The Locust...2
The story of Ronnie Willings, who is searching for herself and running from love. Comments will be appreciated!
Bessy'd been gone for three years when I first saw Pace Grant. It was a normal day for me. The sun was sitting high in the sky and when I looked up at it, all I could see was a big spray of brightness that stretched in all directions. When I looked away, little splotches of light danced before my eyes for a while before I could see clearly again.
"Ronnie, run and get me a few tomatoes," Aunt Lynn said. I didn't know if she really needed tomatoes, or if she just wanted me out from under her feet. I'd been slumped at the kitchen table for quite some time, doing nothing but watch the flies bump against the screen door. Trying to get out, but failing.
I went out the back door, letting the flies free on the way. From the wide window above the kitchen sink, you could see Aunt Lynn's vegetable garden. It was a long rectangle with rows of corn and carrots and zucchini vines that gave the garden a personality of some sort. Aunt Lynn spent most of her time in there, keeping the weeds out and making sure the birds didn't peck her strawberries. Once, a rabbit'd gotten in from a hole somewhere in the fence. Aunt Lynn'd found her cabbage all nibbled around the edges the next morning and she searched for that rabbit for two weeks before Uncle Harris told her she was being unreasonable. When Aunt Lynn wasn't kneeling in her garden, or bustling around the kitchen, she was with her four bothersome cats, who always seemed to be sharpening their claws to scratch me. Or sprawling out on the ground for me to trip over. It seemed to me like my aunt Lynn didn't have much time for people. But Uncle Harris didn't either, so the two of them were perfectly fine with being isolated from society on their little farm that seemed to be tucked in the corner of the world.
Matthew was at the bottom of the porch steps, flicking his tail. He squinted up at me and yawned. Of all Aunt Lynn' cats, Matthew liked me the least. In return, I like him the least. We disliked each other and that was that.
"And get me some green beans while you're out there," called Aunt Lynn from inside, "Make sure the tomatoes are real red and plump. And make sure the green beans aren't skinny."
I took my time stepping over Matthew, walking across the backyard. The sun was sending a heavy feeling of sleepiness down to earth along with its warm rays. The sky was lazy with clouds. Not thunderstorm clouds. White, fluffy ones that looked as is you could reach up into the sky and pull one down to serve as a pillow.
As I walked down the little slope in the yard, I noticed that the grass reached up past my ankles. And it tickled and itched at the same time. I would've made a point of telling Uncle Harris about the length of the grass, except for I'd be the one who'd have to spend the afternoon pushing the mower around until my leg muscles were crying for mercy. So, I wouldn't bring up any topic related to grass during supper. Birds made all sorts of noises that blended into one big mess of a song. It was the kind of racket that gave me headaches. But I thought it was nice of the birds to at least try to create some kind of symphony. It must be hard to make a beautiful sound without a conductor.
In the middle of that thought is when I heard the familiar rattle of Uncle Harris's Ford from the driveway out front. I didn't think much of it, just kept walking. I reached the short wire fence that ran around the perimeter of the garden.
"C'mon inside! I'll show you around the place," Uncle Harris was saying. At first I didn't wonder why my uncle was talking to himself, but as I was climbing into the garden, I realized that someone must be around front talking with my uncle. Gravel crunched underfoot and I heard a voice saying something or other about being so grateful for this opportunity. My curiosity was huge by then and I wrestled with the tomato plant as I tried to hurry to find out who the unfamiliar voice belonged to. And what opportunity was worth being so grateful for.
Uncle Harris and Aunt Lynn didn't get many visitors. They were keep-to-themselves kind of people and liked listening to the locusts and the birds more than listening to humans talk. My cousin Brody sometimes had his friends over, but they didn't interest me much. Boring and skinny and pale.
I tucked three fat tomatoes into the little basket I'd made from my shirt. And I was crouching down over a twisted string of beans when the back door swung open, squeaking on its hinges.
"Hurry back, Ronnie," was all Aunt Lynn said. I grabbed a handful of green beans. Some were shriveled and I knew this would bring disappointment to my aunt. But she'd told me to hurry, so she couldn't hold anything against me. Loaded down with vegetables, I tried my best to make it out of the garden without tramping on any plants. Not until I was bounding up onto the back porch did I look down and see red juice dripping from my foot. Tomato skin hung from my heel and little seeds were spattered between my toes. Before I could run back and wipe the evidence of my carelessness on the too-long grass, Aunt Lynn popped out again.
