Republic of Dirt (10 page)

I
t was the noise finally got my attention away from thinking about old times. Might have dozed off there for a minute, too. There was a thump like a sack of cement hitting the ground and then hooves going hell-bent for election and yelling and some shouting. I looked over by the swing set and saw Seth lying in the middle of the gravel playground. Then our red devil of a mule went by, doing about eighty clicks, Prudence running for all she was worth to catch him.

I’ll tell you, at that moment I didn’t know whether to shit or get a shoeshine.

Before I could move, a young lady come hustling out of the school. She put her hands on her hips and stared at Lucky, who was trotting back and forth across the parking lot, some parents running beside Prudence to catch him and some running to get out of his way.

Prudence was hollering sorry and excuse me and calling Lucky’s name as she ran after him and demanding him to come here right now.

The lady in the doorway of the school noticed Seth lying in the
playground and decided to attend to him first. It’s not the decision I would have made, but then I’m not a teacher.

She ran over to Seth and I finally got my old body in gear.

That’s when I saw the taxicab pull in and the red Buick right behind it. Sara’s folks.

I knew we was in trouble. We made a bad enough impersonation on them at the farmer market and now we were putting on a poor goddamned show at the parent-teacher.

Thinking maybe I could get Seth on his feet before Sara’s parents saw him, I went over to him first. The young lady was asking Seth if he was okay.

He was on his back in the gravel and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish. Then he opened his eyes and said something about bugs.

Sir? said the lady. Are you a parent?

That depends, said Seth.

Sir? Have you been drinking? asked the lady.

I told her he’d been off the sauce for a few months. She give me a look like I just showed her a handful of shit. She was a pretty little blond thing. Hardly more than a kid herself, though I think everyone looks like a kid these days. I can’t say I blame her for giving me that look.

Sara Spratt, said Seth. We’re here for her parent-teacher. We’re her guardians. Caretakers.

Like hell you are! yelled Old Man Spratt, storming up on us like we was robbing his general store.

Where’s Sara? I said because I finally cottoned on to the notion that if me and Prudence and Seth was all here in the school yard, then either Sara was here too or she was alone. Neither one of them options was any good.

She’s our daughter, said Mrs. Spratt, joining us. We’re sorry we’re late.

This is your fault, said Old Man Spratt to me, his wife and everyone else. And he was right about that, far as I could tell.

I better get home to see to Sara, I said.

Get her things ready, said Mr. Spratt. She’s coming home with us.

Which us would that be? asked Mrs. Spratt.

The teacher looked at them.

Just then Lucky trotted by, almost close enough to touch. Nearly knocked Mrs. Spratt over. Would have served her right.

Grab him, yelled Prudence, who didn’t seem any too steady on her feet. Worse, she was crying. I never seen her like that and it alarmed me something terrible.

Seth made a lunge for the lead rope, missed and fell down, like an old-fashioned comedy show.

I’m Miss Singer, Sara’s teacher, said the young blond lady. I’m not certain what’s happening here, but perhaps someone should go home and see about Sara.

She had that shit-smelling look on her face even worse.

That’s when the phone lying on the paved courtyard started to ring.

T
he whole scene, post-fall, is a blur. Mule hooves galloping by within inches of my head, several types of footwear running by, faces peering down, phones ringing. Chaos. Sadly, it all felt familiar. Everyone probably assumed I was just some random drunk guy who’d passed out in the school yard, which not long ago might have been the case, if I’d been the sort of drunk to leave his house.

First I saw the cute schoolteacher peering down at me and then, like a vision from hell itself, Earl’s old turtle head replaced hers.

There were some words exchanged, the specifics of which escaped me, and then I saw Sara’s parents looking down at me. We were done for. This conviction was made firm by the realization that our spotted mule was cantering briskly back and forth across the property, with at least eight people in hot pursuit, including Prudence, who was acting completely unhinged.

