***
Thursday Curtis had a baseball game, which was just as well. He was supposed to help with the painting, only he worked so slow and Brian worked so slow that watching the two of them just about drove me insane. It wasn't like the slower they went the sooner it would be done. There weren't any painting fairies waiting to sneak in at night and finish it up for them. The only one who'd be finishing it up was me. Which explains why it made me so crazy. Plus Curtis was this big no-talking presence, sucking away anything Brian and I might have said. I got the sense that that sort of drove Brian crazy. So as soon as Curtis and Dad left, we hightailed it up to the heifer field to burn off some of our craziness.
"Okay," I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, "let's start with some sprints."
Brian stared at me. It wasn't a pretty stare.
I stuck a couple stakes at the other end of the field as he poked at a cowpie with the toe of his shoe, just to make a point. "You ready?" I asked in my best cheery voice. "Forty yards. I'll run with you." I figured that would help him, knowing we were both suffering.
So we lined up, Brian acting like this was his execution or something—God that guy can bellyache—and off we went.
I'm a sprinter on the track team. My freshman year we made regionals, we were so good. Of course I didn't run track last spring because of Dad's hip. But now I remembered how much I loved it, and how much fun it would be to run next spring.
"I think I'm going to puke," Brian managed to get out as we finished.
"Boy, that was great," I panted, wiping my forehead. "Want to do it again?"
He laughed.
"Come on, we only have four more." I headed back to our starting line.
Brian didn't move. "You're serious?"
"Yeah, why not? It'll be fun," I said.
Finally, just out of shame I guess, he shuffled over. "You Schwenks are insane. You hear me? Insane!" But I didn't hear anything else he said because I was already running.
Friday was my birthday. In the morning I celebrated by rolling and baling the clover, which was just amazingly wonderful, you can tell. Actually, it was better at least than having Brian find out it was my birthday. All that talk about how I wasn't sixteen yet—which is what a birthday means, it means you're finally turning an age that you want everyone to think you already are—I didn't want that talk at all.
Then Brian and Curtis and I had to go out in the afternoon to bring the clover in. At least I didn't have to worry about Curtis mentioning my you-know-what to Brian. If Curtis even knew it was my birthday to begin with. Anyway, the three of us got the wagon loaded, every last bale in that miserable sun, and unloaded the whole damn thing and collapsed on the hayloft floor because we were so beat. Working together like that, it sure was different from the last time we'd hayed. An awful lot had happened in one week.
Brian wiped his forehead. "I just hope come January that those cows thank me."
"I'll let you know," I said.
Curtis disappeared for a bit and came back with a couple big bottles of pop, which was about the best thing he's ever done in his entire life. We sat there passing the bottles around and belching. I'm not too good at it—I mean, I'm good for a girl and I can keep up with Amber, but that doesn't mean too much around here. Curtis is okay. Brian, though...
"Jeez," said Curtis, which is high praise coming from him.
So that was pretty fun, and we emptied both bottles and felt pretty good.
"You know," Brian said, "this has been the hardest week of my life. I don't know how you do it."
That was nice. We sat there for a few minutes, Curtis and me, savoring that. It was the very best present I got all day. Finally, though, I stood up. "It's been nice working with you."
Brian held out his hand. "Want to carry me to my car?" Which made us grin.
"Take care of yourself," I said.
"You too." And he drove away.
And that was the end of my big important week training Brian Nelson.
That night at dinner Mom and Curtis and Dad had a little birthday party for me. Amber had to work so she couldn't come, which was a bummer because she's always fun at parties. But Dad baked this cake that looked like a real birthday cake almost, and he gave me a jar of corn syrup as a huge joke on sweet sixteen. Curtis got me a Vikings jersey which was really nice of him because those things are expensive, and I guess it shows he knew it was my birthday all along. I can wear it around the house at least, because if I wore it to school I'd get beat up, all the other kids are such Packers fans. Teachers, too. Mom got me—ready for this?—school supplies. Thanks, Mom. Plus a card promising she'd take me for my driver's test ASAP.
That night I had a dream Dad was cooking up a big pot of hay, and we were sitting around the table eating it and we were cows. All of us. I woke up and heard the rain starting, and you'd think I'd get some satisfaction from bringing all the clover in safely. But I didn't. Instead I lay there trying to figure out why I'd wanted so much to turn sixteen years old when now that I actually was sixteen I didn't feel one little bit different.
12. The Long Weekend
I've got to hand it to her: Mom lived up to her promise. Saturday morning right after milking she drove me to the Department of Transportation so I could get a driver's license. Well, not a real driver's license because this is Wisconsin, where they treat teen drivers like they're insane homicidal morons, but at least a probationary license that lets me drive by myself so I don't have to beg Mom and Amber for rides anymore.
Don't even ask what my photo looks like.
So because it was still pouring rain and I couldn't do any farm work, thank God, I drove the pickup by myself to Amber's, where we watched Blue Crush for the millionth time. It's a movie about three girls who are a lot like us except they live in Hawaii and don't have any parents and they date professional football players and surf all the time. And they're thin. So you can see that the similarities are overwhelming. Also Amber got me a really great box of chocolates that we gobbled down in about fifteen seconds. And because I was so sore from haying, she gave me a really great shoulder rub until she poked me in the ribs and I cracked up.
