The South Side Tour Guide

by Shelter Somerset

  KAMILA fed the kids a snack of apple slices and peanut butter at the kitchen counter while Andy explored the farmstead outside. He’d eaten plenty of the aquatic center’s junk food and had enough of the housekeeper’s disapproving glares.

  In the barn, he gazed at Dick Carelli’s odd-looking equipment and tools. Rusty rake-like contraptions, plows, rigs, welding equipment, hitches, and machine parts glinted from the wedges of sunlight that cut through the barn clefts. The stable holds that Mason wanted to load with farm animals were stuffed with seed sacks.

  Everything looked and smelled the same as last time, yet so alien.

  He envisaged sharing Harden’s strange dream of farming. He’d found farm life fascinating like he might ants at a picnic. No way could he imagine living on a farm full time. He shared Lillian’s dislike for rural living.

  At least Harden had a dream. What was Andy’s?

  To live in self-pity and profit from the world’s bloodletting.

  He waved away gnats swarming in tight balls around his face and inspected a pitchfork. Next he kicked a sack of dirt. He ran his fingers over the solid body of the tractor, still warm to the touch, and formed a soft ball with the sticky dirt stuck on his fingertips. Cobwebs high on the rafters, resembling silk latticework, brought his attention to the barn loft. He fixated on it, unable to comprehend….

  Had life at Burr Oak Farm been that horrible for Lillian?

  A crow flying from under the door eave startled him. He watched it launch for the blue sky, beyond the swaying corn. Chest-high corn. As far as the eye could see.

  Almost as if he were peering inside a stranger’s house, he stepped closer to the cornfield and squinted down a row, wondering…. What resided in there? Gnomes? He pulled back one of the leaves, examined the texture without committing himself to holding it. He noted the yellow corn…. What did they call them? Corncobs? Cornhusks? Only about the size of a small child’s forearm, he supposed the corn needed a good few weeks to reach harvesting stage if Dick was going to use it for people food.

  He dared to twist off one, and clenched it in his fist, firm and girthy.

  He pictured Lillian again, occupying her days at the white farmhouse with the barn and silo so close. Why hadn’t he spent more time with her, driven out for visits to lessen her loneliness? Those days could never be dug up and relived.

  He tossed the corn to the ground, wandered to the side of the house, and stood in the silo’s shadow. He peered along the gray-white structure to the rounded cap and realized that no fancy towers with rooftop swimming pools and tennis courts existed in Iowa. Silos were the predominant high-rises in that country.

  In the backyard, he studied the mighty burr oak. No change, of course. Still thick trunked and wide reaching. He’d remembered the lofty, expansive tree from his other trips. The swing set was new, he believed. Maybe he failed to remember it from his last visit. So much drama had transpired then. Probably hadn’t even noticed.

  Olivia raced to him from the kitchen, her golden ponytails fluttering behind her. “Uncle Andy!”

  Happy suddenly for the distraction, he opened his arms to her, and she fell against his body at full speed. Grunting, he lifted her and gave her cheek a peck. “Yum! You taste like peanut butter.”

  “I ate some for a snack,” she said, squirming out of his embrace. “Let’s swing.”

  He pushed her on the swing, obeying her commands to go higher and higher. The tips of her tiny sneakers touched a solitary fluffy cloud that eased across the sky as if she were nudging it with her toes. In an instant, he saw himself and Lillian kicking their legs back and forth on their old swing set back in Streamwood, each trying to outdo the other. Where had those innocent, tender moments fled? Vanished more inconspicuously than the cloud.

  The nasty yellow jackets darting around his exposed legs irritated him, and Andy jolted the giggling Olivia to a stop.

  “We better get inside,” Andy insisted. “I’ve got a surprise for you and Mason.”

  “What kind of a surprise?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Andy carried the cheerful Olivia inside. Kamila shot him one of her askance looks from the laundry room where he noted she was on the last load. Meanwhile, he played electronic games with Olivia and Mason. After Kamila finished the wash, he insisted she go home, guaranteeing he’d look after the kids and have dinner ready for Harden. Wearing a sour frown, she left the house at four o’clock, purse rigidly high on her shoulders and brow low.

