The
land wasn’t beautiful anymore, not in reality. What had been sweeping fields of
mixed flowers and weeds and the odd blade of grass was now a barren plain of
yellow stalks. They didn’t bend when the wind pushed at them; they barely even
moved. It was like they were indifferent to the forces of nature around them.
Well, that, or they stopped caring about the big, wide world when they were
allowed to die where they stood. It’s hard to continue reacting when someone
has left you for dead.
But
the land was still beautiful in Zach’s mind, and that was what was important. As
long as he had his memories to fill in the gaps, he could handle the sights
that made him want to stagger back and ask for mercy. He could carry on with his
day and ignore the crunching sound beneath his feet.
But
not today. It was harder to ignore today.
Today
his foot touched the rock that sat, inconveniently, two hundred feet from the
house and he was transported back. It was enough that it took some effort to
get to, but was much too close to be a getaway from the house. An altogether
unnecessary thing. Still, it was where seven-year-old Zach chose to sit that
day.
His
feet made a comforting tramping sound as he stomped towards it. When he got to
the rock, he realized it was going to be horribly uncomfortable, but it was too
late. He had made up his mind, and he didn’t want his family to think he had
made it incorrectly.
Zach’s
elbows rested on his knees and he used his tiny hands to rub his eyes. He knew
they must still be red because they stung. He just wanted it to stop, but he
didn’t know how. The side of his face throbbed, and he started to wish he had
brought an ice pack out with him. Something, anything, to make this feeling go
away.
But
he didn’t have anything. He was sitting on his rock, thinking through the last few minutes. He
wouldn’t be moved, not for anything. He would show them all who he was, and
they would never forget it.
Still,
the wind started to blow colder and colder, and the sky twisted into a burning
red. He began to wish someone would come out to get him. Maybe one of his older
sisters, maybe his mother. He wouldn’t be moved. Well . . . he’d only be moved
if someone came and made him. If they promised that things would be quieter
when he came back inside.
His
resolve was breaking. Zach looked down at his shoes and tapped them together a
few times. Then the screaming, the tears, the sickening pain, they were all
there again. He didn’t want to go back inside anymore, even if it meant sitting
out here after nightfall.
But
surely, surely, someone would come for him. In spite of himself, he twisted
around and glanced at the front door of his crooked home. No one. No eyes
peaked out from the window. So . . . waiting.
He
waited for hours before finally slinking back inside.
The
memory of this didn’t make his stomach turn anymore. It didn’t do anything,
except exist. It was too far away to care about, to wonder at. Besides, he had
gotten good at willing himself forward.
Sweat
dripped down the back of his leg. He was grateful for it. Despite the fact that
this stretch of Midwestern land received a blanket of snow during the winter, this
was how Zach always remembered it. It was the place where the heat tried to
swallow him whole as soon as he left the house; where the weak of heart were
reduced to piles of ashes in a few minutes. He couldn’t imagine the rain,
although it must have rained throughout his childhood. It had been so long
since he had last seen rain that he wasn’t sure he would recognize it if it
finally showed up.
The
old blue barn sat out in the middle of the field, more crooked than it used to
be. Zach wondered if it had truly shifted over time, or if he had just thought
of things as sturdier when he was little. The building he had seen as strong
and permanent was actually just a bunch of old wooden boards, hastily thrown
together by his grandfather. The eerie curve of it ran straight into his brain
and made him shudder.
It
was there that he had returned after his high school prom, his sweaty right
hand firmly grasping his date’s. He had thrown the huge doors open, his eyes nervously
searching the dark depths. His date cleared her throat and tugged at his arm.
He turned and kissed her quickly. She tried to put her arms around his neck and
draw him in, but Zach avoided this and turned back to the dark barn. His legs
started to feel twitchy and his nausea grew. This place was different at night.
He had spent so much time here, had thrown things up into the loft and chased
out the snakes. He probably knew every corner of it, and yet now it looked at
him like a stranger. Zach didn’t want to be here, and desperately wished they
had never left the dance.
His
date cleared her throat again and said, “Well?” She let go of his hand and moved
so she was standing in front of him. Zach almost reached out to grab her arm
and stop her from entering the looming darkness, but gained control of himself.
It’s nothing, just let it go and focus on
who you’re with. Tonight’s the night.
She
smiled at him, a strand of her blonde hair falling across her forehead like . .
. a worm. Zach shook his head and tried to clear his brain.
“Is
something wrong?” she said, her smile turning into an expression of worry and
vague annoyance.
“No,”
he said, “of course not.”
“Well,
good,” she said. Her hands reached up to where the straps of her dress met at
the back of her neck. She carefully untied them, her face lost in a frown of
concentration, and let the dress fall to her waist.
His
mind cleared. Zach’s fear briefly forgotten, he took a step towards his date
and reached out his hand . . .
Suddenly
the barn was flooded with light. Zach froze in place and blinked. He barely had
time to process the horrified expression on his date’s face before the laughter
started. Zach was overwhelmed by the thought that, somehow, hyenas had
infiltrated the farm. His arms shrunk around him to cover his body. But . . .
it couldn’t be . . .
