.

  I pass the time with my thoughts. Nothing too dramatic, mainly just relishing the good moments we shared last night, and wondering when the next time will be. We’ll have to get more berries soon.

  The inside of the barn grows brighter ever so slowly as the sun begins to rise. That’s weird. Every other time, and without fail, Mr. Gibbs is sounding the alarm for us to get up at least an hour before. I roll out of bed. “Guys, c'mon. Get up.”

  The room spins a bit. “Damn.” I slog over to Donald who’s passed out on the floor face down with one arm stretched out over his head. I nudge him with a foot. “Donald. Let’s go man, wake up.”

  “Wha… leave me alone,” he grumbles and rolls onto his side.

  I shake him awake. “I’m not playing man, something’s off. Get up.”

  His eyes snap open and he looks like he wants to choke me. He sits up. “Shit. Why’s it so bright in here? Where’s Gibbs?”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. He should have been here by now. Help me wake the others.”

  “Maybe the grumpy bastard slept in for once,” Donald says and scratches his head.

  As Donald wakes the others, I find myself standing at the door. For some reason, I want to open it and get on with whatever is coming our way. Let’s get it over with.

  I push the heavy door and it slides on the upper track with ease once I get it going, my boots sliding on mud. I don’t just crack it open, I push it until it stops and the fresh outside air rushes over me. Outside the barn, the ground is soaked and there are puddles scattered about. Sticks and debris are lying everywhere, looking like fallen soldiers on some foreign battlefield. I step out to look up into the sky and breathe in the tranquility. It’s so peaceful after a heavy rain.

  Deep down, though, I know it’s just the calm before the storm. Yet, I know the world still turns and, for one moment, everything feels as it should be… other than the pounding in my head.

  Something breaks my reverie. With eyes closed, I sense them coming.

  I slowly drop my head and force my eyes open to find Mr. Gibbs and Mr. Red walking towards me. Their steps are quick, their shoulders and arms tense. I step out of the barn to meet them.

  As if the sun beckoned them with its call, they arrive at the same time it rises and I glance to the east to see a sliver of orange break over the horizon. I cast my gaze back and find them standing in front of me. “Get the others and line up,” Mr. Red says with fire in his tone. I keep my mouth shut and do what I’m told.

  As I turn to go into the barn, the rest of the guys step out. Larry’s the last one out and keeps his head down.

  “Here. Line up,” Mr. Red says and waves towards where he wants us to stand. He steps back. Mr. Gibbs steps beside him and lights up a cigarette.

  The five of us line up and it feels like we’ve been here before. It’s like the first day, but something’s different. We’re in front of the barn instead of the white house, but it’s as if I’ve lived in this very moment before and know what’s about to happen. I can see the event playing out in my mind like a movie. Mr. Gibbs and Donald have words, then—

  “Cole. How about you tell Mr. Red and myself what you all were doing last night.”

  No use in lying about it now. Even I can’t bullshit my way out of this one.

  “We were drinking.”

  Off to my side—on the far end of the line—Donald snorts at the statement.

  Mr. Gibbs shoots him an icy glare. “Something funny?”

  “A bit, yeah. Feels like I’m fifteen again and getting scolded by my old man,” Donald replied.

  “Sounds to me like your daddy should’ve whooped your ass a lot more when you was growing up,” Gibbs says and shifts his stance. Donald narrows his gaze at the farmhand, his jaw muscles tensing at the comment.

  “Where did you get it?” Mr. Red asks. The real question he should be asking is how did we make it.

&n
bsp; Abram puffs up his chest. “I made it myself, Mr. Red. Well, I had some help picking the blackberries, but it was all my idea.”

  “How did you know how to make alcohol? Even more, how did you come to find the berries?”

  Mr. Red’s more inquisitive about the whole deal than I thought he would be. Figured he would fly off the deep end on this one, but it seems like he’s rather impressed at our ingenuity and genuinely curious. I would tell him that it’s not really our ingenuity, though. It’s boredom. Give a man enough time to become bored with his life, and he’ll find a way to make it exciting. Or at least more bearable.

  Mr. Gibbs scowls at Abram. “There’s no berries around here. Tell the truth.”

  “Swear it.” Abram holds his hand up to reinforce his statement like he’s in court.

  “How else would he have made alcohol, Gibbs?” Red turns to his cohort and asks. He turns back to Abram. “Show me where you found them.”

  “Some other time,” Gibbs says in aggravation. “They’ve gotta deal with the consequences first.”

  Donald takes a step out of line. “I didn’t know that getting drunk was against the rules.” His head cocks to the side. “What’s up, Mr. Gibbs? I know you like to get fucked up. And I know that ain’t tobacco that you’re lighting up on the daily. How about you let me try it.”

  Gibbs takes a step and points. “Get back in line and keep your mouth shut.”

  “Shut up. Speak up. Sit down. Stand up. Make up your damn minds.” Donald throws his arms out wide.

  Mr. Gibbs’s nostrils flare and his eyes go wide at the defiance. He contains his rage to a clenched jaw and looks away to gather himself. Donald doesn’t let him.

  “Fuck you, Gibbs. And fuck this farm.” A middle finger drives the point home.

  Gibbs narrows his gaze and takes a quick drag off his smoke. He walks away and paces back and forth.

  “Donald, calm down, man,” Benji says, trying to avoid the bomb that’s about to explode. He’s right, though. Donald needs to calm down before things get out of hand and we’re all up shit creek without a paddle.

  “Yeah, Don, it’s okay,” Abram says in attempt to neutralize the situation. He takes a step out front to address the farmhands. “As far as drinking, it won’t happen again.”