  “What’s the big surprise Olivia talked about?” Mason said.

  “Come on.” Andy led them into the kitchen. “We’re going to make a special dinner, and you’re going to help.”

  With the kids’ enthusiastic assistance, Andy jumbled together dinner. Now and then he glanced out the kitchen window, certain eyes peered in at them. He shrugged it off and kept his spirits high. Forty-five minutes later, four fresh Frisbee-sized pizzas, piled high with sauce, cheese, and a whole lot of other stuff, waited on the counter. Harden pulled his Jeep Patriot into the driveway right on time.

  He stood, framed by the kitchen’s doorway, staring at Andy with an amused countenance. “I see you’re finding your way around the kitchen.”

  “Hello, Harden. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. I’m waiting for the oven to heat to five hundred so I can stick the pizzas in.”

  “Looks great,” Harden said.

  “I hope you don’t mind I sent Kamila home.”

  “You guys get in a fight?”

  “Nothing like that. Just thought with me here she could use the afternoon off.”

  “Hey, you got some sun today. Covered over most of your bruised eye.”

  “We had a great time at the pool. Kamila washed your trunks, and they’re hanging up in the laundry room. How was your day at work?”

  Harden gazed at the floor. A slow-moving smile lifted his strong cheek muscles. “Not bad. Got what I needed to do done.”

  Mason hurried into the kitchen. “Dad, we made homemade pizzas, and we each get our own.”

  “So I see.”

  “Uncle Andy said we could put on them whatever we wanted. I put black olives, tomato slices, and some of Kamila’s leftover ćevapi.”

  “And I put mayonnaise and American cheese on mine,” Olivia said beside her brother.

  Andy grimaced. “She insisted. Don’t worry. We made one special for you too. Four different types of cheese.”

  “Guess what Uncle Andy did at the pool today.”

  “What’s that, Mason?” Harden set aside his laptop case and draped an arm around his son.

  “He called Randy Lederman’s mom a monkey.”

  Harden snickered, looked at Andy, and said, “No wonder you have a black eye. You go around calling people’s moms monkeys in Chicago?”

  “It wasn’t quite like that,” Andy said. “I intervened on Mason’s behalf to stop his friend from bullying him. Maybe I should’ve held my tongue, but I couldn’t help myself. This kid was a real punk.”

  Andy noticed a sober stain replace Harden’s unabashed grin. Harden forced a wobbly smile and said, “I’ll wash up and change for dinner. Don’t eat without me.”

  A half hour later, the four were eating their hot pizzas with gusto. A wedge of gooey American cheese slid from Olivia’s slice when she lifted it to her mouth and fell to her lap. Harden rolled his eyes but joined in everyone’s laughter. Olivia, giggling, peeled the cheese from her pants and popped it in her mouth.

  “Can we have some Pop-Ice, Dad?” Mason asked after they’d cleared their plates.

  “I want some too,” Olivia chimed in.

  “Okay, but take them outside so you don’t make a mess.”

  The kids sprinted for the freezer, rummaged through a box, and carried the frozen treats to the porch. Harden and Andy, grabbing drinks, decided to join them.

  Harden and Olivia sat on the porch swing together, while Mason sat on the top step and Andy leaned against the railing nursing a
pop, the setting sun warm on his back. He observed how sweet Olivia and Harden looked side by side, Harden’s arm snug over her square little shoulders, the glow of the pink and orange sun reflecting off their faces. Harden held a beer in his free hand and took small sips between contended smiles. Olivia sucked on her red Pop-Ice, kicking her feet to make the swing wobble. The unnatural color of the ice shimmered gemlike in the sun. Sticky, sugary juice ran down her chin and fingers. Harden nudged her, grimacing.

  “Stop wobbling, Olivia. You’re making a mess. Why don’t you go sit with Mason on the stoop?”

  Wordlessly, Olivia complied. She dropped beside Mason, who was sucking a green Pop-Ice, Andy’s all-time favorite. Mason helped Olivia push up her ice, much like when Andy and Lillian were kids, only the roles reversed. It was Lillian, the big sister, who’d helped her little brother master the fine art of sliding Pop-Ice from the plastic wrap, ensuring none of the precious ice liquefied until the very end, when they’d make a slurry and slurp it up. Lilly had taught him how to suck the juice without needing to tilt his head, preventing all that exquisite syrup from spilling along his neck and clothes.

