The Farmer's Son

Chapter 32 You Can Go Home Again

It felt like Ray had only just laid down to rest when skittering and rustling amid the stalks made him bolt up again. The faded brown cowboy hat he'd placed over his eyes fell to the ground, landing right beside a large, shaggy brown rat, who immediately began to sniff it. Blinking in the sudden brightness, Ray snatched up his hat out of the rat's reach. After walking through the relative coolness of sunrise, he'd had to stop to rest by midmorning, going just a row or two into the corn from the road. He knew the heat and sun and vermin would not allow him to stay outside for long. He had to find proper shelter, and find it fast, otherwise next time the rats came sniffing they would find his corpse.

Dusting off the hat, he pushed himself to his feet, picked up his bag and walked out of the corn. Endless asphalt stretched before him, radiating waves of heat, occasionally shared with a passing truck or car or tractor. Every time he would pull into the stalks out of sight, not entirely sure why he was hiding. He came back but didn't want anyone to know. The logic escaped him right now.

As the fields shifted from corn to alfalfa, dramatically reducing their height, he began to cut through them, keeping out of sight of the farmhouses as he searched for water. Alan had once told him that almost all of these old farms had wells, some still in use, and after some searching found a circle of stones in a clump of trees at the edge of a small property. The pulley was rusted and made a bone jarring screech as he turned it, but the wooden bucket came up brimming with cool, sweet, fresh water.

Gulping water until he choked, he filled an old plastic bottle for later. Standing by the well, Ray squinted out over the small field of alfalfa towards the farmhouse in the distance and felt recognition stir. It was a one story weathered brown house, with a short front porch and outside firepit, and had once been used to house farmhands, back when they had no choice but to work. With the parceling of the land, it had been bought by one Dusty Higgins, a career bachelor who farmed as hobby, and liked to spend his days napping on the sunny porch until someone came around to drag him in out of the heat before he cooked.

Ray poured some water into his hands and washed his face, pouring the rest over his head to cool it. If he was at Dusty's, then not that far way was a place that could prove his saving grace.

Taking a long drink to fill his empty belly, Ray once more hoisted his bag and headed out, walking through the shadows of the tree line until he came to a fence. Easily jumping the old, fallen down boards, he entered overgrown fields, tramping through wild grass and choking vines towards a small, two-story house, weathered grey, with a front porch that dipped to the ground in the center. Ray had nailed up the holes in the roof, but the crows remained, lining the peak and chimney, and pecking among the weeds. They were not disturbed by his sudden presence, but merely moved aside and watched him pass by in eerie silence.

He made his way to the back of the house, where he knew some old, rusty tools had been left in the barn. In the shadows of the tall, faded red barn, he found a crowbar. It seemed poetic that as he'd been the one to board the house up for winter, he be the one to pry it open now. Hefting the crowbar in his hand, he made his way to the kitchen door at the back of the house, passing the very spot where he and Alan had spared before.

He slowed, looking at the ground, almost seeing the imprint of their scuffle still in the dust. The memory of lying on his back, looking up into the sun kissed face, and the sparkling sugar-colored eyes looking back at him, came unbidden. Since then, Alan? he thought. Looking at the memory, Alan's feelings were so obvious, but in that moment, Ray couldn't see them. Or maybe he had but pretended not to. If he was honest with himself, he knew what he had with Joel was over the night the man left the ranch. Chasing after him had been a childish fantasy, in denial of the truth. And just as he'd been in denial about Joel, he'd been in denial about Alan.