As it became clear to everyone that Sara was home alone and every single person who was supposed to be looking out for her was at the school, I felt this peculiar panic grip me. I’m not sure why.
I mean, Sara’s eleven. Of all of us, except maybe Prudence before she was felled by her Japanese thyroid condition, Sara is the one best able to look after herself. But something in me felt this deep certainty that a terrible mistake had been made. Not just because we’d cemented our reputation for being incompetent fuckwits in the child care department, but because there was something wrong with Sara.

In the midst of all this, the teacher answered the phone I’d dropped. She listened, and reported to the assembled crowd, who’d come out of the school to gawp at the commotion, that an enraged doctor was on the other end, yelling that he’d found someone named Sara being abused by Satanists. The group of listeners included a tattooed guy who turned out to be a social worker.

“Oh my god!” said Mrs. Spratt.

“What have you done?” said Mr. Spratt, staring at her poisonously.

Prudence stood near us, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought the mule. Is Sara okay?”

“Which of you are her parents?” asked the social worker, his eyebrow piercing rising in judgment.

“Goddamn it to hell,” said Earl.

You have to understand, the situation was beyond chaos, what with the mule blasting all over the place and Sara’s hateful parents and the mention of Satanists. None of it was helped by my concussion, but I knew we had to get home and find out if Sara was okay. Earl knew it too and started heading for the truck.

I looked at Prudence. She was so fucked up. Crying. Not making sense. I couldn’t leave her there. I thought to call Eustace to come and get her, but before I could take the phone, the social worker took the phone from the teacher and talked to whoever was on the other end.
I guess he got the address for the farm, because before we knew what was happening, he was out of there like a shot in his ten-year-old Ford Focus. I made a snap decision and left my boss and landlady to catch the mule. Earl and I got in the truck and tried to follow the social worker, but when the guy accelerated past thirty kilometers an hour, we lost sight of him. On the drive, I called Eustace and told him where Prudence was and what condition she was in.

“You left her there? With that hell mule?” he yelled. “After what I just found on this farm? Sara was very nearly … I can’t even talk about it. I told you to keep an eye on Prudence. Jesus, Seth. This could have been bad.”

“You’re at the farm?” I said, stupidly.

“Yes, thank god. I stopped by just in time to prevent … never mind.”

So Eustace was the doctor who’d found Sara. And screwed as we were, my clenched heart eased a little at the words
could have been
and
prevent
.

When Earl and I arrived, Sara was already being interviewed by the social worker. Eustace was standing guard over some Columbine-looking teenager and a poor little bastard about Sara’s age with a badly infected earlobe. We learned later that the social worker had been at the school to sit in on the parent-teacher interview with the sad kid’s parents, but they never showed. But Sara’s did, too bad for us.

There’s almost too much blame to go around.

W
hen the social worker, who told me his name was Pete, showed up, he wanted me to tell him what happened. So I told him how Charles Manson said he wanted to see my bedroom and about how he said he was going to go Mexican Al Qaeda on my chickens and how he grabbed me but Eustace saved me. Then Pete asked if I’d ever noticed anything wrong with Target, and I said that it seemed like everything was wrong with Target, such as having the name Target and bad shoes and a brother like Charles Manson Barton, who was the worst person I ever met, including my parents. But I didn’t actually say that about my parents, partly because they both showed up in my dad’s taxi, which was very surprising because they don’t like to be in the same vehicle together.

Pete asked if I’d ever seen any bruises on Target and I said about his ear and how it was red and swollen and bleeding because Charles pierced it wrong. Pete nodded. I liked how he took everything I said very seriously. I probably have my training in the Jr. Poultry Club to
thank for that. Pete said I was very poised and well-spoken for my age and situation.

That’s why I was so surprised at what happened next. Pete said he needed to speak to my parents. He did and I heard them say that if they’d known what kind of place Woefield was they’d never have let me stay. They said they were taking me home, where I could be cared for properly. They said their personal problems wouldn’t impact their ability to look after me.

Then the social worker came and talked to me again. He asked if I was ready to go back to live with my parents. And even though I wasn’t, I nodded because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

It felt sort of like one of those nightmares that makes your hands feel like giant erasers when your eyes are glued shut and won’t open no matter how hard you try. I wanted to scream and run away, but I tried to think what a leader would do. So I asked the social worker what was going to happen to Target and his brother. Pete said he was going to find their parents and speak to them.