  Seemed only yesterday he and Lillian were sharing summertime treats on their front porch, their dirtied and bruised knees from playing outdoors pointing toward the pink and blue sky. Summers used to drift along, slow, like a dandelion seed floating on a windless day. A lifetime would pass before school commenced again. Now, summers hastened past with an ugly urgency.

  And these days, Andy’s bruises came from other sources.

  “Hey, Uncle Andy, what did the old chimney say to the young chimney?”

  “I don’t know, Mason. What?”

  “You’re too young to smoke.”

  Andy tossed his head back and laughed. “Good one.”

  “I know a riddle,” Olivia said. “How can you tell if there’s an elephant under your bed?”

  Mason tittered. “I know that one, dumbhead.”

  “Wait for Uncle Andy to answer.”

  Andy made a face of concentration. “I give up.”

  “Your nose hits the ceiling.” And Olivia laughed and laughed.

  “That was a good one too, Olivia. Okay, here’s one. What does a house wear?”

  The kids peered around, their lips sealed to their Pop-Ices. Shrugging, they looked to Andy for an answer.

  “A dress. Get it? Address.”

  Hoots and giggles parted the kids’ red and green stained lips. “That’s silly,” Olivia said.

  “I think my kids have your side of the family’s sense of humor,” Harden said.

  The kids finished slurping the precious Pop-Ice slurry, and Harden ordered them to wash their hands and faces with the barn hose, “before you get that sticky stuff everywhere.”

  Andy took Olivia’s former spot beside Harden. The moment he sat on the swing, he noticed Harden’s hand flinch where it had rested by Olivia’s shoulder. He kept it there for a moment longer, moving it slowly to his lap while mentioning the muggy evening.

  Andy grinned toward the cornfield, replete with shadows from the setting sun. “Feels nice,” he said, pretending not to notice Harden’s tensing. “I always liked hot and humid summers. Brings back a flood of memories. Remember being a kid and things like sticky hands were no big deal?”

  “Now I curse myself for getting red marker on my fingers,” Harden said.

  “I used to hate that at work,” Andy agreed.

  “My brothers and I used to live outdoors during summertime,” Harden said. “I remember spending weekends here at the farm and maybe going inside only to sleep, sometimes not even then. A few times, we camped in sleeping bags under the burr oak.”

  “Same with me and Lilly back in Streamwood. Maybe we’ll do that with the kids while I’m here. Camp out back.”

  Harden let out a light snort. “You know, I’ve never once thought about doing that with my own kids. Imagine.” He shook his head. “Guess my mind’s been on other things.”

  “The kids seem well adjusted,” Andy said, sipping his pop with steady, condensed movements.

  “They’re coping better. As well as can be expected. Olivia is a wonder, a sloppy wonder. She takes things in stride. Sometimes I’m afraid she might be too laid-back. And Mason, well….”

  “He’s been getting into a lot of fights?”

  “I thought things were settling down,” Harden said, “but two fights in as many weeks have me worried.”

  “Hope I didn’t make matters worse by insulting that kid today.”

  Harden shook his head. “Randy Lederman had it coming. I’m glad you told him off. Something I couldn’t get away with as a father.”

  “What if he tells his mom?”

  “She’ll probably laugh. Besides, what he and some of those other kids say to Mason is a lot worse. No good reason to tease like that, just because… well, Christ, there’s just no reason.”

  “Don’t worry about Mason. He’ll do okay.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

  The porch swing was swaying. Andy hadn’t noticed until that moment. He and Harden were toeing the floor planks, falling in rhythm with the breeze rustling the corn and the birds calling to each other from the oaks and elms that edged the house. Andy sipped his pop. Sticky caramel remained on his lips longer than he’d wanted, and he swiped the syrup with his tongue.

  Harden brought his beer into his lap. “So how did you get your black eye, for real?”

  “Saw something I shouldn’t have, and they roughed me up a little.”

