2. Dustin
Chapter 2
Dustin
“What the hell?” I grumble.
I slap my hand against the nightstand with my eyes still closed. I need to shut off the annoying ass sound. It continues a crescendo.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
In my sleep haze my eyes flicker open. Through my blurred vision I stare at my phone screen. Four thirty in the morning. The noise isn’t coming from my phone. It’s coming from the front door.
That’s when my surroundings come into view. And it hit’s me hard. I’m on the farm, not in my apartment in New York City.
I flip over the cover and drag my feet across the carpet, down a few steps to the front door. I open it, the dark sky filters through the gap.
“Get the hell up, the day started thirty minutes ago. The goat’s need milking, fed, and fresh water. If you want this responsibility, you better start showing some initiative.” My grandpa says.
“Yes sir,” I yawn.
“Five minutes. I’m giving you that long and nothing more. I’ll be waiting outside in the side-by-side.”
“Okay.” I manage to say.
How did I end up in this predicament?
I grab a pair of jeans and t-shirt, shrugging them on. A flashback runs through my mind from five days ago, reminding me of how I ended up here.
“Hello?—Hello?—Dustin—it’s good to hear—voice. How are you?—been a long time—I’ve heard from you.” My grandpa’s voice escapes the phone between each break of static. The cut in service makes it hard to decipher what he’s conveying, especially at this hour .
“Umm—you know it’s six a.m. on a Sunday, right Grandpa? Could we talk later when I’m awake? And alive?” I sandwich my head under a pillow to block out the blinding rays.
“It’s six a.m. like I always say—”
“If you aren’t up before the roosters crow you aren’t up early enough.”
“Exactly, I heard them crowing hours ago.”
“You don’t even have any chickens.”
“That doesn’t matter, you get my point.”
“Yes, Sir.” My voice comes out muffled from underneath the pillow.
“Anyways, this can’t wait. We’ve waited long enough for you to take some responsibility. The farm needs your help. I need your help.” His voice cracks on the I.
I open the front door and hop into the seat. He reverses and drives towards the goat’s barn. We’re silent for a few minutes, nothing but the rumble of the engine and gravel under the tires.
“Will you let me put a booster on your roof? My phone barely works out here.”
He lets out a dry laugh, “Absolutely not. The day you put that high tech equipment in my home is the day I die.”
I sigh. My hands are tied. I change the subject. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Well, first off there’s no agendas out here. You’re not working in the office anymore.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” It’s still raw. The reminder of being laid off doesn’t sit well in my empty stomach.
He continues as we pull in front of the goat barn, “we’ll take care of the goats. There is a lot of things you need to learn. Since we didn’t have them when you were younger. Then off to mucking the cow barn. But, you’ve got that handled on your own. You’ve done that plenty of times before.”
“Yeah, I’m good with that.” There goes my brand new clothes I bought yesterday. I rub my head at the reminder. It still stings a little where I got hit on the head.
“And then we’ll check the fences. I’m sure there are a few spots that need to be re-strung. Those nasty windstorms did some damage. It won’t get done all in one day. But you can get a head start.”
“Anything else?”
“Plenty, but we don’t have enough time in the day to sit here and talk. Let’s get to work.”
After a few grueling hours of milking goats and feeding. Filling water troughs, laying down fresh hay. My grandfather dropped me off in front of the cattle barn.
The grueling part had nothing to do with milking or goats. No, it had to do with my grandfather's agitation with me. I can sense some hostility that can only be rebuilt through time. Lots of time.
I shovel cow manure into the spreader on the back of the tractor using the skid steer. With each scoop my nose stings with the smell. I’m not used to it, after not being here for years. I’ve gotten acclimated to the odor of garbage, car exhausts, and a variety of fumes. Some pleasant, others not so much. The same can be said for life on the farm.
