Are You Sleeping?

Word Count: 6542

         When you’re chugging chocolate milk you don’t expect an immediate end result. Next thing I hear a flat toot coming out of another cow’s rectum. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Got sprayed in the face once with a real almost saggy one. You don’t forget those. But don’t let anyone know I told you that. In fact, I’m not sure why I have, but cat’s out of the bottle now. There was an unusual rain pattern, some combination of the dew mist of those Irish fields I’ve seen on Google and dark, ominous, baggy clouds, ready to strike at any moment. Lightning might strike a match with those methane farts. Haha. Smell like some nasty sulfur or something.
         The cow dangled its tail and slowly inched forward. Stupid thing I thought. And, get this: we’ve never slaughtered a single one. Here we are in the ripe green country of Southern Illinois, with probably some of the best grass-fed cows in the MidWest, and we simply let them piss milk. Since returning to this shithole I’ve been telling my Dad we could be slaughtering them things. Not necessarily all of them now. Just the annoying ones. Like the stanky one I just put up with. I saw Dad studiously attending to what really was his farm, I was mostly just living on it.
         Son of a MidWestern farmer, that’s me alright. Call me a punk, or even call me a shame, but the place has always grated on me. Every day my dad is up at about 4 a.m. and he’s off to the races hours before sunrise. Honestly a great guy, but I never understood why he’s stuck it out. Mom hasn’t been with us since I was a kid, and my childhood was held together on the belief that we might follow her out to the golden state. Chase a more opulent American dream, ya know? Wasn’t meant to be. He’s an O’Malley through and through, to be sure. I always felt more like a Popov, but hell no mama’s boy neither.
         I trekked down the new, paved driveway, 400 total meters!, and I saw Pops across the field. I swear he lumbered harder than any of the low rumbling thunder in the background. Built practically like a linebacker, his glory days have never been forgotten by this town. Alexandria High School sings his praises to this day! The QB who took them all the way to the state championship. But for what? They didn’t win. And he didn’t even take up that college scholarship opportunity at Urbana. Too damn invested in this place. This is his legacy, I guess. Well, could be worse. Maybe he’s serving his own father’s dreams. Pops is smiling down at him. But, yeah, there’s sure as hell a reason why I had to escape this town, at least I tried. As I approached my father, I couldn’t help but think that I missed out on some of his genes. Popov I tell you. I’m a Popov.
Anyway, after the awakening delivered by the fart flash, I felt sure I could reason with my dad about ideas for this place.
“Why ain’t we slaughtering on this farm?” I asked.
My dad didn’t even stop to break. He was shoveling shit. Maybe just a half inch more dignified than the flatulence I had swallowed.
“You hear me, Dad?”
He threw two more shovels into the corner of his red, spacey barn and soon stood still. Eventually erect, yet calm and relaxed.
“What are you talkin’ about, son?”
“These cows, Dad. They’re everywhere. And I don’t know that we’re getting all the bang for our buck that we can.”
“You proposing your beefing enterprise again son?”
“Well what else would I be suggesting? The milk industry is fine and well, but you know we’re not keeping up with the competition. The fed’s got them in their pocket.”
“You think killing our cows will make the difference? We don’t even have the equipment. No contracts either. And who’s gonna do the killing? You ready to have blood splattered all over you? Because if you do please tell me. I’ll give you a butcher knife or shotgun right now son.”
         I was pressing the issue. I’ve been pushing this idea ever since I returned to town and I probably should have learned years back that this was a dead-end street. I relaxed on the topic. Anyway, he had plenty more to say so I decided to shut up.
“Slaughtering cows…I don’t know if it’s in our future, son. I’m not even trained in it. Besides, why split our energies when we could just keep growing our dairy production? I just landed a grant from the government and the department at the university is helping out, too. We’re inheriting 200 hectares of land, boy! You know what that means?”
I stood by and kept listening. Marco, our crew leader, was bringing the rest of the cows out to graze.
“We can step up the game. We can keep up with the big farms. Hell, we will be a big farm. At least practically.”
         It all sorta went in one ear and out the other, if I’m being honest with you. I felt his exuberance. And, you know, that made me feel pretty good. To see any man’s pride shine, especially that of your pop’s? I wouldn’t deny that. But, to tell ya the truth, I was California dreaming…
“…We’re going to privatize, my boy. We’re going to make it. We’re taking this where I’ve always seen it. And one day, it will be yours’s, entirely.”