Then Pete went over and asked my parents which one of them I would be staying with. I think he noticed that they don’t like each other too much, because he stared at them pretty hard when he said that if they weren’t ready to take me back he could recommend that I go into the care of the ministry until they were “in a better place.” Neither of them spoke up right away and I realized that they didn’t want me to come with them. It was a surprise because I always sort of thought that everyone would want me because of my having so many skills.

That’s when my dad said Pete sure as H didn’t listen and that they’d already said they wanted me to come home, and my mom said of course they wanted me and what kind of parents did people think they were? But both of them sounded sort of nervous and I felt like a
dog that someone was trying to give away to people who would just tie it in the backyard. I don’t know why I felt like that, but I did.

My mom said they were just getting their feet on the ground after the separation and that the plan had been for me to come home soon anyway and that I already spent weekends with them, which wasn’t really true because we usually skip the visits because no one enjoys them very much.

Then Pete asked me to join them, even though I could hear most of what they said because I was in the living room and they were just in the kitchen. He asked if I understood what was happening and I said I did. Then I asked if I could visit the farm since my chickens lived there.

“I don’t think so,” said my dad. “This place is a goddamned joke.”

And my mom said, “Dean. You know—”

But my dad didn’t let her finish. “If you were half a mother—”

And Pete saw that they were going to have a bad fight, so he said he would do an investigation if it would make them feel better when it came time to make a decision about me visiting the farm.

“I don’t think that’s—” said my mom.

“Just listen to the professionals for once in your life,” said my dad.

And my mom said he was the one who dropped the ball, meaning me. They didn’t yell though, probably because they didn’t want to look bad in front of Pete and Seth and Earl and Target, who were all waiting on the porch.

My dad said a lawyer would be very interested to hear what had happened this afternoon. My mom said it might affect their separation agreement.

Then everyone waited, and nobody spoke to anybody else, while I went upstairs to pack my things. Seth came inside and asked if he
could help me, because he likes to give me fashion and decorating advice that he gets off the Internet, but Pete told him it would be best for him to stay put and my dad glared at him.

This wasn’t fashion tips. This was moving. I had to try really hard to not cry, because crying only makes things worse. Maybe if I hadn’t cried so much when Eustace saved me he wouldn’t have called Seth’s phone and gotten so mad about me being neglected and I wouldn’t have a social worker now or be moving back with my parents.

“Is that everything?” asked Pete, when I had put everything in the plastic bins Seth got for me at the Dollar-a-Day because I didn’t have a dresser. We had put a lot of very nice stickers of farm animals on the plastic bins. Seth and Earl were going to make me a dresser, but so far, Seth said, the skills and tools required to make the project had “eluded them.” Seth said we should just go buy a used dresser and Earl said hell no, they could make a dresser if they could make a chicken coop. I didn’t point out that the chicken coop they made needed to be fixed all the time because of their poor construction techniques. And anyway, I liked my plastic bins with stickers. There were three of them that stacked on top of each other and I think they looked very modern. Almost like Ikea, which I would like to go to one day. Plus, I didn’t have very many things because the more things you have, the more things you have to take care of.

Pete took the stack of bins from me and carried them downstairs.

He didn’t say anything about how my desk was very neat and how I made my bed every day, which showed that I was cared for just fine.

When we got downstairs, Prudence still wasn’t home with Lucky, and Eustace was gone. I guess he went to look for her. Pete and Target sat on opposite sides of the porch, and Earl stood between them. Target didn’t look up when I walked past them.

Earl muttered, the way he does when he’s pretending to be upset about something, which is almost always, only this time it seemed real.

“There has been a misunderstanding. We didn’t mean to …,” said Seth.

But no one was listening to anyone else, and my dad was waiting on the porch and my mom sat in the backseat of the cab. When Pete and I went outside, Seth and Earl followed us down the stairs. My dad took my stacked plastic bins and the backpack with my schoolbooks and put them in the backseat with my mom, who was staring straight ahead and not looking at my dad because they hate each other.