  “Is that the reason for your visit? Kind of a sabbatical?”

  “Sort of. I did miss the kids. I’m glad I’ve gotten the chance to hang out with them again. I forgot how much fun they are.”

  “It’s tough on them, living so far from most of their friends who live in town or on farther away farms. I have to take them into Duncan and stay with my parents for trick-or-treating and things like that. Kamila drives them around sometimes, like to the pool, but she hates it. They ride their bikes, but alone, without adult supervision, sometimes that worries me.”

  Mason reprimanded Olivia out of sight by the water spigot. Lillian had a way of taking charge that had made Andy feel safe. Where was she now to protect him from bullies, like Andy had with Mason today? He swallowed a mouthful of pop, set the can in his lap, and snickered.

  “Do you remember when you and Lilly came to Streamwood that Thanksgiving? It was only the third time you’d been out there, I think, and you worried someone had broken into Mom’s house. You pulled a kitchen knife on that poor short, bow-legged man who was fixing the garage door opener. Remember?”

  “I had no idea anyone was supposed to be there.” Harden flushed pink and scratched at his head. “No one told me.”

  “You came to the Chicago area expecting to be mugged at every corner. There’s no crime in Streamwood.”

  “That wasn’t as bad as that time you came out here for Easter and you drove through our neighbor’s cornfield.”

  “Looked like a driveway.”

  “We call them corn rows,” Harden said. “We usually don’t drive cars down them.”

  “Blame it on Mom. She’s the one who told me to take the turn.”

  Their laughter faded, and Andy gazed at his sneakers. He remembered another embarrassing incident, one he was unsure he should raise. He’d never quite understood it. Happened during one of Harden’s earlier visits to Streamwood.

  Lillian was pregnant with Mason, and he and Harden were drinking beers and joking while Lillian laughed along. Andy had gone to the kitchen to wash a few of their dishes at the sink. Shortly after, Harden had come in for another beer. Out of the blue, Andy had felt two hands clutch his shoulders. Next he’d realized, Harden had turned him around and planted a kiss right on his lips.

  Harden had walked off as if nothing had happened, and neither of them had ever mentioned it since. Andy suspected he’d been drunk. Just one of those things. Straight men often showed
few inhibitions around gay men, especially after drinking. Andy took nothing more from it than that.

  He chose to remain mute about the sink incident from so many years ago. Why make Harden uncomfortable? Most likely he wouldn’t even remember. Instead, he said, “It’s a different lifestyle out here. That’s for sure.”

  “Not much different, not anymore.” Harden swigged from his beer and released a harsh breath. “Satellite dishes and cable and the Internet and social media expose big city people and country folks to the same things. Yet, funny thing, we’ve never been more divided.”

  Appreciating his former brother-in-law’s intelligence, Andy added, “That’s because most of the images we get of each other are probably no more realistic than Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”

  Harden’s snicker rode in the wake of a crow scampering from the cornfield. “Hey, Andy, I forgot to mention our annual corn roast at the county fairgrounds tomorrow. It’s far more down to earth than our technology-driven world. You interested in going? Kids won’t have it any other way, I’m afraid.”

  “Sounds corny.”

  “Now I know for sure where Mason and Olivia get their humor. Anyway, it’s a big summer affair. People bring their own food and grills, kind of like a tailgate party.”

  “Sure, might be fun,” Andy said with a shrug.

  “I have to admit it’s been a load off knowing you’re spending time with the kids. It’s almost nice Mason was suspended from his baseball team. Gives you a chance to spend extra time with him.”

  “The kids have been great.”

  Harden let out a long sigh that mingled with the barnyard-scented breeze and the aroma of canned beer. “I’d be lying if I said I don’t sometimes dream of a life without kids, like yours.”

  Andy shook his head. “People think that, because you aren’t married with children, you have all this free time, no responsibilities. The truth is, you have just as much to do as anyone else, if not more. You can’t divide up the workload. You have to do everything on your own. Cook, clean, do the shopping. It can be exhausting.”

  “Never thought of it like that.”

  “Count your blessings, Harden. Despite everything, you’re a lucky guy.”