Well that actually did stick with me.
         I remained silent. My stomach lurched a little, to be honest, but what was it to me to even argue against his Alexandrian dreaming, you know? Didn’t see much point to it. He’d try to coach me some, “school me” about our family obligations. The Popov’s, ever a lingering element in his psyche, might accept this intergenerational success. The farm had been my pa’s ever since mom left. And the Popov’s never forgot it.
“Now look, I’m proud of ya son. Always have been, always will be, but you’ve got to goddam well know that you’re not in Hollywood anymore. This is Southern Illinois! You’re a farmer now. And you know you’re pretty good at this business. You wouldn’t be arguing with me over my model if it didn’t mean something to you. This isn’t the life you chased, but it sure ain’t bad.”
         Yeah, Hollywood. Might as well mention those years. Me the perceived country boy trying to make it. I jostled with the crowds I tell ya, I did my auditions. Hell, I did manage to support myself as an extra on a handful of D-level Western series. You wouldn’t have heard of any of ‘em. I promise you that. Was it a failure? I’ll never really know. Never found ma out there though…
         The city of angels, right? Well at times. Also grimy, slimy, and full of liars. I’ll just be honest with you. I stuck it out for those five years, but don’t think I met a single soul that I could have ever called “one of my own.” Yah know? BUT. At the same time. I do remember the streets around Hollywood and even Beverly Hills. Streets that you’d swear shone like gold. All the beautiful, glossy people dressed up like Ken and Barbie. Every now and then you’d see a celebrity of some sort out home in their natural habitat. You can count that as pretty damn cool as far as I’m concerned.
         Now here? Alexandria? This place is a nightmare city. Could you call it that? A city to the locals, a bumblefuck of a town to the Chicago crew. Tim Burton might dump some excessive goth ambience on this place to perfect my casted image, but still. It is surrounded by some goddam sites. The rivers for example. The might Mississippi! The glory of cresting on the currents. Smoking a cigar, and sipping at a whiskey neat at Dad’s local lodge. What about the BBQ on 21st street in the next town? It’s not a bad place, the thing is, it’s surrounded by buffoons. About all 2000 of them. Lot of history of lynchings and strife and I will tell you it continues to trip me out. Especially in recent years. Yes proud confederate flag parading is a real thing. Funny thing is we were once sorta something of a city in this country, I guess. They said we had some real boating and ferry businesses until the bridges and trains came. I think Chicago really exploded then. Something like that. Sometimes I wonder if this whole damn place might just burn down one day.
“Did you hear me son? This ain’t a wild circus playground like the movie stars do, now you know what I mean. This is a town of good folk, hardworking folk, and you’re one of us. You know that. I know that…..”
Yadda, yadda, yadda, on and on he goes. Was he wrong? Not entirely. I can always see two sides of a coin if you will, but at a certain point I had had enough.
         I never cared for the party scene, I’ll admit it. And honestly the LA scene isn’t always pretty. Goddam ton of drugs, exploitation as they say I guess, and people selling themselves out for five minutes of fame. It’s a major, major rare chance when you see those DiCaprio’s or DeNiro’s. Wish I coulda met one of them in my time there. Maybe I’d be on top of the industry now. Maybe not. Meh, I was a half-assed but decent enough Western extra on that one streaming launch. Never really got traction, but I did make enough connections to survive in that studio apartment of mine. Lots of Ramen noodles.
“I hear you pa, and thank you. I know you got a big vision here,” and then, a pivot, “did I mention I’m gonna have a girl over here?”
         A smirk. Or was it a mock smile? Dad was a beast with the ladies back in the day, or so it was said, and I guess I’ve never quite been at that level. But I sensed a feeling of happiness over this news.
“She’s gonna come here, Dad. She said she really wanted to see the place. I don’t know why, but sure let the girl have her fun, right?”
“Is that how you talk about your woman?”
“Girlfriend, Dad, is what I think you mean to say.”
“Alright boss man, you got it. Well you enjoy yourself with your girlfriend and I’ll see y’all back at the ranch.”
         He wasn’t a bad guy at all my, Dad. Just the opposite. If I could, I’d be him. In a way, he’s a stud. Can crack a joke out of left field. Women to this day seem to flock to him. He’s a focused guy. And he’s got vision. He’s doing what he wants. Mostly on his terms (barring some university “suggestions”), but for crying out loud, you gotta give the man his dues. I followed the Pollock blood to Hollywood, but it’s the O’Malley’s here in shithole Alexandria that have really been there for me.