Pete gave me his card and said to call if I needed anything. He said he’d be in touch soon and that we’d have an appointment to make sure I was doing okay. I didn’t know if I was supposed to get in the back of the car with my mom and all my stuff or get in the front with my dad. I didn’t want to get in the car at all. Seth went to hug me but Pete shook his head, so we did our funny handshake that Seth taught me, and Earl patted my shoulder and looked sad and mad. I was worried about Seth and Earl, especially Earl.

“Can you look after my chickens?” I asked him.

He grunted and cleared his throat, which is Earl’s way of saying yes.

I handed him my copy of
The Poultry Keeper’s Companion
, which is nearly seven hundred pages. He took it from me and then I left the farm.

The cab smelled like air freshener and stink.

We went to Smitty’s. Usually I like going there, but it wasn’t fun with my parents.

The hostess put us in a booth near the tank with the big goldfish in it. I asked my parents what was going to happen to my chickens
and who would look after Bertie and Lucky. My dad said first things first and that we needed to make some decisions. My mom said I needed to decide which of them I wanted to live with and that the other one would understand. But I knew they wouldn’t. They don’t understand anything, like how important it is for me to live with my chickens and be a junior farmer.

“Sara,” said my mother when the waitress came over and asked for our order. “What would you like to eat?”

I go with Seth and Earl to Smitty’s at least once a week but we never tell Prudence. Seth says everyone needs a break from steamed kale sometimes and Smitty’s is the best place to replenish our fat stores. He and Earl wouldn’t have had to ask what I wanted.

“Potato pancakes,” I said. “No applesauce.”

My dad had coffee and my mom had apple pie. For once, they didn’t say anything about each other’s orders.

When the waitress went away again, my dad said, “Well?” And my mom said he shouldn’t rush me. He said he wasn’t rushing me and maybe it was her who didn’t want to be rushed. She said she was tired. My mom doesn’t swear, but she does sometimes throw things when she gets upset. Mostly she just sits in the car or cleans or scribbles in her diary.

I hoped they wouldn’t fight in the restaurant, because then we might have police instead of social workers.

My dad told my mom to keep her voice down.

He said that she needed to recognize that he worked twelve-hour shifts. And she said that so did she, even though that wasn’t true. She works three days a week at the Great Little Gas Bar, where she got a job after she got fired from the Price Mart for taking too many sick days. My dad said she was a parasite. She said that wasn’t
fair. She was getting the house ready to sell and maybe it was time for him to step up as a parent.

That’s when I knew that neither of them wanted me to live with them, which would have been okay because I didn’t want to live with them either, except I needed to live somewhere! I thought of how Prudence and Earl and Seth used to argue in a joking way over who got to be with me. Prudence wanted me to help with chores and help her decide what to plant, and Seth wanted to show me stuff on the Internet and play me his heavy metal music, which was interesting because he has good stories about the bands. The stories aren’t appropriate for kids, but he always gives me what he calls a “trigger warning” before he tells me something that’s not G-rated. Earl likes watching television with me and always makes sure I eat enough and get enough sleep, and he gives me candy, which we don’t tell Prudence about because of her feelings about sugar.

When Prudence and Earl and Seth argued, no one ever threw anything, although sometimes when Earl and Seth were trying to build something, I could tell Earl wanted to.

Being with my parents at Smitty’s made my stomach hurt so much it was hard for me to think.

I told them I didn’t care who I lived with but I had to be able to visit Woefield and my birds. And my mom said she was sorry but that Pete said I should stay away from the farm until he did an investigation and that Woefield might become a factor in the divorce.

Then the waitress, who was nice and gave me a special smile like you give to someone you feel bad for, came back and put down my potato pancakes. She asked if she could get me any extra sour cream since I wasn’t having applesauce.

I said no. Then I ate all of my pancakes because who knew when I would get to go to Smitty’s again.

I pretended I was deaf and didn’t listen to anything else my parents said, and when I was done eating they had decided that I would stay with my dad for two weeks and my mom for two weeks. They looked like they wanted to throw their dishes at each other, but I was so full and felt like throwing up so bad that I didn’t even care.