"Mad World"
I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.
“Shit…” Tucker’s face scrunched up as he looked at the disaster zone that had thirty minutes ago been a barn. The horses’ mulled about in their stalls, again, but they’d broken just about everything in their little tirade. Mistake number one had been thinking that he’d actually secured Tom-Tom’s stall before he’d pulled Corkie out. His second mistake had been thinking he could shoulder a 16 hand draft horse into doing what he wanted it to do…
He supposed he should have just been grateful that Corkie and Tom-Tom had just given him the run around in the lot behind the barn, and not had him chasing them down across the county, but at the moment that blessing didn’t seem to register in his mind. The feed bucket was trashed, rakes and crates scattered everywhere, and their leads? Well, they used to be leads, at least. Now they were just frayed rope with a clip at the end.
The worst of it was, Tucker thought, that he’d still not brushed Corkie or Sunshine down, or mucked the stalls. Looking at his watch, he grimaced. His grandparents would be back from church soon, and if he didn’t have the chores done God only knew what sort of screaming would come down the pipe.
“I hate summers,” he muttered to himself as he set to work cleaning up his mess. He occasionally stood and gave Tom-Tom a dark glare as he found another collection of broken crates and buckets. There was no hiding it, but maybe if he could just stake them right his Grandpa wouldn’t notice until after he’d gone back to DC.
“Boy,” Tucker shot up like he’d been slapped when he heard his Grandfather’s voice. He hadn’t heard the car pull up..
“Shit!” Tucker scrambled, shoving more of the boxes into the corner as he tried to look for the muck rake. Everything was still a disaster, but maybe he could fake it. “Tucker! Get out here!”
Looking sidelong at Corkie, the fourteen year old looked more than a little nervous. What the hell… “Oh no,” he breathed, eyes going wide as he shuffled out of the barn and into the yard. He heard the cows before he saw them, all gathered in the back yard and munching on the freshly planted petunias.
“You want to tell me….” His grandfather started slowly, looking from Tucker to the cattle and then back to Tucker, “why the herd is in my backyard?”
“Uh,” Tucker looked over the herd, not even having to turn back to the feed lot to know he hadn’t latched that gate well either. This was clearly not his day. His Grandma Sumter was standing on the back steps of the house looking furious enough to pop as he bounced between the two. “I’ll get them.”
“You better!”
He didn’t waste time trying to start. It was a clumsy matter, though, and his Grandparents had to stand and keep the cattle from running off toward the road as Tucker herded the cows back into their feed lot. Another thirty minutes wasted in a hot Texas sun, Tuck thought as he slapped the latch down. And he still had to muck stalls….
“You made a right damn mess of this, boy,” Grandpa said darkly as he stalked up, “what the hell is wrong with you? The barn looks like you had the damn circus in there, cattle all over the place! You better get in there and muck those fucking stalls, and get the manure out of the back yard before you even think about coming in side, you got me?”
“Yes, sir.” Tuck licked his lips as he looked up at is Grandfather, “I’ll get it cleaned up, sir.”
There was an assured grunt before Tucker was left to fix his mess. He started with the yard, then the barn. The last thing he did was muck the stalls, his arms aching with the effort of cleaning the stalls and lifting up the mess. When the horses were fed and watered, new hay laid out, he looked about with some satisfaction…
What did it matter if it was a quarter to ten?
He stomped his boots out in the yard before he pulled them off and tip-toed up the steps to the backdoor. Slipping in he left them by the back door, and pulled off his top shirt and tossed it in the laundry. He’d have to wash clothing tomorrow anyway.
He tired to be quiet as he slipped into the main part of the old house, the floor creaking as he walked over the faded linoleum tiles covered with a fresh level of dust. Nothing in the old house ever seemed to stay clean, no matter how many times you swept the floor. The box fans buzzed from the hallway, moving the hot air around the house as he looked over the table. Supper had been had and put away, which did not surprise him too much.
His stomach growled loudly as he passed the icebox and fished out a cup. He didn’t bother with ice as he turned the tap on and filled the cup, looking out the window to the dark fields behind the house.
“Get in here, boy.” Called a voice from the sitting room, startling Tucker out of his quiet thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, though, before he shut the tap off and dared to take enough time to swallow down the water. He left the cup in the sink, before he started slowly toward the room. He glanced once down the long hall, before he stopped at the room’s door and looked in.
His Grandfather was sitting on the couch, the paper held out in front of him as he tilted his had just so to read the words. The pale, yellow light that the bulb gave him to read by barely lit up the room, but it was enough to let Tucker take in all the changes in the room.