         I hopped over the one glaring error in the driveway. Lightning had struck the pavement at just the wrong time, and welp, now we’re staring at a pothole. It always kinda made me chuckle to see something so well done get a last laugh from nature like that. As I exited the property, I returned to reverie.
         I’d been with Nathasa four months now. Just innocent child’s play in the grand scheme of things. Now, when I say that, I mean we’d really only been on a handful of dates, at best. I somehow managed to get her to do a Lord of the Rings return to theatre marathon. You know, all the effects slightly better, I guess? Or touched up or something? They always looked good. Marvel movies are cartoons to me compared to this stuff.
         Now I’d normally not think it wise to take a date to that one, but it was Dolby Surround Sound and subtitled. You see, Nathasa is a Colombian. She’s here on Erasmus, basically a yearlong stay with us Americans in the middle of fuckall for whatever reason that I could never detect. I guess she’s trying to better her English or something. I don’t really now, but I figured the subtitles could be a good education for her. I got to say that I left that theatre feeling a little deflated somehow.
         Besides movies, I had taken Nathasa to some of the vineyards around. We’d hop on these big yellow busses that grad students liked to rent out, and I’d manage to convince ‘em to make room for two more. Extra money in their pockets. Nathasa was no big drinker, but she had partied with her family back home, at least a few times. So we’d split a bottle and talk. Well, she’d talk.
         I’d heard about the warrior women in Cartagena. She’d turn ripe yellow describing the bananas and oranges in the baskets on their head. And about her one time helping an elder woman get her street cart home. There’s the…community 13 in Medellin too. It’s all graffiti’d. I said we’d give ‘em a ticket here harhar. She’s from Bogota and she told me that she carries an umbrella and jacket with her nearly every day there. Would you believe that? I know Shakira’s hips don’t lie, what about Nathasa’s…
         I don’t know if I have words to share with her all the time. But I know there’s something there. I really feel it with her, I can’t explain it.
         Crack crack, hell whip. Left right lick that thigh thick. Oh yeah. Sorry sometimes I feel like Nathasa whiplashes through town in her long black heels. She rocks ‘em. At least perfect for her sophomore status. Maybe they’d be childish on someone five years older, but damn she got everyone’s heads with that snap of her crack.
         And sometimes I’d get my ass hauled over to these types of Bollywood nights I think they’d be called. All of Natasha’s friends seem to be international of some sort or another and this one group every couple Thursday’s pretends their lives are in a big Bollywood movie. So they put on the make up and their third eyes, and shawls, and the young guys act like little boys tickling each other left and right with jolly joy, and oh god even I find myself cracking up in the middle of the scene. Natasha looks like a red angel with her everything just bloody fantastic. I lick my lips furiously for a taste of her. But up next is some Chicken Biryani, so I hear. Don’t eat the peppers and I don’t eat the nuts neither.
         Trust me fellas, I follow in that situation. Nathasa is in her natural element at them get-togethers and she isn’t even Hindu. She tells me she will practice their meditations sometimes though. Seems like a crock load of funny to me, but then again what do I know. It’s a good group of people and it actually makes for one heck of a cheap date night. And it makes Nathasa happy. So it’s a win. Alexandria once again offers some random as hell cultural monument tin the middle of nowhere for a group of people that never so graciously desired a good ‘ol time.
         So it’d be some Chicken Biryani, a little bit of yogurt, and this I mean awesome sweet wine that Nathasa always prepared and snuck in. They weren’t anti-alcohol, but I did notice that it was typically absent at those events. Well me and Nathasa would get a little warm, let’s at least say that. And when she was motorized well jeez she’d be talking to Bindy and then Dewali, and soon enough even Minher and Pratya. They were a circle that just sort of swanned around one another excitedly at these events. Fortunately I was marked as Nathasa’s plus one which left me largely unbothered.
         And to that point sometimes too much so. I mean if you talking about a midwestern fellow who did his time in Hollywood, this Bollywood might be his bread and butter. Alright? Or nan and oil? Sure enough for me to just take several moments in silence taking in the scene with the camera of my eye was bliss. Nathasa would grip me real good at those moments like she was losing me, but I’d just smile real wide. There was nothing better.

“Doncha know?” Nathasa said.
