by Matt Moss
Eleven
“Wake. Up. You. Sons of bitches,” Mr. Gibbs says, spacing out the words as he bursts through the sliding door, the natural light from the foyer shining bright into the dark living room. Mr. Red follows him in. “Get up. Time to go to work.”
Donald moans and props himself up with an arm. “What the fuck happened last night?” he gripes as his slumber is disturbed, rising from the cold, wood floor.
“You partied like rockstars,” Gibbs replies with a grin. He lights a smoke.
“Didn’t you have enough of that last night?” Abram says in reference to the cigarette, rubbing his head full of messy hair.
Gibbs smokes like a freight train. “It’s never enough,” he says, a white cloud filling the air above him.
Benji growls from a chair and throws a pillow over his head. “I thought you said we were done working everyday.”
“I said we’re done tilling and that the hard part is over. Never said the work was finished,” Mr. Red replies before packing his mouth full of tobacco. “Now’s the time to sow. Just like yesterday.”
“Whatever, let’s go,” Donald says and clumsily throws his work boots on.
“Let’s go, Cole. Get up,” Gibbs tells me.
“Yeah, I hear you. I’m up.”
We emerge from the white house to a blinding sun. Larry is already waiting on us at the front of the barn, tools piled up and ready to go.
“Mornin’, Larry. Too bad you couldn’t join in on the fun last night,” Gibbs says in passing.
“I had a good time out here by myself last night, thank you.”
“That’s personal, Larry, and I don’t need to hear that shit,” Gibbs says and begins looking over the tools. “We won’t need these. Go put them back in the barn.”
Mr. Red comes riding up on the four-wheeler with buckets strapped to the back. As he pulls to a stop, Gibbs reaches into one and pulls out a handful of corn kernels. “These seeds are the future. Plant them well and pray that they grow.”
Before we leave, I look back to the house. Someone moves on the second floor, and I lose my breath. My first thought is to run to Donald to tell him. By the time I get his attention, we look to the window only to find that whoever it was, is gone.
“Did you see them?” he asks quietly. Gibbs is far ahead and can’t hear us.
“Someone moved up there. I know for sure this time. I saw them.”
He punches me on the arm. “I told you!”
“Who do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. But I say tonight’s a good night to find out. Maybe Gibbs will loosen up again and we can ask him then.”
I nod, and we begin to walk behind the others. “But we can’t get messed up like we did last night. We need to keep some sense.” Donald nods, agreeing with me. I shake my head. “Good thing I didn’t have to take a shit last night because, if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to wipe my own ass.”
“Ha! Was a good time though, right?” He smiles as he looks ahead to Gibbs who’s leading the pack. “I could get used to it, though. Beats everything else we know.”
I can’t argue with that. For the next five minutes I try to—weighing the risks, playing the odds—but can’t come up with a logical rebuttal. Our lives have taken a sharp turn for the better.
For some reason, the books comes to mind. I shake that nonsense away.
“And he did say it was a rule to party every night,” Donald states.
“Yeah. Let’s just take it easier from now on. I don’t like not being in control.”
He looks to me. “Sometimes it’s good to let go of the control.” We walk in comfortable silence for the remainder of the trip. Before we get to the field, he asks me a question. “Do you really think Mr. Whyte is sleeping?”
“I don’t know. If he is, I hope he wakes up soon.”
Mr. Red starts passing the buckets of corn. We sow the field.
Larry’s working hard as usual, and I make it a point to talk to him when the time is right.
“How was it last night,” I ask as the farmhands leave to get food and water.
“Peaceful,” Larry says with a smile. “I slept outside of the barn, accompanied by the stars. How was your night? By the looks of you all, you had too much fun.”
“It was interesting.” I kick a pile of dirt over some seed that he’s laid. “Truthfully, I don’t know how this is going to play out. I’m worried about the farmhands.”
He looks at me, curious. “Worried? Why?”
“They’re up to something. I don’t know what, and I don’t know why, but their intentions aren’t good. We’re in that house for a bad reason.”
He gazes into the distance, a sage-like look in his eyes. “Yes. I sense that as well.”
You know more than you’re telling.
“What happened in there, Larry? It’s just me asking. Be honest.”
His eyes lock onto mine. “I can’t remember.”
“What do you mean you can’t remember? Talk to me.”
He looks away in fraught. “I can’t remember. I’ve tried!”
“Surely you remember something—a room, a smell, a space…anything.”
His eyes begin to water as he tries to recall the house. “I remember nothing about it, and that’s what worries me,” he sighs. “You have to believe me.”
He’s convicted and hurting. I believe every word. I do something that I’ve never done before and give another human being a hug. “I believe you. And whatever they did, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen to you or anyone else again.” He doesn’t say a word as I hold him there. It feels good.
When he’s had enough, he pulls away and holds me at arms length. “Thank you, Cole. Thank you for understanding.”
I smile fondly. “Anytime, friend. Are you sure you won’t join us in the house?”
“I’m more than sure.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you food last night. Things got out of hand to say the least.”