“I said get in here, not stand at the door,” Grandpa said, dropping the paper down to stare at Tucker over the top of his glasses. “Boy…”
Tuck lurched into the room with a silted movement. He would have been fine with being told to go to bed without dinner, fine would having been dressed down outside, but the sort of quiet that feel of his Grandfather left him on edge. It was like watching the storm roll in, and wondering just when it was going to it.
And just how bad was it going to be?
It started the same as always, a low voice that asked him ‘what in Sam Hill did he think he was doing’, and on with the ever so pleasant reminders that cattle were not cheap. What if they’d gotten into the road, someone could have been hurt. It was not an unexpected lecture, he could have given it to himself, Tuck thought as he stared at the wall.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Boy, you better damn well look at me when I’m talkin’ ya’hear? Do you understand what I’m telling you? I swear to God, I don’t know why Charlene insist on bringing you down. Why if I had my way, boy, you’d been tossed to the state the day you were born. That no good, lying piece of shit father you have ain’t done a damn thing…wouldna been none the wiser either.” His grandfather backhanded him long before he saw it coming, Tuck’s head snapped around hard enough to make his neck pop. “You ain’t nothing but a disappointment, can’t even do your chores without screwing up. Has there ever been a day in your life where you haven’t been anything but a disappointment? I bet there daddy of yours wishes you had been aborted every day, nothing but a little shit like you to call son. Ain’t like he was jumping at the bit to keep ya when you was a boy.”
Tucker stared at the floor as he curled his hands into fist. Quietly he wondered what it would feel like to just break a board over his Grandfather’s head, to feel it snap and reverberate up his arms as the old man fell from the force of the blow. He’d imagined it in his dreams enough, a feeling of empowerment and pride…
“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you!” His grandpa snatched his head up by the chin, a hard grip pushing against nerves as he looked at Tucker with a heated gaze. “Next time you pull shit like this boy, it ain’t gonna be your supper you go to bed without, you hear me?”
He shoved Tuck away then, slapping him hard up the back of the head one last time before gruffly telling him to get cleaned up and into the bed.
He waited for the creak and snap of his Grandparents bedroom down closing, before he decided to move. Reaching up it touched his lip gingerly, the taste of coopery blood on his tongue as he turned to walk toward the bathroom.
Next time, he reminded himself bluntly, he’d have to remember to latch the damn gates. If he’d just latched the gates, he’d had something to eat today. His stomach growled, woefully reminding him that breakfast had been a very, very long time ago.
===
Tucker Donovan
OC
1563 words
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.
“Shit…” Tucker’s face scrunched up as he looked at the disaster zone that had thirty minutes ago been a barn. The horses’ mulled about in their stalls, again, but they’d broken just about everything in their little tirade. Mistake number one had been thinking that he’d actually secured Tom-Tom’s stall before he’d pulled Corkie out. His second mistake had been thinking he could shoulder a 16 hand draft horse into doing what he wanted it to do…
He supposed he should have just been grateful that Corkie and Tom-Tom had just given him the run around in the lot behind the barn, and not had him chasing them down across the county, but at the moment that blessing didn’t seem to register in his mind. The feed bucket was trashed, rakes and crates scattered everywhere, and their leads? Well, they used to be leads, at least. Now they were just frayed rope with a clip at the end.
The worst of it was, Tucker thought, that he’d still not brushed Corkie or Sunshine down, or mucked the stalls. Looking at his watch, he grimaced. His grandparents would be back from church soon, and if he didn’t have the chores done God only knew what sort of screaming would come down the pipe.
“I hate summers,” he muttered to himself as he set to work cleaning up his mess. He occasionally stood and gave Tom-Tom a dark glare as he found another collection of broken crates and buckets. There was no hiding it, but maybe if he could just stake them right his Grandpa wouldn’t notice until after he’d gone back to DC.
“Boy,” Tucker shot up like he’d been slapped when he heard his Grandfather’s voice. He hadn’t heard the car pull up..
“Shit!” Tucker scrambled, shoving more of the boxes into the corner as he tried to look for the muck rake. Everything was still a disaster, but maybe he could fake it. “Tucker! Get out here!”
Looking sidelong at Corkie, the fourteen year old looked more than a little nervous. What the hell… “Oh no,” he breathed, eyes going wide as he shuffled out of the barn and into the yard. He heard the cows before he saw them, all gathered in the back yard and munching on the freshly planted petunias.
“You want to tell me….” His grandfather started slowly, looking from Tucker to the cattle and then back to Tucker, “why the herd is in my backyard?”
“Uh,” Tucker looked over the herd, not even having to turn back to the feed lot to know he hadn’t latched that gate well either. This was clearly not his day. His Grandma Sumter was standing on the back steps of the house looking furious enough to pop as he bounced between the two. “I’ll get them.”
“You better!”