         Admittedly, I stifled back some laughter after I heard that one. She actually had the perfect Minnesota long o. Not that I’ve been there, but I’ve seen Fargo. Apparently her Colombian sister was living up there or something. Found a man and had three kids or something. Well, to tell you the truth, I just don’t know.
We had outside the cookery on Main Street, a 24/7 novelty act called “Sugar Me High,” about a mile from the farm. I could see the appeal to the college market.
“What the hell are you on about? Doncha know we don’t say that down here in Illinois. Or, really anywhere in the country.”
“Oh but I love Minnesota,” in her affected accent, “so many nice people and my sister is there with her husband the - my nieces are so beautiful to me. I love it there.”
“Nieces and nephews, right? I thought you said it was two girls and a boy?”
         “Ahhhh, haha, thank you Farmer John, yes I always forget that strange word, nephew. The same like phone.”
I’ll be honest, I hated when she called me that. And she god well knew it too. Sometimes I thought she was a little off, but then other times I swore she knew about a thousand times more English than I did. I had relied on some strange Cali terms: “radical,” “dude,” etc…for maybe a month. I do think we speak pretty proper here in Alexandria.
Nathasa appeared happy enough to be here in the middle of nowhere. You know that we are like two hours away from major airports and cities? I mean if you’re coming from LA that is just a no where zone. And Nathasa will tell me about the lush beaches and accessible mountains around her city. Including Carnaval and just about parties every other weekend, it seems.
         What about you, Ma? Was the relocation worth it? I don’t see you on any of them magazines you always devoured. Was it worth it?
         You flip that world, fun and sorta dumb, but definitely kinda fun and exciting, and you ask, “how did I get here?” How am I back here? Wasn’t I gonna make it? My buddy Mark and I had always plotted big things in our time. He certainly got to make it in that Big Apple, I guess. And what would Nathasa get from this world of Alexandria? If I traveled halfway around the world to arrive at Alexandria, I might just sell all my possessions to get back home. Now that’s just me.
         But I think if I was gonna show her something worthwhile, it might just be the farm. I’m the private sort. It wasn’t until high school until Mark even saw the place. Don’t ask me why, it’s just how I am. It’s family space. It’s personal. Yah know? And I did debate whether Nathasa was on that level to see the place. Perhaps it would fit her more childish vibe, as I hate to say it. She’s not even out of university yet, and what can I expect her to understand about the place where my Dad’s business happens. Hm…I don’t know. Couldn’t decide if it was worth it, but that simplicity of Nathasa might just jive well with our own home scene. I like that about her.
         I decided to walk her back over to my Dad’s farm. It was only gonna take about twenty or so minutes, maybe a half hour anyway, and, I hate to admit it, but maybe there is some inkling of “beauty” in the scene. Just gotta make it through the concrete slabs plastered around the outskirts of campus.
“Are you sleeping Brother John? Hehe. Isn’t this your farm?”
         That was another joke of hers…sometimes I was lucky enough to be called Farmer John. The funniest thing about this joke is that my Dad would probably crack up over this one. He’s been to Quebec a few times for one of these dairy conferences or something? They have this Freres Jacques cheese that is kind of a little soft, but we never managed to get our cows to do it. Maybe we’re not in on the secret.
“You haven’t been speaking to me this entire time you know” she said.
         And, she was right. I had been putting my mind somewhere in between Cali and here and damn well musta rocketed myself to the moon in the process.
“I’m sorry babe, I been having a lot of stuff on my mind.”
“I like that word. Babe. It makes me feel sexy. But, what are you thinking about?”
“Oh you know it don’t matter, doncha know?” A weak silly joke, but she obliged my teasing with a wide smile.
“You think you know it all, don’t you Farmer John. You see this world and you think, it’s mine to conquer!”
“I’m no Alexander the Great, Nathasa. But I tell you, if I could get a second in the room with Daniel O’Connell, I’d be just content now don’t you know.”
“You don’t make any sense sometimes. Hehe,” and she started to take her eyes to the date’s prize: O’Malley’s Milk Malt! Honestly Pop’s greatest addition in recent years. He’s got an eye.
“Oh, is very beautiful John. Verrry beautiful. Is that sugar?”
“Oh yeah? And why do you say that? What’s beautiful here?”
“Because, I see a lot of green. I see beautiful cows. I never see cows in my country. But it’s because in Bogota we don’t see cows. Always out in the country, do you know?”
“But you’re not gonna tell me you ain’t ever been out in the country before, huh?”
