Brokeback Tommen

1. In Deep Cow Shit

FEELY

Sometimes, I wish I were a girl. And I know what you're thinking...why would a handsome fella like me want to be a girl? Well, it's simple.

I don't want to work on the farm.

Mama gets a free pass from any outdoor chores because she spends all her time up in the kitchen cooking shepherds pie for the tenth time every week.

Meanwhile, my hand is shoved up the ass of this here cow, trying to get its darn poo out because of some bowel blockage. Don't know how. All these fuckers eat is grass.

"Patrick, dear! You have a visitor!" Mama's voice echoes throughout our farmland, and I feel my stomach do a flip.

I yank my hand out of the cow's butthole and skip up the hill, a fluttery feeling taking over my nerves. There would only be one person here to see me. And sure enough, when I enter the back door and round the corner, there she is.

Luscious blonde locks and haunting blue eyes. Blue eyes that are so lonely they make me resort to poetry. Shakespeare would love Lizzie Young.

I raise my hand to offer her a shy wave (gotta keep the innocent loser loner boy act up, it gets more women) with a smile on my shitstained face.

"Hi," I whisper, blushing a tad for good measure.

Lizzie just raises an eyebrow, assessing my appearance. "Go take a shower and then speak to me."

I frown, my hand dropping to my side. A few pieces of crap fall to the floor at the movement. She scoffs and heads over to my couch with my mother, so I take the hint to get cleaned up.

As I head up the stairs, I peer out of the window, my eyes landing on the giant pole on my land. I used to dream of dancing around it, a joyous song in my heart. But love hasn't found me yet.

Which is exactly why I sing in the shower, getting all the cracks and crevices with my Old Spice ten in one gel. I watch as the cow shit floats down the drain, a freeing feeling flowing through me. I'm clean.

Once I smell like a teenage boy again, I sprint down the stairs, tripping at the bottom but disguising it as a dance move while Lizzie rolls her eyes from the couch.

"Hi," I whisper again, sliding in next to her, peeking through my eyelashes.

"Hello, Patrick." She moves away slightly, revealing a small scar on her wrist that she covers quickly.

"Please stop." I pout. "For me?"

A sharp sting across my cheek snaps me out of my good boy persona. Angry Feely is not the version of myself I want to be around her. My beloved Lizzie.

"You stupid fuck," Lizzie seethes, looking like she may slap me again. She stands, but I grab her before she can leave me alone again.

"Please, Liz," I beg, getting on my knees. "I have something I need to say."

She quirks an eyebrow, putting a hand on her hip. "This better be good."

"Did I say 'say'? I meant sing!" And then I grab my guitar from nearby and begin to strum. My fingers work melodically across the strings, probably from all that practice....with half the girls at Tommen.