The
faces of his two sisters appeared over the loft railing. Gasping for breath,
Amelia yelled, “I’m sorry, are we interrupting something?” His date ran past
him out of the barn. Zach couldn’t tell if she was sobbing or out of breath.
“What
the hell are you doing?” he shouted up at the loft, his voice cracking a little.
“Sorry,
sorry,” Rachel said, “we just couldn’t help ourselves.”
“We
were hoping you’d come back here,” Amelia said, “and you did! So, thank you. That
was . . . entertaining . . .” She locked eyes with Rachel and they both burst
into another fit of laughter.
“You’d
better stay up there!” Zach shouted. “When I get my hands on you two . . .”
Rachel
leaned her elbow on the railing and pushed a clump of her hair back. “You’ll
what? Please let me know what you’re going to do once you get your hands on
your tiny female siblings.” Zach felt his face burn. He wanted to hurt
something, but Rachel was right, it couldn’t be them. His body was trembling
uncontrollably from the combination of fear and humiliation that had so quickly
run through him. He stalked over to the ladder that accessed the loft and put
both hands on it.
“What
are you . . . Don’t!” he heard Amelia yell behind him. He ignored her and
pulled. The wood protested, but the nails were so old they couldn’t hang on.
The ladder came off the loft in a flurry of dust and wood chips. Zach threw it
down next to him.
“What
the hell?” Rachel screamed. “What’d you do that for?”
“Do
you seriously not know?” Zach yelled back.
“Well,
thank you, now we’re all fucked,” Rachel said.
“Good
for us!” Zach threw out his hands. “You could always jump down.”
“Do
you want me to hurt myself?”
“It
wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“Oh,
shut up.”
The
three siblings glared at each other. Amelia put her hands on her hips and then
dropped them. Rachel was still leaning against the railing, taking deep breaths
and chewing the inside of her cheek. Zach clenched and unclenched his fists. The
silence covered them, and stoked the anger floating between them.
Suddenly,
Zach felt two hands land on his back and give him a push. He stumbled forward.
He whirled around, only to be greeted by the sight of his mother clutching his
date by the wrist. In her rush to get away from the barn, she hadn’t quite
managed to retie the straps of her dress. She was covering her breasts with her
free arm and looking around like a wild animal.
“Who
is this?” his mother demanded, her grip tightening.
“Mom,
stop, it’s my prom date. Let her go,” Zach looked from his mother to his date.
He wanted to say something, apologize for this whole night, but the words died
on his lips.
“I
will not let her go,” his mother said. Her face had turned red and her eyes
bore right into his spirit. Suddenly he was eight years old and had broken a
plate while drying it. “Please explain to me why half of her dress is off.”
His
face had to be bright red. “Mom, please just let her go . . .”
“And
what are you two doing in here? What is this? Some big orgy?”
“Mom!”
Amelia said. “It’s not . . . Just . . . Don’t worry about us, we’re fine. Just
deal with what’s in front of you.” She gestured down to Zach. He glared at her.
Her nose crinkled in a mocking expression.
“Good
God, boy, when I am done with you—“ His mother’s eyes caught the ladder behind
him. She stepped forward, pulling the poor girl along with her. “What’ve you done?!”
she screamed. All of Zach’s instincts told him to make a break for the door
while she was out of the way. Instead, he pivoted in place and made a sound
that was somewhere between a groan and a nervous laugh.
“That
was Zach!” Rachel said, pointing to her brother as if her mother didn’t know
who he was. “Zach did that because he was mad at us!”
“I
swear to God, you three are going to be the death of me,” his mother said, her
tone quieter. The sound of it cut through him. Her hands were shaking.
“Look,
it’s going to be okay, mom. Besides, it wasn’t really us,” Rachel said. She sat
down and put her legs over the edge of the loft. “I mean, we technically started
it, but . . .” She jumped to the floor. Everyone stared at her in shock. Her
face went from her usual self-satisfied expression to one of sudden pain. A
moment passed. Then she started screaming.
His
mother rushed forward. “What have you done?” she asked, her voice strained as
she leaned over Rachel. In her worry, she had released Zach’s date. The girl
ran back out through the doors and into the night.
“A
stupid thing, mom,” Rachel said, rolling back and forth on the ground. “I did a
really stupid thing.”
“You
can say that again,” Zach said, relieved that the focus was briefly off him.
“Shut
up, fuckface,” Rachel said.
“Rachel!”
his mother said. “Language!”
“Mom!” she said. “I think my ankle’s broken!”
“All right, all right,” his mother said. She looked out the door, in the direction of the house. “Zach, do you think you could go get your father?”
“Mom!” she said. “I think my ankle’s broken!”
“All right, all right,” his mother said. She looked out the door, in the direction of the house. “Zach, do you think you could go get your father?”
Zach’s
stomach lurched. He looked from where Rachel lay on the ground to the door to
the stressed curve of his mother’s lips. He didn’t want to go, but he needed
to.
“What
are you waiting for?” Rachel yelled. “Go!”
“Please,” his mother said, her voice softening, “it’ll be okay.”
