Glory Be

Chapter Three

The sun rose above the town of Red Hawk, soaking it in reddish orange tones. The shadows of early risers stretched for yards, and from the eye of a hawk, the town seemed inhabited by ghosts. The buzzing heat of a summer desert day was halted still, and the lizards came up from their sand beds once more for an easy meal.

Many were still sleeping, hiding away from the heat and trials of daily life for just a few more hours. Dogs curled up at their feet, and a breeze softly coming in from their window. Somethings could wait. The Print Shop downtown did not allow waiting. The owner of the shop stomped loudly across the second floor, and knocked continuously on a bedroom door, "Sydney! This is the last time I'm knocking, if I don't see you downstairs in the next 5 minutes, you ain't gonna sleep till tomorrow's sunset!" He grumbled and threw his hands up in the air before just deciding barge in. He opened the door, and watched his son immediately spring out of bed, clumsily grappling with his long limbs to stand up straight.

"Yeah- Yeah Dad, I'm coming!" Sydney's eyes were wide, and his brain was lagging to catch up to the madness before him. "It's barely light outside!"

The shop owner crossed his burley arms, and stared at his son, who was trying to find a shirt on his floor, "I told you yesterday, and the day before, we got more work than I thought to get that newspaper out. You know that Syd, get it together. You're old enough, stop slacking." He angrily left the room.

Sydney stood there, still shirtless, and still very confused. He rubbed his eyes and turned towards the window. The sky was barely peeking out any color. His old man was losing it, this had to be inhumane.

Sydney sighed loudly and slid on a white shirt. He stared at the hair tie on top of a pile of books, and wondered if he should put his hair up or not. His dad hated his hair being down, thought he looked like an orphaned delinquent. Sydney opted to not put his hair up, that's what his dad deserved after walking him up at the ass crack of dawn.

Quickly he changed into some trousers and boots, before leaving his room and heading downstairs to the shop. He grabbed his apron from the hook near the staircase and tied it around his waist.

"Sydney come here," His Dad called, his tone a lot calmer now. Unless he had finally just cracked from the anxiety. Sydney did as he was told, lazily walking up to the printing press, and looking over the current set up. "I have all the typesetting done. I just need you to do the printing."

Sydney sighed, nothing new to him, but that made it all the more boring, "How many pages is this paper supposed to be again? 6?"

Sydney's father nodded, "Mhm," He scratched his chin, "I'm thinking we go for more next time. The journalists have more articles."

Sydney looked dumbfounded, "You're going to have to hire another man if we're doing more than 6. I already got to print out what, almost 300 or so copies of each page. That's 1800 pages just you and me are going to do today." He swallowed hard, "You keep pushing this."

His father looked gruff and uninterested in Sydney's complaints, "But we're doing well Sydney, we're making money, people support and like our business. There's nothing better than that."

"Maybe some sleep," Sydney muttered before cracking his knuckles, "But whatever, let's get going. I want to hear some live music tonight at the saloon, so I'm going to work fast today."

Sydney's dad smiled, "Great son."

And the two got to work. Once the sun rose and coated the room in light, Sydney had just removed a previous typeset from the press and replaced it for another. Page two, he was making good time. His father was working on pictures for the papers, and seemed like he was keeping pace as well. Sydney's father opened this shop decades ago when he moved here with his wife, Sydney's mother. He built it from the ground up and wasn't going to see it fall upon unprepared shoulders, who happened to be his only son with delinquent tendencies. Sydney worked hard and well when he wanted to though, his father couldn't deny that. His son was a great writer and journalist, he was well read and cultured, which was impressive compared to most young adults out on the plains. Though Sydney was tough sometimes, running off, playing hooky, and doing things which made him look like a bad father. Once Sydney returned from an impromptu trip with a tattoo and a nicotine-liking, which was just plain unacceptable. Sydney's father didn't know what was going on up in that kid's head, only that he wished his wife was still around to help him wrangle this child.