He didn’t waste time trying to start. It was a clumsy matter, though, and his Grandparents had to stand and keep the cattle from running off toward the road as Tucker herded the cows back into their feed lot. Another thirty minutes wasted in a hot Texas sun, Tuck thought as he slapped the latch down. And he still had to muck stalls….
“You made a right damn mess of this, boy,” Grandpa said darkly as he stalked up, “what the hell is wrong with you? The barn looks like you had the damn circus in there, cattle all over the place! You better get in there and muck those fucking stalls, and get the manure out of the back yard before you even think about coming in side, you got me?”
“Yes, sir.” Tuck licked his lips as he looked up at is Grandfather, “I’ll get it cleaned up, sir.”
There was an assured grunt before Tucker was left to fix his mess. He started with the yard, then the barn. The last thing he did was muck the stalls, his arms aching with the effort of cleaning the stalls and lifting up the mess. When the horses were fed and watered, new hay laid out, he looked about with some satisfaction…
What did it matter if it was a quarter to ten?
He stomped his boots out in the yard before he pulled them off and tip-toed up the steps to the backdoor. Slipping in he left them by the back door, and pulled off his top shirt and tossed it in the laundry. He’d have to wash clothing tomorrow anyway.
He tired to be quiet as he slipped into the main part of the old house, the floor creaking as he walked over the faded linoleum tiles covered with a fresh level of dust. Nothing in the old house ever seemed to stay clean, no matter how many times you swept the floor. The box fans buzzed from the hallway, moving the hot air around the house as he looked over the table. Supper had been had and put away, which did not surprise him too much.
His stomach growled loudly as he passed the icebox and fished out a cup. He didn’t bother with ice as he turned the tap on and filled the cup, looking out the window to the dark fields behind the house.
“Get in here, boy.” Called a voice from the sitting room, startling Tucker out of his quiet thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, though, before he shut the tap off and dared to take enough time to swallow down the water. He left the cup in the sink, before he started slowly toward the room. He glanced once down the long hall, before he stopped at the room’s door and looked in.
His Grandfather was sitting on the couch, the paper held out in front of him as he tilted his had just so to read the words. The pale, yellow light that the bulb gave him to read by barely lit up the room, but it was enough to let Tucker take in all the changes in the room.
“I said get in here, not stand at the door,” Grandpa said, dropping the paper down to stare at Tucker over the top of his glasses. “Boy…”
Tuck lurched into the room with a silted movement. He would have been fine with being told to go to bed without dinner, fine would having been dressed down outside, but the sort of quiet that feel of his Grandfather left him on edge. It was like watching the storm roll in, and wondering just when it was going to it.
And just how bad was it going to be?
It started the same as always, a low voice that asked him ‘what in Sam Hill did he think he was doing’, and on with the ever so pleasant reminders that cattle were not cheap. What if they’d gotten into the road, someone could have been hurt. It was not an unexpected lecture, he could have given it to himself, Tuck thought as he stared at the wall.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Boy, you better damn well look at me when I’m talkin’ ya’hear? Do you understand what I’m telling you? I swear to God, I don’t know why Charlene insist on bringing you down. Why if I had my way, boy, you’d been tossed to the state the day you were born. That no good, lying piece of shit father you have ain’t done a damn thing…wouldna been none the wiser either.” His grandfather backhanded him long before he saw it coming, Tuck’s head snapped around hard enough to make his neck pop. “You ain’t nothing but a disappointment, can’t even do your chores without screwing up. Has there ever been a day in your life where you haven’t been anything but a disappointment? I bet there daddy of yours wishes you had been aborted every day, nothing but a little shit like you to call son. Ain’t like he was jumping at the bit to keep ya when you was a boy.”
Tucker stared at the floor as he curled his hands into fist. Quietly he wondered what it would feel like to just break a board over his Grandfather’s head, to feel it snap and reverberate up his arms as the old man fell from the force of the blow. He’d imagined it in his dreams enough, a feeling of empowerment and pride…
“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you!” His grandpa snatched his head up by the chin, a hard grip pushing against nerves as he looked at Tucker with a heated gaze. “Next time you pull shit like this boy, it ain’t gonna be your supper you go to bed without, you hear me?”
He shoved Tuck away then, slapping him hard up the back of the head one last time before gruffly telling him to get cleaned up and into the bed.
He waited for the creak and snap of his Grandparents bedroom down closing, before he decided to move. Reaching up it touched his lip gingerly, the taste of coopery blood on his tongue as he turned to walk toward the bathroom.
Next time, he reminded himself bluntly, he’d have to remember to latch the damn gates. If he’d just latched the gates, he’d had something to eat today. His stomach growled, woefully reminding him that breakfast had been a very, very long time ago.
===
Tucker Donovan
OC
1563 words