“Please,” his mother said, her voice softening, “it’ll be okay.”
He
nodded and turned. He focused on the movement of his feet. Soon, he was out in
the night and approaching the house. It was okay. His sister needed him.
Zach
pulled back out of his memories. It didn’t matter now. He reached out and
grabbed the doorknob. Despite all the years, the door held the way he
remembered, then gave under the pressure of his hand. He pulled it open, and
the scent of ten deserted years hit him and almost made him crumble to the
ground.
The
kitchen light was on, and he made his way toward it. His lawyer was standing at
the counter, the contracts laid out in front of her. She had offered to bring
them to his apartment, but he’d wanted to see it again. All the furniture that
his mother had lovingly collected had been scooped out, the house a shell of
what it had been. The smell lingered, though: the smell of roast cooking, and
the smell of his sisters’ perfume. He smiled at his lawyer, and reached out to the
counter.
And
when his hand landed, it landed on his father’s, twelve years ago. His father
was lying in a hospital bed, his eyes half closed. His skin had lost all of its
harsh, ruddy complexion and stretched tightly over his skull. His hand twitched
away when it felt Zach’s touch. He grunted.
Zach
sat down in the chair next to his father’s bed, his hands clasped in front of
him. He tapped his feet and looked at the clock on the wall. His mother was
supposed to come back at four, an agonizing thirty minutes away. His eyes
flickered to his father, and then flickered to the wall.
His
father grunted again, and his eyes widened. His fingers twitched. Zach
swallowed, and watched. His father’s eyes met his. “What . . . what are you
doing here?”
Zach
took a deep breath. “You asked for me, dad.”
His
father wheezed in and out. “What are you . . . what are you doing in my
bedroom?”
Zach
leaned forward. “We’re not in your bedroom, dad. We’re at the hospital. Do you
remember coming here?”
His
father’s face pulled through a series of angry and bewildered expressions
before arriving at something like acceptance. “I’m here . . . I’ve been here
for a long time . . .”
Zach nodded. When he had first heard of his father’s liver cancer diagnosis, he’d been ashamed of the relief he had felt. Of the overwhelming release that had gone through his body when they’d found out it was terminal. So many good people were taken from their families before their time, but his father wasn’t one of them. His father had been with them fifty-one years too long.
Zach nodded. When he had first heard of his father’s liver cancer diagnosis, he’d been ashamed of the relief he had felt. Of the overwhelming release that had gone through his body when they’d found out it was terminal. So many good people were taken from their families before their time, but his father wasn’t one of them. His father had been with them fifty-one years too long.
The
weathered man’s expression became panicked, and he made an effort to turn his
head and face his son. “Zach,” he said. “Zach . . . I need to . . . I couldn’t
. . . Please, I can’t . . .”
Zach
opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted to hear it and he didn’t.
“I
just . . .” his father said, and then his expression glazed over. Zach watched,
and his nerves pulled tight. He needed to call his mom, his sisters. They
should get here, they’d be too late if they got here at four. Oh God, oh God .
. .
And
then he heard it, as though it were a million miles away. That faint beeping
that had served as background noise for so many weeks. It slowed, and then
stopped. Then the constant whine of the heart monitor began as it warned the
doctors of their patient’s distress. They rushed in. Zach stood up.
He
walked out, and as he walked out, he felt something he hadn’t felt since he was
eighteen. Since that night in the barn, when his sister’s carelessness had led
him back to the house. Zach felt his father’s fist collide with his cheek, then
his stomach. All the air was knocked out of him. He walked faster, then
stumbled to the ground, catching himself with his hands. He brushed them off on
the sides of his pants, got up and kept walking. The blood was pounding in his
ears. He felt his father’s hand wrap around his seven-year-old wrist, his head
slamming into the wall behind him. He wanted to be out of the hospital, he
needed to be. The sliding doors were in front of him, welcoming him back into
the warm, blue world.
Zach
signed the contracts quickly. He had spent weeks working them out, and knew
them almost to the letter. It was all there, it was fair. The land was being
sold to their neighbors and would be consolidated into their farm. The rate his
family was getting was better than the average, and they needed the money. Amelia
had lived with their mother since their father died, the two women clinging to
each other like they were the last people on Earth. Rachel had moved to New
York, and nobody had heard from her for over six months. They were all still
rooted in the past, just as he was. It was time to cut a few of the heavier
strings.
It
was over faster than he had imagined, his lawyer’s eyes bright, her grip firm
in their handshake. He didn’t linger over the house. Zach made a beeline for
the front door and let himself out.
He
tried not to look at it as he crossed to his car, but his eyes wandered anyway.
It hadn’t changed, but the land didn’t look as dead anymore. Maybe he was being
swept up in the last of a gasping nostalgia, maybe it had just gotten later.
But something about it welcomed him in as it said goodbye. The smell of the
grass weaved its way into his hands, into his blood. He could cut the strings,
but these things would always be here. They would always have formed him, loved
him, and given him away. There would always be a place where it would never be
done.
And
maybe that was okay. Maybe he could live with that. His lips twitched up. Then
he climbed into his tiny car and drove off.
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