You probably don’t even want to read my story. And I sure as hell don’t want to tell it. People tell me I care too much and I should let it all go, but I think it’s a story that needs told. So when someone talks about my life they’ll know I wasn’t just some stupid kid. Or maybe they’ll know I was. I can never tell, so I guess I’ll let you figure it out for yourself. And besides, if I don’t tell this story, who the hell will?
I used to say Dad when I talked about Eli. I don’t anymore. You’ll see why, I think. Eli ran a sheep farm. Which really means he sat in a nice air conditioned office all day while I ran his sheep farm. It’s technically a ranch, I guess, but I call it a farm cause it bugged the hell out of him. Eli said the day I turned 12 it was time for me to pull my own weight, so for the last five years I worked the farm. He let me go to school a couple times a week though.
But enough about me. This story isn’t about me and you shouldn’t start liking me or getting all attached before I even tell you what this story is about, cause I’m pretty sure I’m not even the good guy.
The whole mess started when Eli sent me on a stupid errand. I’m not just being an ornery teenager either. The errand was fucking stupid. He sent me to this old lady’s house, Mrs. Glass. It was a couple miles away and I had to walk in Texas summer heat down a stupid dirt road to get there. It was the kind of walk that when you get to someone’s house, you have to ask for their bathroom just to get some toilet paper and blow all the dirt back out of your nose. This time my nose even started bleeding, so I sat in the bathroom until it stopped. When I came back into the living room, Mrs. Glass rolled her eyes. “I swear I spend my whole life telling ignorant boys to take their hats off in my damn house.”
I’m sure I turned a horrible shade of red when she ripped my old baseball cap off my head and hung it on her cactus-shaped coat rack. I guess I was in a whole state with the dirt road and the bloody nose cause I was raised better than that. I liked Mrs. Glass though. She was the kind of old lady who didn’t make some comment about how shy I was every time my face turned red or I didn’t wanna talk. I wasn’t shy, I just didn’t have anything to say. She always said we were kindred spirits that way.
She pointed to her pink couch with the horrible scratchy fabric and sat in her orange chair with the back that stretched a whole foot above her head. “The hell you walk all this way for?” For as much as Mrs. Glass cared about manners, she sure got to the point. Even when she wasn’t in a hurry.
“My dad sent me. Said he needs more help on the farm and you know where to find it.” I left out the part where Eli called me a worthless piece of shit.
“What’s old Elijah gonna do with farm hands?”
“I dunno, I’m just following orders, Mrs. Glass.”
She pushed her wrinkly old self out of the ugly orange chair and walked around the wall to the kitchen. I never know what to do when old people leave the room while you’re talking to them. Am I supposed to follow them? I stayed on the horrible couch.
“How many’s he need?” It sounded like she was pouring ice cubes into glasses.
“He says one for now, and if it works out he wants more.”
“Give me a week. I can usually get one in a week.” She set a tray with iced tea and a whole thing of store brand chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table between us. I had to try not to laugh while she pushed all her magazines and medicine and remotes and trinkets around to fit the tray. Old people have so much crap. “Eat up, you’re withering away.”
There’s no such thing as a quick visit to an old lady, especially Mrs. Glass, so we talked for the rest of the afternoon. Where was I going to school (the only high school in a hundred miles), did I have a girlfriend (not since the last one moved to Arizona), was I gonna run the farm when I grew up (it seemed like about my only option) and all the other garbage you have to tell old people about your life.
I’ve never figured out if they actually care or if they just need someone to talk to. I guess it doesn’t really matter though. I really like talking to Mrs. Glass. She doesn’t just stare off into space while I’m telling stories like everyone else. I’m not a very interesting person to listen to but she makes it feel like someone hears me.
We were just chatting and laughing, and she asked how my mom was doing. I said she was doing okay, except Eli was treating her especially bad recently.
“What kind of bad?” Mrs. Glass set her elbows on her knees and held her head up on her fists.
Shit, I thought. I wasn’t supposed to talk about our family problems. My mom said people could get the wrong idea and try and send me to a foster family. Eli just said he’d beat my ass if I started any drama for him. “Oh, he just gets upset sometimes. It’s nothing,” I reassured Mrs. Glass.
She wasn’t convinced. “Ben, I’m going to ask you a very serious question and I need you to be honest with me. You trust me?”
I’d known Mrs. Glass since I was born. Seriously. She stayed with my mom in the hospital cause my grandma was too sick to be with my mom. I was offended she asked. “Of course I trust you!”
“Ben, are you and your mom safe in your home?”
I wish I had the guts to tell her no. I wish I’d started bawling like I wanted to and just told her how godawful he treats us. But I’m a fucking coward, so I kept my face as serious as I could. “Yeah, we’re okay.”
Mrs. Glass shook her head and looked at the floor for a minute. Apart from her old swamp cooler in the kitchen, it was dead silent.
She said it was time for me to head home or I’d miss supper. I had already missed supper and I spoiled my appetite with the cookies, but I took my chance and got out of there. “Tell that father of yours I said one week,” she reminded me, “and God bless ya. Say hi to your mom for me.”
She held the screen door to stop it from slamming behind me, and I walked back home on the hot dusty road. Ignored the voice in my head telling me to run away and stay the hell out of Eli’s house and walked back home like a fucking idiot.