Then There's Wilbur

Chapter 14

Wilbur

"Who wakes up at six in the morning?"

I chuckled, taking a deep breath before looking at the woman in front of me. Her voice hoarse, tangled hair and a cup of coffee in-hand. It was like hearing Tory complain whenever she didn't feel like going to school.

I couldn't blame Diana though. Vacations were supposed to be times when you get a temporary break from the alarm clock. Her vacation on the other hand, involved listening to actual roosters screaming their lungs out at around five in the morning. True to her nature, and to her phone alarm, (which I later on realized was also a rooster screaming its lungs out) she got up. I was the only one awake by the time she waked in the kitchen wearing a green t-shirt with the words 'Alive n' Kickin'.

She didn't even notice I was there until I finally cleared my throat. She turned to me, frowning.

"You're up early," she said. Well – it sounded more like a toad trying to talk, what with her voice being too husky.

"Morning run," I simply answered. I pointed out where the mugs were and she sat beside me. She quietly waited until I poured her some coffee. She gave me a small smile before looking out the window.

I lived in a farm half of my life but it felt like I still wasn't used to how calm everything was. Occasionally, a couple of hens wandered in the yard.

"It's so quiet here it's almost scary," she whispered.

"I assure you there are no dead bodies buried here," I replied, "I think."

She looked surprised. For a moment I thought she took what I said seriously. She took a sip of her coffee before speaking.

"I didn't mean it that way. I have a few questions I want answered but are in no way trying to belittle whatever lifestyle they have here. I mean, what do they do here? Until what time do they work? How much per month do they earn? Time seems to be so friendly here."

I chuckled, shaking my head a
little. "They plant. They water. They take care of the crops. Then they harvest."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that much. I mean how could they live with this routine? I'm curious, have they tried making – I don't know, jam or something. How –"

"Can they not live like you?" I said. "The people here," I stood up, putting my mug on the sink ",have lived most of their lives thinking about what they have, and what they want to have. Then they enjoy it once they already have what they want to have. As simple as that. They don't question it. They don't ask for more."

She frowned, "Why not? Life's all about asking for more. That's how people get satisfaction."

"Hah – no." I placed my hands on the counter, facing her. "Satisfaction is when you get what you want. Hearing you talk,' seems like satisfaction's a need. Try not to demand too much on life."

She snorted. "I'm kind of waiting for you to sing Bare Necessities now."

She seemed to be holding back, worried that I was somehow offended that she had a different way of viewing things. The woman must've lived in the city her whole life. She probably had people demanding more from her. I'm not that easily offended just because she had a different way of doing things. She looked genuinely confused, curious. It was better to educate than shame someone. At least that's what my mom told me.

I pointed a finger at her. "I used to think like you, little miss. I wanted to do more. Keep moving forward and all that shit. Then I come back here and then I realize there's more to life than wanting." I glanced at her. "Which is kind of funny now that I think about the circumstances of how we met."