"Thanks, honey," she said. And she gathered the tomatoes, eyed the skinny green beans, but never looked down at my foot.
"Hurry now, come on in. We have a visitor." The twinkle in her eyes told me that this wasn't just some ole visitor that Uncle Harris brought home for supper. This was another one of Aunt Lynn's attempts to heal the hurt that'd iced my heart as cold as the attic in January.
As soon as I stepped through the back door, I wished I could step right back out again, because the thick silence was unsettling. But before I could make a run for it, a voice spoke.
"I see somebody's been in the garden." I could feel the heat of embarrassment warm my cheeks and my neck. I pictured my hair, falling out from its ponytail and hanging in my face like a curtain of frizz. I tucked the stray pieces behind my ears and glared at the owner of the unfamiliar voice. A boy with a baseball cap pushed down over a head of black curls. He stood a good three inches taller than Uncle Harris.
"Yeah. I was in the garden," I said. He raised his eyebrows, rubbed a hand over his face, breathed out a little too loudly, all while looking me straight in the eyes. I looked away.
"Ronnie, meet the new farmhand," Aunt Lynn said, breaking the silence. I almost laughed at that.
"Farmhand?" I looked at Uncle Harris, at Aunt Lynn. Both were serious. Both were watching me carefully for my reaction.
"Why do we need a farmhand?" I asked. Having a horse, chickens, and a barn was hardly considered a farm. Aunt Lynn glanced at Uncle Harris. A look that I'd come to know as frustration.
"Well, Brody's off to college come September and I'm getting old. Thought we could use some help around the farm. Someone young and strong," my uncle explained.
"I'm young and strong," I said. This brought a laugh from Aunt Lynn.
"Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie," she said, shaking her head with a smile. My eyebrows scrunched down on my forehead in anger and confusion.
"What?"
"Your uncle means that he wants a young man to handle the farm. A strong young man that can do everything that needs doing," my aunt said in what was supposed to be a comforting voice. But I'd never found Aunt Lynn's voice comforting. Not in the way that I found Uncle Harris's voice comforting.
"Oh." Was all I said. And instead of standing around introducing myself to the new farmhand with curly black hair, I went out the back door and sat on the porch step by myself, with Matthew snoozing at my feet.
And as I sat there and pondered the situation under the sky white with clouds, I realized that I was a bit jealous of the farmhand. He would get to spend more time with my uncle than I would. And because of the jealousy, I couldn't even be happy about getting away with squashing one of Aunt Lynn's tomatoes.
"Ronnie, run and get me a few tomatoes," Aunt Lynn said. I didn't know if she really needed tomatoes, or if she just wanted me out from under her feet. I'd been slumped at the kitchen table for quite some time, doing nothing but watch the flies bump against the screen door. Trying to get out, but failing.
I went out the back door, letting the flies free on the way. From the wide window above the kitchen sink, you could see Aunt Lynn's vegetable garden. It was a long rectangle with rows of corn and carrots and zucchini vines that gave the garden a personality of some sort. Aunt Lynn spent most of her time in there, keeping the weeds out and making sure the birds didn't peck her strawberries. Once, a rabbit'd gotten in from a hole somewhere in the fence. Aunt Lynn'd found her cabbage all nibbled around the edges the next morning and she searched for that rabbit for two weeks before Uncle Harris told her she was being unreasonable. When Aunt Lynn wasn't kneeling in her garden, or bustling around the kitchen, she was with her four bothersome cats, who always seemed to be sharpening their claws to scratch me. Or sprawling out on the ground for me to trip over. It seemed to me like my aunt Lynn didn't have much time for people. But Uncle Harris didn't either, so the two of them were perfectly fine with being isolated from society on their little farm that seemed to be tucked in the corner of the world.
Matthew was at the bottom of the porch steps, flicking his tail. He squinted up at me and yawned. Of all Aunt Lynn' cats, Matthew liked me the least. In return, I like him the least. We disliked each other and that was that.
"And get me some green beans while you're out there," called Aunt Lynn from inside, "Make sure the tomatoes are real red and plump. And make sure the green beans aren't skinny."
I took my time stepping over Matthew, walking across the backyard. The sun was sending a heavy feeling of sleepiness down to earth along with its warm rays. The sky was lazy with clouds. Not thunderstorm clouds. White, fluffy ones that looked as is you could reach up into the sky and pull one down to serve as a pillow.
