Farm Tag

Chapter 11. « Massage. »

"Is he a boy from your school?"

"Yeah, he finished last year. I never thought I'd see him again."

"I didn't want to embarrass you, but he annoyed me from afar."

"You did the right thing. I'd have lost my temper with him."

"If he comes back, let me know."

"Do you want to go to jail?"

"I'll plead self-defense."

I shake my head and smile.

"I fucking won! The sheep are ours!"

"But how?"

"The Humphreys would never spend more than $300 on a flock of sheep, it would shatter their egos."

"But we do?"

"Your mother told me not to spend more than $320. Now I've got to get $320 out of these little animals, so help me put them in the trai-... Angel, can you explain why you're drinking caïpirinha?"

Reid takes back his glass and gives me mine. He drank half of it, bastard!

"Yes, that's better. Come on, let's help my little sheep."

Dad pulls up in front of the pen opening. The more agile sheep voluntarily jump into the trailer, I lift a few to put them inside then close the edge.

"I'm going to drive slowly. Angel, you'll walk behind us and catch the first sheep that decides to jump. Be careful, they love to play leapfrog."

"Hilarious."

"Those jokes are probably the whisky's fault."

Dad bursts out laughing at Reid's sentence. I follow them after putting on a yellow vest and position myself behind the car. I regret the heeled sandals, we're a long way from the farm.

Dad sticks his head out the window to look at the road and, at the same time, at the sheep and me.

"Are you all right, honey?"

"I'm just fine!"

"I'm going to speed up a bit, can you keep up?"

I walk faster and faster until I'm running, making Dad laugh as he looks at me in the central mirror and Reid in the one on the right.

"Stop, this isn't funny! My feet hurt and you're going to kill the sheep!"

My father speeds up, the sheep continue to bleat like nothing happened.

"Dad!"

He bursts out laughing and stops.

"Come on, darling. Get in the car, there's no risk!"

I take off the yellow vest and sit in the back seat, trying to fasten my seatbelt.

"You're no fun at all. And why can't I fasten my seatbelt?! Dad, I'm begging you. Just get rid of this car."

"Stop it. When it's time to take it to the dump, you'll be the first to cry and beg me to fix it so we don't throw it away."

"I doubt that."

"I know you, I made you."

"Thank you for that lovely picture."

"She talks a bit too much, doesn't she?"

Reid looks at my father and smiles.

"I hope we run into the cops so you lose your license."

"What cops? There aren't even any cops here."