Pop’s had researched this. ‘Course he had. Tons of cows in the Bogota area.
“It’s not like that John. It’s that I don’t see it that much. In your life, the cow is always there.”
And then a roar out of nowhere. I wasn’t sure if it was mildly repressed flatulence escaping the Heffer we were passing or a further brewing of the day’s storm. Odds woulda been in favor of either of those two, but seeing as the skies had gotten to a color about as dark as Nathasa’s skin, I figured some sparks were about to explode.
         As we turned toward the main house of the “ranch” she spotted some of our farmhands.
“Who are the people here?”
“These are our workers, sexy. They help us out around the farm.”
“And why do they wear those big…galoshes?”
“Boots. Work boots. We just call ‘em boots. Maybe rubber boots. You do know this is a farm, Nathasa, right? And you do know farms are dirty. And there is sometimes mud. And if it rains like even today it might, well, you know regular shoes aren’t gonna hold up.”
We sidestepped an ocean-deep puddle along the driveway.
“They look…sheety, is that how you say it?
“Shitty, huh. Them boots been in plenty of shit.”
Her eyes darted between the workers and their shoes and the mud and me.
“You laughing at me. I say they are sheety and you laugh.”
“I’m laughing babe because you’re speaking some truth.”
She wasn’t reassured. Some things get lost in translation, I guess.
“Well then I say they are stupid. I would never wear that.”
I decided I’d rib her, a little.
“I hear they love wearing them ‘ol boots in Colombia. Or these golloshes as they rave about them heeh”
Nathasa blushed furiously; and a frown matched the haze just right.
“You shut up. We are not so ugly as that. We would never wear such stoopid things. And in my home we all worked hard for our lives. We all worked hard for our lives!!”
I didn’t really understand what she was on about, but clearly I had triggered some sort of an emotional reaction.
“Tranquila, Nathasa. Tranquila. Nobody’s gonna make you wear them boots, now. Nobody’s gonna make you lose all your hard work and your life.”
I was just spitting words back at her. I didn’t believe any of what I’d said. But it seemed to calm her down. Soon she was sniffling and smiling and laughing.
“I believe every man gets the life that he deserves,” she said, “and some people are just basic workers. They do not know the bigger things in this life and they do not want them.”
“You mean you work hard so you live in your fucking dorm room they have for all you international students,” I chuckled.
“It’s not the same!!”
I had always seen her having the time of her life, at any given moment, but here she was seething, foaming at the lips, words hurled without a second thought.
“I feel bad for these people. I will never be like any of them,” she concluded.
         This comment came at the point that we were mocking her dormitory living and passing the housing of our very own migrant workers. You remember I called you this a nightmare town? Well I didn’t really mean it so much but if you take these migrants housing, we got some of the best in the state. Laundry rooms, big ones, even. A good kitchen. AC units. Proud of my dad’s move on that, but you know, the nightmare is in them hallways sometimes. I won’t be taking Nathasa to them. Don’t seem like she’d want to, anyway. I bet it’s a doll’s house to them workers.
“…they’re ugly, doncha know?” asked with a whisper, almost like a hush. She was looking for something, and continued:
“Someday they are people that advance in this American society. And there are others that do not. Doncha’ know? And I am one of the people that is advancing. Maybe with you. Or someone. I know you only four months. It’s really nothing. But it’s fun. And when I come to your farm I start to feel sad, I tell you. Your cows just sitting there and not doing nothing. And your workers…so serious…so bad and sad, and I just do not want to see their lives.”

“Well que pasta??” jumped in my Pa.
“Oh, hola!” shouted Nathasa.
We were off to a striking start. What else would be new with my Dad.
“Ms. Nathasa ____? Is it Rivera, I believe?”
“Yes!! Yes! It’s true. You are right. My name is Nathasa Rivera. And you are John’s father, no?”
“You got that right, missy. Call me Eric. Eric O’Malley. Boss of this here farm, as I’m sure you could tell by now.”
“Ahhh yes, it’s beauteeful. Me gusta. Me encanta. It’s so big! And John tells me that there are different areas for different projects and workers and everything!”
“Well, it’s a farm layout. Pretty standard. Not sure what John was getting into with you but yes we are big and getting bigger. Milk’s in business, baby!”
“Oh yeah, baby!” Nathasa misread the moment and shook her first animatedly.
