Bought the Farm

The Hole in the Library

Nathan woke up in the library, lying in a pile of encyclopedias. He had fallen through the floor. Night was streaming in through the windows. When he wrenched himself from the floor to peer through the gloom, he saw the shed, skeletal in the moonlight, abandoned for the evening. Nathan limped back to the books and inspected the hole in the ceiling. He swore. The hole was not impressed. He cursed. The hole did not appear to hear him. He froze, fists clenched, as every ounce of anger and hatred and pain poured into his fingertips. His eyes whirled for somewhere, anywhere to put all of these emotions. And when his pulsing hands and spinning eyes couldn't bear the pressure any more, he whirled around and lashed out at the wall. Pain shot back up his arm as knuckles met stud and he stumbled back.

The hole in the ceiling creaked and dropped a box, but he slipped on encylopedias again and sprawled narrowly out of the way. Nathan stared up at the hole as a second attic box wobbled on the edge, and he couldn't help himself. For a tiny second, as the box rocked back and forth, he allowed himself to hope that it wouldn't fall. But that was too much to ask, and no sooner had he felt that hope that the box fell like the blade of a guillotine. It smashed. It smashed his face. It smashed his anger. It smashed his hope.

He let his head drop and let himself shake with silent sobs. Huge, oily tears pooled on his cheeks.

He couldn't save this place. He couldn't fix it. There was no hope even—he touched his blackening eyes gingerly—of saving face. He began to shelve books. He had let down the family. An encyclopedia slipped into place with a thud. They had entrusted him with this farm. An almanac slid into place with a thud. With their dream.

Thud.

You could always bring a farm back. Crops failed. Hardships happened.

Thud.

But you had to own the farm–once you lost it, it was gone, and there was no going back.

Thud.

"I wish I could apologize." he said aloud.

Thud.

Thud.

"Apologize? What would that do?"

Thud.

"As long as I'm wishing, I wish I could talk to you all!"

Thud.

"I wish you could have asked for your help!"

Click.

The last book didn't fit on the shelf. He stared at the little black book, its title embossed in flaking gold leaf. "Hymns of the Coral Chorus?"