As I walked down the little slope in the yard, I noticed that the grass reached up past my ankles. And it tickled and itched at the same time. I would've made a point of telling Uncle Harris about the length of the grass, except for I'd be the one who'd have to spend the afternoon pushing the mower around until my leg muscles were crying for mercy. So, I wouldn't bring up any topic related to grass during supper. Birds made all sorts of noises that blended into one big mess of a song. It was the kind of racket that gave me headaches. But I thought it was nice of the birds to at least try to create some kind of symphony. It must be hard to make a beautiful sound without a conductor.
In the middle of that thought is when I heard the familiar rattle of Uncle Harris's Ford from the driveway out front. I didn't think much of it, just kept walking. I reached the short wire fence that ran around the perimeter of the garden.
"C'mon inside! I'll show you around the place," Uncle Harris was saying. At first I didn't wonder why my uncle was talking to himself, but as I was climbing into the garden, I realized that someone must be around front talking with my uncle. Gravel crunched underfoot and I heard a voice saying something or other about being so grateful for this opportunity. My curiosity was huge by then and I wrestled with the tomato plant as I tried to hurry to find out who the unfamiliar voice belonged to. And what opportunity was worth being so grateful for.
Uncle Harris and Aunt Lynn didn't get many visitors. They were keep-to-themselves kind of people and liked listening to the locusts and the birds more than listening to humans talk. My cousin Brody sometimes had his friends over, but they didn't interest me much. Boring and skinny and pale.
I tucked three fat tomatoes into the little basket I'd made from my shirt. And I was crouching down over a twisted string of beans when the back door swung open, squeaking on its hinges.
"Hurry back, Ronnie," was all Aunt Lynn said. I grabbed a handful of green beans. Some were shriveled and I knew this would bring disappointment to my aunt. But she'd told me to hurry, so she couldn't hold anything against me. Loaded down with vegetables, I tried my best to make it out of the garden without tramping on any plants. Not until I was bounding up onto the back porch did I look down and see red juice dripping from my foot. Tomato skin hung from my heel and little seeds were spattered between my toes. Before I could run back and wipe the evidence of my carelessness on the too-long grass, Aunt Lynn popped out again.
"Thanks, honey," she said. And she gathered the tomatoes, eyed the skinny green beans, but never looked down at my foot.
"Hurry now, come on in. We have a visitor." The twinkle in her eyes told me that this wasn't just some ole visitor that Uncle Harris brought home for supper. This was another one of Aunt Lynn's attempts to heal the hurt that'd iced my heart as cold as the attic in January.
As soon as I stepped through the back door, I wished I could step right back out again, because the thick silence was unsettling. But before I could make a run for it, a voice spoke.
"I see somebody's been in the garden." I could feel the heat of embarrassment warm my cheeks and my neck. I pictured my hair, falling out from its ponytail and hanging in my face like a curtain of frizz. I tucked the stray pieces behind my ears and glared at the owner of the unfamiliar voice. A boy with a baseball cap pushed down over a head of black curls. He stood a good three inches taller than Uncle Harris.
"Yeah. I was in the garden," I said. He raised his eyebrows, rubbed a hand over his face, breathed out a little too loudly, all while looking me straight in the eyes. I looked away.
"Ronnie, meet the new farmhand," Aunt Lynn said, breaking the silence. I almost laughed at that.
"Farmhand?" I looked at Uncle Harris, at Aunt Lynn. Both were serious. Both were watching me carefully for my reaction.
"Why do we need a farmhand?" I asked. Having a horse, chickens, and a barn was hardly considered a farm. Aunt Lynn glanced at Uncle Harris. A look that I'd come to know as frustration.
"Well, Brody's off to college come September and I'm getting old. Thought we could use some help around the farm. Someone young and strong," my uncle explained.
"I'm young and strong," I said. This brought a laugh from Aunt Lynn.
"Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie," she said, shaking her head with a smile. My eyebrows scrunched down on my forehead in anger and confusion.
"What?"
"Your uncle means that he wants a young man to handle the farm. A strong young man that can do everything that needs doing," my aunt said in what was supposed to be a comforting voice. But I'd never found Aunt Lynn's voice comforting. Not in the way that I found Uncle Harris's voice comforting.
"Oh." Was all I said. And instead of standing around introducing myself to the new farmhand with curly black hair, I went out the back door and sat on the porch step by myself, with Matthew snoozing at my feet.
And as I sat there and pondered the situation under the sky white with clouds, I realized that I was a bit jealous of the farmhand. He would get to spend more time with my uncle than I would. And because of the jealousy, I couldn't even be happy about getting away with squashing one of Aunt Lynn's tomatoes.
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