"You know," she said, "I'm thinking about working checkout at the Super Saver. You should too—they've got openings."
I tried to figure out how to respond. I didn't want to say it, but something about those checkout people has always made me really uncomfortable. It isn't just that they have to stand in one place all day and make small talk—both of which I hate—and call to ask the price of stuff—which I could never do—and remember all those numbers—which I would stink at. Thinking about it, I realized that they were cows too. Just like me. That's what they reminded me of: cows standing there in their milking stalls all day long, waiting to be milked. Although of course the checkout ladies don't get milked. But cows at least get to go outside occasionally, which the checkout ladies never do unless they're going for a cigarette, which isn't the same thing.
So I said, trying to be all tactful, "I've got farm work."
"Oh please. You're not even getting paid."
"Yeah ... but what about volleyball?"
"Volleyball sucks." Which is true.
"It'll suck even more if you're not there."
"So work with me. We'll buy that F-150 together." Amber is saving for a pickup.
"Yeah, but ... but don't checkout ladies remind you of cows?" It was a little awkward bringing it up, but I figured it would at least give us a chance to talk about it.
"Cows?" Amber looked at me. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, you know, the way they just stand there?"
Amber patted me. "Girl, you need to get off the farm. Want some popcorn?"
So she popped a bag and we hung out for a while more, but it wasn't the same. I could tell she really wanted me to take that job. Comparing her future coworkers to large domesticated animals wasn't winning me any favors. And to tell you the truth, I was a little mad too. I'd really hoped we could, you know, ta
lk about this whole I-am-a-cow thing. I was as pushy as I know how to be, but she sure didn't have any interest.
So I drove home all by myself in the rain, thinking how nice it was not to have to ask Amber for a ride because I sure didn't feel like asking her for anything at the moment. I did the evening milking with thirty-two wet, smelly cows steaming up our new clean barn, and went to bed early because there's never anything on TV and I wasn't in the mood to go out.
I lay in bed thinking about working checkout at the Super Saver and how I would rather die than get a job like that. Beyond the fact that I hated the idea of it, I wouldn't be any good at it. Which sort of brought up the issue of what exactly I would be good at. Certainly nothing that involved talking or working with people, which crossed a whole bunch of jobs right off the list. Kari Jorgensen for example works at her folks' ice cream parlor. That would kill me, having to deal with kids, and talk to people all day long about which flavor tastes best. It's ice cream. It doesn't matter. It's good. All of it. Trust me.
About the only thing I was really good at was farming, but I sure didn't want to spend my life doing that. The one other thing that came to mind was football. It was a shame Brian and I only had a week. Maybe after I got out of high school, if I ever got out, I could hang around and help out Red Bend's football team like the old guys who showed up sometimes to be line coach or something. Maybe, that is, if I were a guy.
Maybe I could join the circus. Ha. I'd seen carnivals at the county fairs where kids show their animals and they judge the best watermelon and all that. The folks who worked the carnivals always looked like they were having about as much fun as the checkout ladies. But maybe a circus was different. Maybe I could clean up after the elephants. I sure knew a lot about that. And in the end that's what put me to sleep, thinking about elephant poop.
The next morning as everyone except me was getting ready for church, Mom said for the millionth time, "The front lawn needs cutting."
"I thought we'd just hay it," I said. It's an old, old joke in our family. No one laughs.
Mom sighed. "I'm just hoping it can get mowed before it looks any worse." That hung there in the kitchen for a while. You could hear Dad thinking that his hip was still mending and Curtis thinking he had baseball and me thinking that since I do every other damn thing around here, maybe someone could take the tiniest bit of responsibility and do it themselves.
Then they left and I paced around the house, too wound up to sleep and too bored to do anything normal like watch TV or something. Or read. We're not big readers in this family. Farm Journal maybe, or Good Housekeeping. Or schoolbooks when we have to. But you can bet money I wasn't too interested in those. Finally, so I wouldn't go insane, I cranked up Grandpa Warren's old ride-on lawn mower and went to work on the lawn.
It wasn't much fun, let me tell you. The mowing was fine—I could mow that lawn in my sleep, especially since we've basically given up on flowers and stuff. But it sure didn't make my brain any happier. There wasn't much that made my brain happier these days. The only time I really enjoyed myself, it seemed, or I was too busy to realize I wasn't enjoying myself, was with Brian. Even painting or haying was okay when he was around because we were so busy. But training was the best. Planning it, doing drills with him, timing his sprints on our so-called football field ... That field could be a lot better. Cleaning up the cowpies would be a start. Mowing down the humps of grass the old cowpies had turned into. Once all those were gone I could get some lime even, and mark out the lines...
So after a while, without even doing the sides of the driveway and all the other stuff, I went back to the toolshed for a measuring tape and lime and stakes and the line marker Win made out of a baby stroller and a coffee can, all there in a pile from when he and Bill left them because no one ever cleans up anything ever, and made myself a couple peanut butter sandwiches and headed up the hill.