         I knew I could let that “awkwardness” ride because it was them moments that made her so goshdarn endearning to all everybody around her. She’s my girl now, and I will not let go of her any time soon. She’s my one ring to rule them all. I mean, granted, I could chill out a little -- I mean pa could! He’s one mother trucker, huh? I guess I love ‘em, but I don’t know if I get him.
“So what you doing down in Alexandria, Nathasa Rivera? You know you picked the best damn place on the whole goddam planet, right?”
Nathasa giggled and even got a little red. I’m not sure why. He’s just a fool’s dad. But maybe she thinks he’s something. Or cool? I don’t know. To me he’s just ma pa.
“Well to me Minnesota is the best, hehe,” she replied with sheepish humor.
“Oh yeah, and what kind of things are you getting up to in Minnesota then anyway? Don’t tell me you tried them Juicy Lucies.”
         Nathasa just giggled and giggled. I guess maybe she thought Juicy Lucy was some kind of joke from my dad. I guess he was joking anyway. But how could she be laughing about something she didn’t even know?
“Are the women in Minnesota called Lucy all the time?” she asked.
My Dad didn’t even change face.
“Oh yeah, Nathasa. And we say they are juicy because all they do is chew bubble gum and drink lots of pop!”
         My girl actually started giving him a quizzical look. I kinda appreciated it on account of her kinda buying in a little too much to my dad after all, ya know? She wanted answers and there was a real curiosity there. She didn’t wanna be takin’ for the fool. She pressed.
“You’re joking now, I can tell,” she replied.
“Don’t mind my pa, now, Nathasa. He’s always been a joker.”
         Pa smirked. I guess he appreciated the compliment. I just figured I was speaking truth. Anyway, it seemed to grant him some sort of permission to get serious finally and he sorta went on a serious route, but with him you never really knew if he was fantasizing or joking or not.
“Hey, ugh, listen you know with your Spanish and all I’d have you on here as our very own translator. What do you say Nathasa?”
“Oh, its very good idea. I like! I know English so well too…it makes sense.”
“You’d get a kick out of Dad using his damned google translator every day, sometimes they laugh at him so who knows what the hell he’s actually saying to them.”
“They get the job done, son…”
“Oh no, Mr. O’Malley, I use them everywhere in America. They never get me nowhere. Always more questions from the people around me than any help,” she blushed.
         And with that…a CRASH! of yellow fermented lightning. Natasha jumped out of her heels. I was smirking to myself because I figured the golloshes woulda served her better in that moment: she slipped off them black leather things. Lightning strikes again, the mush exploding out of the peel crash on the pothole.
“You’ve been around these parts for some months now, Nathasa. You ain’t telling me these storm patterns still scare you, huh?” said I.
“It’s not that John. It’s more that now I must travel into this weather.”
         I actually had no clue what she meant about that. But…it was a Friday. And Friday oftentimes did mean a bit of mobility, or should I say abandonment in the town. You see we’re college dependent. We have been, since them tougher times in the 60’s, or even most of our history. You know when industry escapes ya what are ya gonna do. My Dad is here because of that college. I see a spark of some humanity in life because of that college. So I’m saying the college is good. But I guess the town is bad because them kids don’t hardly stick around on the weekends, not except mainly the more local ones. But the Chicago influx, oh man it’s like they can’t stand it and they just gotta be free in their city again. Herm. I mean what do I know.
*WHIPLASH!* *CRASH!*FAST!*
         The elements certainly were picking up down here in Alexandria, Illinois. The cows started bellowing fiercely, the frightened fucks. And the migrant workers hurried through their finals tasks on the farm, getting tools in order, mostly. You know the cows themselves could technically be ok, at least we never seemed to worry about what we would do with them so much. But I decided, at risk of upstaging Dad’s authority, to do a little wave of my hand to the workers to suggest that the cows could be generally put away, ya know?
         It was harvest season by now, and our migrant workers had to haul shit. Literally. There was gonna be an inspection of some of our houses for the families…Dad took it pretty serious. We had to make sure the screens on the doors and windows were ok, and especially look out for any unhinged wiring. If not, these migrants, and more so us, would be shit out of luck. And get this, we kinda sorta need them folk more now than ever. Major labor shortages these years in the dairy sector. Ay, that’s how it goes, I guess.
“Ay, John you know that I am going to Chicago today! I cannot stay here!”