Once the spreader is full, I drive it across the field. I shift the tractor into a higher gear, it grinds with each movement. Shooting manure all over the new growth. I repeat this process multiple times until the section of field is covered, and I can see the concrete floor of the barn. I shovel the rest of the concrete where I couldn’t get the skid steer. I hose the floor down and scrub it clean. Hours later I wipe my brow, entirely exhausted after a full day of manual labor. Being a farmer is no easy feat. As I stand here and look at what I’ve accomplished, I feel pride in my chest. After sitting at a desk for years as an accountant, the change of pace feels refreshing.
I peek out the barn doors, the sky is bright red with wisps of orange and purple. Cows graze the field surrounding me, goats on the other side. The landscape is never ending. Nothing in sight but the barns, pastures, and trees. My A-Frame and the farmhouse are a blip in the grand scheme of things.
I missed the slow pace of this life.
I walk in the back door of my grandparents’ farmhouse. After scrubbing my skin raw for the past hour, I’m ready for dinner. I don’t have the energy to make myself something. But why would I? My grandma makes the best food.
“Oh, my dear!” My grandmother places her palm over her heart. “I still can’t believe you're here.” She pulls me into a bone-crushing embrace.
“I saw you yesterday, we’ve already done this.” She holds onto me for what feels like hours. “You can let go now. I can’t breathe.”
“I know. But it still doesn’t feel real. I don’t want to let go. I’m afraid you’ll disappear again.”
“Oh grandma, I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her. At least not for the next couple of months. Until I decide on whether I want to stay here permanently.
“I’ll believe that when I see it.” My grandfather grunts under his breath.
“I missed you too Grandpa. Haven’t I shown you that I’m serious about staying for a while. Look what I accomplished today.”
“If you did then you would have come back here sooner. It was one day of work. We’ll see after you spend a week working.” I can tell my grandfather still holds a grudge for my not returning. I can’t blame him. He’s been holding it through yesterday and today. And he will for weeks to come. He doesn’t let things go easily.
A knock on the door sounds.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“That’s Mason, he was coming by to buy some goat’s cheese,” my grandma says.
“I’ll get it.” The door creaks on its hinges as I open it.
“Dustin. It’s good to see you man.” Mason claps me on the shoulder in greeting.
“What’s it been? Twelve years?”
“Feels more like twenty, but who’s counting?” He chuckles. “I heard you were back in town, but I didn’t believe it. Now that I’m seeing you with my own two eyes, the whispers must be true. Unless I need a new prescription for these damn glasses.”
“You better believe it’s me.”
“Last I heard you were living in the city. In some high-rise apartment making the big bucks.”
I amiably elbow him in the arm. “Last I heard you took over Rooster’s Bar and were making the big bucks.”
“Fair Point.” Mason’s cheeks rise in a grin. “It’s good to see you back on the farm again. I remember the days when I used to help out in high school while you were here for the summers.” We both walk to his F-150 truck. Mason releases the tailgate to reveal a large cooler.
“How could I forget? We were always getting in trouble.” I chuckle at the thought. “So, what’s the cheese for?”
“For the big night; the special is goat’s cheeseburgers.”
“What does this big night entail?” My eyebrows absent-mindedly rise in question.
“The Thornwood Valley Heartbreakers of course.”
“They’re still a thing?” I ask, reminiscing on the nights my grandparents used to take me to listen to the band play cover songs. My parents would have been so pissed off if they knew I used to go to the bar when I was younger. It was the highlight of my summer—the live music, chitter-chatter, and thrill of doing something I wasn’t allowed.
“Yep. And they are better than ever. Everyone is coming out tomorrow so I’m hoping for a successful night of sales. You should stop by to have a drink and a burger, on me. Listen to them for old time’s sake.”
“God, we sound like two codgers reminiscing.”
“That’s because we are.”
“We’re thirty, not senile,” I say as I follow Mason to the industrial fridge to help carry the cheese. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer. I’ve got nothing else better to do.”