4. Brooks
4
Brooks
A s I walk out of my mother’s house, I’m glad to be done for the night. Like every other night, she invited me to dinner, and I’ve declined. I always feel terrible when I have to tell her that I’m not joining her and her guests for dinner, but not as bad as I would feel if I actually had to sit through a dinner with a couple like the one she has staying now. Sometimes, surviving this damned town takes being an asshole. I’m more than willing to make that sacrifice. It may not keep Mom happy with me, but it keeps me close by and able to take care of her. Happy is relative anyway.
At least tonight, I have a valid excuse to decline her dinner invite. During lunch today, some of the guys made plans for a night out and invited me out for drinks. I’m not much of a partier the way some of the guys are, but even I can admit I could use a night out to blow off steam and bond with my men.
I open the door to my old truck, grab the keys I always leave on the seat, and hop in. Old Faithful roars to life, and I begin the bumpy ride down the gravel road to my house across the ranch. Ace, my golden retriever, must have heard me coming because he meets me in the driveway. Although not your typical farm breed, Ace spends a lot of time out in the field with me. He gets to take the afternoon off, though, when I have to help out at Mom’s, so he usually ends up wandering back to the house.
I give Ace a quick rub on the head, watch his ears flop, and then walk up the steps to my porch. I don’t have time to hang out with Ace the way I usually do after work. There’s nothing better than playing ball out in the yard with Ace to wind down from a long day of work. But I don’t like to leave people waiting, and I gave my word about when I would be at the bar. So, I go straight in set on grabbing a bite to eat and a quick shower.
I groan as I walk in my front door. Ace really needs more to do. These afternoons off have caused him to get bored and, in turn, destructive. He hasn’t torn up anything important or valuable. However, there isn’t too much in this old farmhouse that someone would consider valuable. I’m not home enough to need fancy things.
But Ace has done enough to throw my schedule off for the evening. He has helped himself to the kitchen trashcan, and what looks like an entire roll of toilet paper is now lying on the floor, looking like redneck confetti—damn dog. I begin dutifully cleaning the mess my furry best friend has made. When I finish, I make myself a sandwich and eat it as I walk down the hall to my bathroom.
After my shower, I run a towel through my hair and walk over to my closet to find some clothes to throw on. I grab some old jeans and a solid navy-blue shirt. My boots aren’t in the best shape, but the soles are still solid so they’re good enough for me. I tell Ace bye, remind him to behave, and pull the door shut behind me. I have a ten-minute drive to The Rusty Nail to prepare myself for a night with the boys.
I always make a point to look tough and unaffected when I walk into The Rusty Nail. I have appearances to keep up. But if I’m being honest with myself, I actually love this place. I grew up to think of the familiar scent of stale beer and too much cologne as a home away from home over the years. I have been coming here since far before I was old enough to drink legally.
It’s just the way in this town. It always has been. It always will be. When a boy is old enough to start doing man’s work, his father brings him down to The Rusty Nail for his first “beer” with the boys. The tradition continues generation after generation.
I hold up a hand to Kip and Tilly in greeting as I walk across the bar floor. The Bakers have owned The Rusty Nail for as long as I can remember. Miss Tilly always keeps the place pretty clean, considering the dirty blue-collar workers that are in here most nights. She was a big help when things got rough with mom this last year. I always wonder where she gets all that energy, but I am sure as hell thankful for it in the long run. I know my mom and dad are too.
“B!” yells a loud, deep voice. My eyes are instantly drawn to a table near the dart boards. The group of guys I’m meeting here sit perched on bar stools around the high-top table. A group of various half full bottles and glasses cover the table. I send a nod their way to let them know I saw them and would be there as soon as I stop by the long bar in the back of the room and grab a beer.
I offer a polite nod to a few of the women I notice staring at me. I know them all, of course. I know everyone in this tiny town I was born in, and will die in. But most days, I try to ignore the women I have grown up with my whole life. I just wish they would stop seeing me as a challenge. I’m one of the few guys in town who doesn’t have the time to give them the attention they want. That makes them even more insufferable, fighting for said attention. I try not to encourage them as much as possible.
But eventually, my mom gets word of me being rude and I have to sit through one of her lectures about being a gentleman and how work alone doesn’t make a life. How eventually, I will have to choose one of the nice young ladies in town to make a life and start a family with. I try to avoid that even more than I try to avoid the “nice young ladies” who I know are more than happy to open their legs for any guy that gets close enough.