He waves me off. “It’s quite alright. I assumed that the first night would be a bit crazy. Besides, I’m thinking about not eating for a few days. I hear that fasting is good for the body.”
“Is it now? Where’d you hear that?”
He grins. “A little bird told me.” He goes back to work and the rest of the day is spent planting corn. Everyone’s looking forward to tonight, no doubt. I am, but I never want to let myself go that far again. In a room full of strangers, that’s how you get killed.
Mr. Red ends the work day early and the energy is off the charts. Everyone is livid for the promise of the night and in search of a chemical change.
Has it always been that way? From the beginning, has mankind always needed a crutch—something to make his own existence more bearable?
Sweat-soaked and dirty, we bathe at the well. Talk is lively and the promise of a good time over the following hours makes us all hungry for the mystery and discovery of it all. The novelty of it is enticing and only a fool would decline. So why am I struggling with wanting to partake with the others?
Is it something that Larry said? No. To each his own.
It’s Mr. Whyte and his absence as everyone else abuses his home. It’s the books that he wants me to read. It’s the off-feeling that I have about this place. It’s how the others don’t get it.
It’s everything.
But I walk through the doors just like everyone else and shove my better judgement aside. Inside the house, the wine flows and the smoke rolls all night long. The outside world is none the wiser. Inside, we dance and sing and medicate; all of us together, each one of us alone.
We rage against our own existence.
And we’re loving every minute of it.
“Turn that shit up!” Abram tells Mr. Gibbs.
“My man!” Gibbs replies and walks to the record player.
Mr. Red throws another log on the fire, even though it’s summer and hot as hell outside; even hotter inside the living room.
Benji d
ances shirtless and Donald is busy pouring another round for everyone.
“Cole, come dance. Free yourself,” Benji tells me.
I take a drink and bob my head to the beat. “No, thanks.”
He grabs me by the hand and pulls me to the middle of the floor. “Come on.”
I protest, but it’s no use. Gibbs turns the music up louder, and the buzz is starting to kick in.
“Let yourself go,” Benji tells me as he runs his hands through his hair. “It’s so freeing.”
Screw it, why not.
I begin to dance, conscious of everyone’s opinions at first, but not really giving a damn soon after. That’s the sweet spot. It’s liberating when you don’t care about what anyone else is thinking. That’s what Benji is talking about.
With a world full of people—everyone with different walks and different opinions—why should we care who’s watching?
Our fear is self-induced, but we blame it on everyone else and manifest our own delusions.
The light in the room is dim and Mr. Whyte still sleeps.
I need to piss.
Donald meets me on the front porch to relieve himself. We piss over the steps, two streams in the moonlight.
“Hell of a party, eh?” he says and extends his hips further.
“Yeah, man. Loving it.” He pisses farther than I do, despite how hard I push. “But Benji…” I laugh at the man’s drunken state. “He’s out of it.”
Donald finishes and zips his pants. “Poor guy can’t handle his alcohol. We gotta make sure he doesn’t pass out face down. Don’t want to chance him drowning in his own puke.”
“Right. I’ll make sure he doesn’t.” That’s because my head’s spinning and I’m done partying before it gets out of hand.
“Cool. One less problem I got to deal with,” Donald says and punches me on the arm before going back into the house.
Selfish bastard.
I look to the barn and find a lack of light inside. It used to be there when we were all together inside its walls, talking about the crazy world we live in. It was at night that we shared all of our thoughts, fears, and hopes for the future with one another. Now it’s just an empty barn. Larry’s probably inside fast asleep, all alone.
Shit. I forgot to take him food again.
I rush to the kitchen and begin scraping the scraps onto a plate. Minutes later, I’m striding towards the barn with a plate of cold food in hand, hoping that he’s still awake.
“Larry,” I say, entering the barn. “I’m sorry that I’m late again. Here’s what we ate for dinner.”
Silence. I turn the lights on and find that Larry isn’t there. For a second, I’m worried about him and wonder where he might be, but realize that he’s a grown man and can take of himself. Probably just had to take a shit.
I set the plate on a bucket in the middle of the barn where he can see it before leaving. Walking back to the white house, I feel energized and loose from the supplements. I can’t help but smile at my current state. The world is mine for the taking.
Then the stranger moves in the second floor window.
It’s a woman.
As soon as she’s there, she’s gone. I shake the haze from my head, making sure that what I just saw was real.
It was. There’s a woman in the house.
An immediate search of the truth hits me to the core and I march into the house, the front door slamming against the inside wall as I enter. Headstrong into the room, I demand answers.
Mr. Gibbs turns to me, sensing the urgency. “What’s up, player?”
“Who the fuck is on this farm besides all of us?” I say with the confidence of a battle-worn soldier.
He regards me with apprehension. I can see that he wants to play it off with a question like ‘what do you mean? I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about.’
But he’s smarter than that. He knows that I know.
“Her name is Jane.”
I keep my gaze on Gibbs but I can see every eye in the room turn to him upon saying the name.
“Why didn’t you tell us about her?”