         I could barely hear her, to be honest. The wind swept up fast. Not it was not gonna be no tornado, but I tell you some of them elements felt in place. I figured I could keep Nathasa on the farm for the heck of the drama, but the cruelty of that joke didn’t sit too good, not even with me. Not seeing her face. I don’t know if she was thinking she’d make it up North or not, but that was her plan.
“Now, are you sure you want to travel in these conditions now, Nathasa? Are you really sure?”
“What is the difference if I am just sitting in a car? It’s no different. It’s all the same. I am fine.”
         Well, we got in the hatchback and we made our way to the tracks. Nathasa looked at the familiar Sugar Me High out the window, seeking some sort of long gone pleasure.
“Them cows ain’t going anywhere,” I joked, “we’ll show you their variety of smells when you get back.”
“No, it’s not that. I wish you were coming to this city with me. I will miss you.”
I stayed silent, driving with those words in my mind. I wasn’t thinking she loved me now or anything, but it was tender those words.
         She was catching some Indian student organization up there. Not sure why she wanted to traverse the tracks in these conditions, but she loved that group. I think she was gonna get her sister to spend a night in some hotel by the lake, too. This Nathasa was living a life I now would only dream about. Alexandria seems to be swallowing me these days.

         The sun was set and Big Bertha bellowed, as always, the little heffer just couldn’t get her face out of my way. And that was my criteria. My criteria for slaughter.
         A couple of damn decades on this place. Waiting, working, watching. Five years in a godforsaken children’s playground and for what. No mom around. Best friend’s and money I had ‘em all never and they’re gone for good too. Life as a mish mash of dorky Lord of the Rings movies and the shit that is Marvel. That was what lay ahead for me now, at this point. My movies. The movies I’d never be in. And the ones that mom would never show us.
         I grabbed Big ‘ol Bertha away from who mighta been Bessie. I actually had some names on these whoppers, maybe whopper was one of them names even…but Bertha was the one that always stood out to me. Really darkly skinned and tanned with a stronger disposition toward black and almost white spots on top of that! She wasn’t so uncool to look at I’d tell you that.
         The workers were still huddling around their shacks from the deluge of rain we had just had. And they had left the barn nice and wide open. Normally pa would tear a head off for that (a la MidWest nice, to be sure, but he’d get his point across), but I could keep my mouth shut this one time. Nah I was never a managerial sort. I’d let this stuff go regardless. But right now. It was a perfect opportunity.
         I pulled Bertha by the neck into the barn. Her last look around. Now I wanted to slaughter her. I wanted to shoot her in the goddam fucking cerveza and watch the blood drip. I tied her along a post and let her nuzzle on some grass. They say some animals can detect these kinds of things coming, but Bertha was clueless. It’s like she had no balls. Well.
         Anyway, I set the lantern down beside us and I pulled the shotgun right up to the brain dome. I figured a brain shot would be the quickest, I don’t know about the cleanest. I breathe softly…quietly…she just sits there and it’s like she’ll just take it…no argument, just a fantasy cooperator lending itself to my rage and when I say that I mean……HEY, BAM!
         …and Bertha topples right the fuck over onto the goddam lantern, then it tips, and I tell you that barn was ablaze in less than three minutes. And you’d think the previous rain mighta done something to stop or discourage a spread but in Alexandria you talk about things drying up real fast.
         Well, when the train was supposed to stop over at Murphysboro there were skits on the track. Called something like that. Don’t ask me the specifics. But something with them tracks, there was a loose goose or some shit on the tracks, just barely waddling along to get to the other side, somethin sometime’ not thinking or something. A little bit of the usual in this town, but anyway, the conductor paid it no mind. He figured he was making some roadkill for a coyote or something. Well they say the levels of water on the track and the lack of friction doubled with the impact of the goose was enough to lock the whole damn thing loose.
Dead.
Loose.
Two survivors. And make that one once after that coyote came by. You know that never happens? The guy was bleeding to death, but I don’t want to imagine it.
The conductor was left standing at the side of the train five minutes later as the fire of the wreckage spread like hell through the main street thoroughfare.
         Meanwhile, Bertha lay on her side while the flames around the fire seemed to lick higher and higher. Fried whisps of barnyard hay surrounded my nostrils. There was all sorts of banging on the doors. A kick mighta taken them down. I know they would have. Mark, Mom, Nathasa…
…the final flames of victory flashed over me. Sure this was my moment then if there were one. The boy whose barn burned down. The man? The youth? Striving toward frying he found himself drowned in heat. Yeah…I could take those lines. Over the obituary.