Laura Miller - By Way of Accident

Grandpa passed away on a Tuesday afternoon. It was sunny — not a cloud in the sky. It was just a normal day — until it wasn’t. And he went out just about the same way he lived — quietly. I cried my eyes out that day and several days after that too. Somehow, cryin’ didn’t seem all that weak anymore; it just felt right. And by the time the funeral came, I was all out of tears. And then the day after the funeral was the first day I smiled thinkin’ about him. I just so happened to catch a glimpse of his damn leather cap sittin’ on my desk, and it made me think of him and Grandma. I really hope he looked good enough for her, though somethin’ tells me she’d be happy to see his stubborn self with or without the cap.

It’s funny, but I think I learned more about Grandpa in the last days of his life than I did in all the years before that. In fact, if you put all the words he said to me in my thirteen years together, it still wouldn’t add up to how much he said to me in those last days. He was always a quiet man, but I always knew he wasn’t short on thoughts. And I might not have understood everything he said to me in those last days, but I could tell he believed every word of it. So I vowed to myself that I wasn’t gonna forget what he told me about Grandma and Aquarius and love. And even though I never got the chance to ask him if I should marry Brooke some day, I’m pretty sure I already know what he would have said anyway. So, I’m gonna hold onto that too.

“River, son, your mom and I have decided to sell the farm.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon. The sun is shining. There’s not a cloud in the sky. It’s about like the day Grandpa passed away, except it’s cold outside, but you wouldn’t know that by just lookin’ out the window.

“What?” I blurt it out without even thinkin’. I never would have thought that I’d care about those words— sell the farm —so much. The farm always meant hard work, and I wasn’t ever really keen on hard work necessarily, but for some reason, now, I can’t imagine it any other way. And now, suddenly, the farm means Grandpa and quiet mornin’s — before the sun rises and the world gets up — and long evenings when we’d sit on the porch drinkin’ root beer and spittin’ out watermelon seeds.

“Now, son, I know you grew up here, and you’ve got a lot of memories here, but your mom and I can’t work two jobs and keep up the farm. Your grandpa did a pretty good job of it…”

He stops there. Dad misses Grandpa — just like I do, but he’ll never say it out loud. Instead, he closes his eyes and clears his throat.

“I’ll do it,” I say.

My dad looks at me.

“I’ll take care of the farm,” I say.

He flashes me a small, sad smile. “You’ve got school and baseball, and anyway, son, you’ve got to focus on makin’ a life for yourself. This farm is not your life, son.”

My eyes lower to the floor. There’s a little part of me that knows my dad’s right. I could never keep this farm up like my grandpa did. I never had the heart for it like he did. In the end, I hate to admit it, but I think he was right; I was never cut out for farm work.

“Where are we goin’?” I think I resign to the fact we’re leavin’.

My dad takes a long breath and then pushes it out. “Your mom and I have been looking at some places right outside of town — nice places, where you’ll still have a yard to practice your pitching and where you’ll still have at least a little pond to go fishin’ in.”

I think about it — long and hard. I still don’t like the idea, but it sounds as if Dad’s hell-bent on it, and I guess it really doesn’t sound all that bad. I did always want to try somethin’ new — a new adventure. And at least now, I’ll have somethin’ else in common with Brooke. But I still hate that we have to leave. I know these valleys and hills up and down — so much so that I feel as if they’re mine. I can’t imagine someone else walkin’ these fields or swimmin’ in this creek.

“What about the cows…and Ace?” I ask.

“We’ll keep Ace and take him along with us. But the cows will go to a different farm.”

I gnaw on my bottom lip and chew on the idea in my head for a little while, until my eyes happen to catch on the old coon dog lyin’ in the corner. At least we get to keep Ace.

“It’ll be all right, son. You’ll see,” my dad says, standin’ and pattin’ me on the shoulder.

I nod my head because I know I really don’t have a choice in the matter. I’ll have to make the best of it regardless. I just wish Brooke were here. At least, she’d make me smile.

Dad takes a few steps away from me.

“Dad,” I say, stopping him.

He turns back toward me.

“What about Brooke?”

He keeps his stare on me. I can tell he doesn’t know what I mean. He doesn’t know the whole story about Brooke — not like Grandpa did. He knows I write her letters though. “How will she find me?”

“Oh.” He seems to understand a little more now. “They’ll forward our mail, so anything she sends will get to us.”

I breathe in as deeply as my lungs will let me, and then I slowly force it out. “Okay,” I whisper.

My dad leaves the room, and I just sit there. I’m gonna miss this place. And believe it or not, I’m gonna miss this darn farm. I hated all the work that went into it most of the time, but lookin’ back, I guess it wasn’t all bad. And anyway, if I hadn’t been balin’ hay that day, I might never have met Brooke. I sit back in my chair. All of a sudden, my heart feels heavy, which is strange because it also feels as if there’s a hollow hole in my chest — a hole where Grandpa and Brooke and home should be. I miss him, and I miss Brooke, and I already miss the very first place I laid eyes on her. I feel as if I’m in the middle of my own nightmare. But I think about the story Grandpa told me about Grandma. And I think about how he told me to fight for Brooke. And while I can’t do anything about Grandpa or this farm, I can still do somethin’ about her. I don’t know where she is or if she’s written, but I’m gonna keep fightin’ anyway because Grandpa told me his secret to life, and he told me it’s worth fightin’ for. So damn it, I’m gonna fight. I’m gonna fight for her. I’m gonna fight for Brooke.

“What’s it like — livin’ so close to town?” Tim asks.

It’s evening, and we’re sittin’ by the edge of the pond on our new place. Tim’s diggin’ a hole in the dirt with a stick. I’m convinced if he keeps diggin’, we’ll have two ponds back here by mornin’.

I shrug my shoulders. “It ain’t so bad.”

“You ready to start high school then?” he asks.

I shrug again. “What do I gotta do to be ready?”

“I don’t know. Uncle Joe says you’ve gotta kiss a girl before high school or they’ll stuff you in a locker.”

I laugh. Then I think of Brooke, and my laughter fades to a smile. I notice quick that I’m smilin’ like a damn lovesick fool, and I do my best to hide it before Tim sees it.

“And they’ll leave you in there for hours,” he goes on. “And Uncle Joe says if you make a noise, they’ll stuff a rotten egg in there with ya.”

“That ain’t true,” I say, laughin’. “And Tim…”

“What?” He stops diggin’ in the dirt and looks at me.

“Do me a favor. Don’t listen to everything Uncle Joe has to say.”

He seems to chew on the idea for a second before he nods his head in agreement. He had to have already known that to some extent by now.