The bags of feed in the bed of the truck are a step down from generic. Three years ago we were sent for top of the line stuff. Last year we had to step it down to Blue Star. If I’m correct about what he’s implying, then this ranch won’t be open much longer either. Dad tucks the invoice in the front pocket of his shirt as I reach for the first two bags.
I slide one to him, but he struggles to pick it up. His face grows red, and a wince of pain crinkles the corners of his eyes before he gives up trying to lift the bag from the bed. I place my hand on his shoulder, and he stiffens under the contact.
“Is it your back again, old man?” I chuckle as I place his bag on top of mine and grab both. “Go ahead and take that invoice to Mrs. Jacobson. I’ll be finished with this by the time you get back out.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes before turning and walking toward the house. That’s the thing about farming and ranching. It wears your body out faster than it should. My dad isn’t even fifty, and he’s bent over most days like a geriatric patient shuffling to a table at the bingo hall.
I make quick work of the feed, loading it into the back room of the barn.
I let the memories of happier times fill my head. It hurts a lot less than the reality I’m living in now. I think back to when my dad not only smiled, but he stood up straight and was the strongest man I’d ever met. Of course, it doesn’t take much to impress a young boy who looks at his dad like he’s the best thing since Superman himself, but I always wanted to be like him.
Before things got bad, he took pride in his work. He woke every day with a smile on his face and a kiss for my mom. He was eager to get to the fields and work the cows. He didn’t complain or gripe about the heat in the summer. Even the rain in the fall didn’t make him wish for better days. Those rainy days were spent with me and Mom on the back porch playing board games or just talking about mundane things.
He still doesn’t complain, but his face and the permanent grimace he carries day in and day out says more than his mouth ever could.
I don’t really mind working for Mrs. Jacobson. When I was offered the job, I bounced on the balls of my feet, excited to be employed because so many of the guys at school were looking for work and coming up empty-handed. It didn’t even matter that I knew I was obligated to use most of my pay to help with bills. It was expected. That’s what we do.
I was happy until I finally figured out that this is what I was going to do for the rest of my life. This wasn’t temporary until I got out of high school any longer. This was it for me. Working the cows day in and day out. And from what Dad said earlier, things may be getting worse very soon. I don’t know what I’ll do if the Jacobson Ranch has to sell. We wouldn’t be guaranteed our jobs here, and that would put my entire family in a bind. We live on Jacobson land, so losing the jobs means we also lose the house.
Frustration grows until I can’t help but kick the side of the barn after dropping off the last bag of feed. The goats on the other side of the wall bleat at me like I’ve personally offended them, but I can’t be bothered with worrying about the feelings of goats when there are bigger things to worry about.
Without waiting for my dad, I climb in the cab of the farm truck and set out to drop the bales of hay in the east pastures. As if Dad were in the cab with me, I keep the windows rolled down and the radio off.
The sun is setting by the time I make it back to the barn. Dad’s truck is already gone, and even the light shining from the kitchen window of the Jacobson house doesn’t tempt me to enter.
Frankie has avoided me since I said those hateful things to her the first day we met, and I don’t blame her. I don’t want to be around me either. Who wants to spend time with a bitter guy who no longer has aspirations or the chance of a successful future?
I’m supposed to have supper with them tonight, but instead of washing my hands and heading inside, I close up the barn and drive home. I’ll tell Mrs. Jacobson tomorrow that I was tired, and it slipped my mind. Lying to that sweet old woman is better than sitting beside her delicious smelling granddaughter while pretending to be infatuated with her.