I worked right up until milking time even though there was so much other farm stuff to do that was more important. Although now that I think about it, I was doing it because there was so much other stuff to do that was so important. But this was fun. It was my hobby. The way Mom does needlework sometimes even though, let's face it, how many little scratchy pillows does one family really need.
Anyway, it was great. I scooped up all the cowpies and dumped them in a pile. I mowed the whole football field and marked all the lines as straight as an arrow, more or less. The heifers were interested for a while but then they just chewed their cud and watched me like I was a TV rerun they'd already seen. They didn't like the lawn tractor too much, but I hoped the memory of all that racket would keep them off my field.
It was about the prettiest football field you ever saw. Well, half a field. I only went to the fifty-yard line because even half a field is a lot of work. The grass was bright green from all the rain, and the white lines were clear as a bell, and the contrast between the long heifer grass and the freshly mowed field made it look that much better. I kind of wished I had a hot air balloon or something to take a picture. A little voice inside me asked just what exactly I planned to with this nice new field, but I smashed that thought right down. If that thought had been a fly, I would have killed it with a fly swatter.
During milking I looked once or twice down to the end of the barn where the weights were, almost like I expected to see Brian there. Which is crazy, I know. Like how Smut sits next to the kitchen cabinet waiting to be fed when we've already fed her. Crazy, but you can't help hoping. Then, when I couldn't put it off any longer, I went into the kitchen prepared for the worst. Frankly, I was surprised Dad hadn't already bawled me out for not finishing the front lawn. Him not showing up meant he was extra mad, sitting at the kitchen table just steaming.
When I came in, though, he and Mom barely looked up. "You've been busy there" was all Mom said.
"How about this one?" Dad asked her, holding up the Betty Crocker cookbook.
"I'd stay away from marshmallows," she answered.
"What are you doing?" I had to ask.
Mom sighed. "At church your father got in a fight with Connie Ingalls—"
"A discussion," Dad interrupted. "They were dry."
"You hurt her feelings, you know," Mom said.
"I didn't say they were dry. I just said—"
"Anyway, Dad said that I could make better brownies and he'd prove it." She and Dad had clearly been through this a couple times.
"But you never make brownies."
"I'll make them," Dad said like it was obvious.
"You'll make brownies for Mom?" I was confused.
"Your mom's too busy."
"But—if you're making them, then they're your brownies."
"Men don't make brownies," he sniffed. "How do you feel about chocolate chips?"
I looked at him sitting elbow-deep in cookbooks, recipe cards everywhere, ajar of corn syrup—my corn syrup, my birthday corn syrup—right in front of him. "Whatever," I said, and went upstairs to take a shower.
Curtis was at a sleepover so I couldn't even joke with him about Dad. I couldn't really talk to Amber about it. She and Dad don't get along too good in the best of circumstances. She'd make some crack about how you don't need boobs to make brownies, which is true but still. It's one thing to call your own father a moron but it's different when someone else does it. And with Amber not having a dad and all, it was even harder. Because I couldn't point out her own father's mistakes except for that one about him leaving before she was born, and that I wouldn't do.
You know who I really wanted to talk to about the brownie thing? Brian. Because he'd find something to joke about, some way that was funny but not mean so even Dad would laugh. And thinking about that made me really miss Brian. Because, well, maybe you haven't figured this out yet, but I don't have a whole lot of people in my life to talk to, and Brian was someone I could. Even when we didn't talk, which was most of the time, I felt okay with him. And then I started thinking about his training and how the worst part was over, and how if h
e kept it up it would only get better and he wouldn't be so sore. Plus it would really impress Jimmy Ott that he'd decided to keep going.
And then right away before I changed my mind I dried off and went into Mom and Dad's room where the phone is and closed the door so no one could hear me because that would be the worst, and I looked up Nelson in the phone book and they were listed, thank God, because I didn't have a solution if they weren't, and called him.
The phone rang four times. One more ring, I decided, and I'd hang up.
"Hello?" a woman answered.
"Yeah—hi." I swallowed. "Is, um, Brian there?"
"Brian!" she called. "There's a girl on the phone for you!"
I blushed deep red. Okay, I know I'm a girl and that I was calling him, but I wasn't that kind of girl. He must get a hundred calls a day from girls. They sure called his cell phone enough. I should have called his cell phone—then I wouldn't be interrupting his mom. But I didn't even have that number. And if I did call it, that would make me seem even more like a girl on the phone—
"Hello?" Brian said.
"Hey. It's, um, D.J."
"Hey, how are you?" At least he didn't sound angry.
"Okay." I tried to think of something to say, but all I could think of were all those girls who called him and how they probably were much, much better at this.
The minutes ticked by.
"You want to put Curtis on, let him talk for a while?" Brian asked.
I cracked up, because I was so nervous but also because it was funny. And then, all at once so I wouldn't stop myself, "Last week was real hard but it's going to get easier so maybe if you wanted we could keep going with the whole training thing."