“It was none of your concern,” he says as a matter of fact. As I would suspect, he pulls a smoke from his pocket, lights it, and takes a hit. “I understand that you might feel a bit uncomfortable about the situation and how we’ve kept her a secret from you all, but just know that we had our reasons.” He turns to everyone in the group. “I’ll introduce her to you all tomorrow.”
“Judas priest,” Abram curses in disbelief and flops back into a chair.
“I knew it,” Donald states and holds a glass of wine up to signal everyone. “I saw someone else before, but nobody believed me. Told you sons of bitches someone else was here besides the farmhands and Mr. Whyte.”
There’s a pause as everyone processes the information in their own way. Gibbs breaks the silence. “There’s two of them. Women, that is. Thought I might let you know that, too, since we’re being honest and all.”
“Two? Are you serious? What the fuck?” Abram voices the thoughts of everyone else.
Donald shakes his head. “I just don’t get how you all could have kept this a secret all this time.”
“As I said, it wasn’t any of your concern. Jane and Eve clean up the place and do the cooking around here.” Gibbs turns serious, his eyes narrowing on each of us. “I expect you to show them the same respect that you do us. This is their house, too, and you all are their guests.”
Mr. Red makes his presence known and steps into the doorway. “Time for bed. I’ll show you all to your rooms.”
Benji springs forward as if he’s already forgotten about what we’ve been talking about. He rubs his hands together. “I’ve been waiting for this. Never had a room of my own.”
We go up the staircase and turn left. My eyes look to the three doors on the right as we step onto the second floor. Mr. Red guides us down the hall to another set of doors—two on each side. “These are your rooms. Take your pick.” He unlocks each with a key and, wordlessly, turns and leaves for the night.
Like kids in summer camp, we dash into each of the rooms and lay claim to our beds.
I pick the last room on the left so I can look out the window to see the front of the house and the barn. Walking in, I find a sizable bed, fresh linens, a chair with a small table, and a dresser standing beside the window. The drawers glide out, and there’s a new supply of clothes inside—more pairs like the ones we’re all wearing now—white shirt, denim overalls, socks and underwear.
A knock comes from the other side of the wall. “Hey, Cole. Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you, Don.”
Moments later he bursts into my room. “This is awesome! I guess we’re neighbors now, wouldn’t you say?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t mean you can bang on my wall.”
He looks around deviously, making sure it’s just us. “Now that we know there’s some females around here, it’s just a matter of time before they want to come over to our rooms. There’ll be a whole lot more banging on the walls then if you know what I mean.”
“You sound awfully sure about that.”
He looks insulted. “Sure? Sure I’m sure. Surest I’ve ever been, as a matter of fact. Women love me.”
“Oh, really? And how do you know that? Can you even remember kissing a woman, let alone sleeping with one?”
“Yeah, I can. Plenty of them. I’m telling you, they can’t resist my charm.”
He’s lying. None of us can remember anything personal from our lives. Why do people feel the need to make shit up to be cool, when the reality is nobody cares. Still, people lie to themselves to feel better. But that feeling is a lie, too. Only it doesn’t seem so after time goes by. The lie becomes blurred, and a placebo effect takes place on what is true, thus making the believer who tells it feel better with a shot of make-believe pride.
Whatever floats your boat.
An idea hits me. “But knocking on the wall is a good way to
signal that we need to talk. Like we planned before, every night we need to get together and discuss what’s going on. And since we’re on the subject of women, we need to get serious about them being here.”
“Alright, the knocking thing is a good idea. So, what about the women?”
“It’s going to change the dynamic around here for sure. And if we’re not careful, it’s going to cause trouble.”
He smiles. “Man, would you chill out? You’re so serious all the time. Just let it play out and we’ll worry about whatever happens when it happens.” He turns to leave, then stops. “That’s even if anything happens at all. Have you ever thought that this could be a good thing? I, for one, am tired of looking at a bunch of guys all the time. It’ll be nice to have something pretty to look at.”
He’s right. I live in a state of tension and can’t seem to escape my anxiety. “You’re right, man. I need to lighten up more. And yes, it could very well be a good thing. Let’s believe that it will be.”
“Alright, then. I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight, Don.”
I sit on the bed to test it out. It feels nice.
So this is how people were meant to sleep.
I leave the overalls on the floor and crawl into bed. Sleep takes over before my mind even has time to think.
Twelve
The next day repeats itself, only that everyone’s spirits are high after experiencing a lavish night of sleep. Whenever we talk, it’s all smiles and good vibes — even from me.
It’s amazing what a good night of sleep can do.
“I’m excited to meet the ladies later. It will be good to have some diversity around here,” Benji says.
“Gibbs said that he’ll introduce them at dinner tonight,” Abram adds as we all take a break now that the farmhands made a run to the house.
“Yeah, I’m excited to meet them, too,” I say absentmindedly, adding to what Benji said.
“What’s up, Cole?” Donald asks, noticing the vacant stare that sits so easy on me.
“Just wondering how long Mr. Whyte’s going to be resting. I mean, how much damn sleep does someone need? Tomorrow will be day three.”
