Republic of Dirt (6 page)

A
fter mule-leading practice, which nearly caused fisticuffs to break out between Seth and Earl, and which led to me tripping and falling, I felt the need to lie down. The peculiar thing is that I can’t even remember going upstairs to my room. All I know is that I woke up at eight o’clock the next morning. Eight o’clock! That’s fifteen hours of sleep! I haven’t slept for fifteen hours since infancy and maybe not even then.

The only reason I eventually woke up was because Eustace came upstairs to check on me. He was sitting beside the bed when I opened my eyes, which felt like peeled grapes that had been dropped in a bucket of sand.

“How’s the mono?” he asked.

“What?” I said, confused and defensive. “Very funny.”

“Earl told me that you went to bed at five last night. And here you are. Still in bed.”

“It wasn’t five,” I lied.

The strangest thing was that even after all that sleep I still didn’t
feel rested. My head felt like a concrete block, which nicely complemented the sand-filled eyes.

“I’ve never known you to stay in bed past six o’clock.”

“My iron may be low. What are you doing here?” I realized as the words left my mouth that they sounded more hostile than I intended.

“Earl asked me to look your gift mule in the mouth.”

I pushed myself up and onto my elbows. “Is something wrong with Lucky?”

“He’s fine. Earl thought he should have a checkup. Make sure he was up to date on his worming and shots and that his teeth have been floated recently. I have to say, that mule has rotten ground manners. He tried to bite me. Nearly got me in the knee with a savage little kick. He’s not safe for you to handle.”

“I led him here from Werner’s with no trouble. Well, except for a little bit of trouble at the end. Which wasn’t his fault.”

“Prudence, Werner is a shady dealer. He’s perfectly capable of doping an animal before foisting it off on some unwary person.”

“I am not unwary!” I said.

“Overly optimistic, then. You expect the best of people. And sometimes that’s not the wisest strategy.”

“Well, even if he was drugged, he’s here now and we need to make the best of it. Of him.”

“No, you don’t. You need to tell Werner to come and get him. Before someone gets hurt.”

If there’s anything I dislike, it’s being told what to do. Even if it makes sense. To show my displeasure, I didn’t respond.

“Do you want me to call Werner? I can borrow a trailer and drop the mule back on his farm myself.”

“That won’t be necessary. We’re fine,” I said, trying to make my voice sound chilly even though my throat felt scorched.

The pause stretched out uncomfortably.

“I checked Bertie over, too,” said Eustace, finally.

“I don’t like to give unnecessary vaccines,” I muttered.

The trusty hot-button issue that I could count on to sidetrack Eustace didn’t work this time.

“Too late,” he said. “Your sheep has been vaccinated against everything from syphilis to gout. You going to let me drive you?”

First he was trying to drive our mule away. Now he was trying to drive me. I struggled to keep up with the conversation. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep, but I didn’t want Eustace to know that, so I forced myself to remain upright.

“To the doctor,” he explained. “I doubt you’ve had time to find some alternative quack that meets your approval, so we’ll go to a walk-in clinic.”

“Absolutely not.” I tried to remember my arguments against conventional medicine, which were legion, but my brain wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m fine. I’ve got someone in mind. I just need to make an appointment.”

Eustace looked at his watch, which was too large and shiny. “I have an appointment out in Extension at nine. Need to inoculate some piglets. I’ll be back to check on you at ten thirty. If you haven’t made an appointment, I’ll make one for you.”

I was gathering my strength to tell him how I felt about giving immune-suppressing shots to pigs and about the swine industry in general and share my distaste for being told what to do, but before I could get the words out, he was gone and I fell back into a dark, restfree sleep.

W
hen Eustace brought Prudence home today, she told us she is waiting for results of her blood work but that the doctor at the walk-in clinic thinks she might have a thyroid deficiency. Or adult mono. Prudence said she wasn’t concerned, because someone told her there was a fantastic new alternative health practitioner who’d just opened a practice in Cedar.

Eustace kind of smiled at us when Prudence said that, and his smile gave me a funny feeling. Like what if Prudence dies from her thyroid mono and Eustace moves in here and looks after us. He’s very tall and I like the way he smells. I don’t want Prudence to be sick or to die, but I really like Eustace. I’d be proud to have him represent me at the parent-teacher. Miss Singer would be impressed if a real live vet was my dad or at least the person who went to the meeting to talk about my marks, which are all excellent. If Eustace moved in here to take care of us after Prudence died, I’d be sure to ask him a lot of questions about being a vet so that I’m well prepared if I decide to go to vet school when I’m older.

Prudence didn’t want to talk for long, even though me and Seth had a lot of questions. She said she was feeling much better and that after a short nap she’d come downstairs and we’d have a house meeting before dinner. As she talked, Eustace raised his eyebrows at us. He stood behind her, so she couldn’t see. I don’t know what he meant, but it made me feel like he was on our side and also on Prudence’s. If my dad had ever raised his eyebrows like that when my mom said something he didn’t agree with instead of yelling and sometimes throwing plates of food, I bet they’d still be married.

Prudence said she was freezing and asked why there was no heat on, and Seth said it was because there was never any heat on because we couldn’t afford heat and that’s why he had on his thickest Sabbath sweatshirt and his jean jacket and his fingerless gloves. Then Prudence asked me if I did my homework, even though she already asked me that as soon as she came in the door a few minutes before, and I told her I was doing it. My books were open in front of me and everything.

When Eustace and Prudence went up to Prudence’s room, Seth didn’t even make a remark. Normally, he makes jokes when they have private time. He says it’s because he feels like an alien in the face of so much attractiveness. It was good that he didn’t start making jokes, because Eustace would have overheard him. He came right back downstairs to get Prudence a cup of tea and to ask if we had any extra blankets.

He made a cup of Sleepytime tea and I got him the orange, yellow and green afghan off the couch. It feels like hay and I’ve caught my fingers in the holes a few times, but Seth’s mom made it and I knew Seth would want Prudence to use it even though normally he stays wrapped in it whenever he’s in the house.

“If she has a thyroid problem she should recover quickly,” said
Eustace. “One little pill a day and she’ll be back to herself in a few days. It’s an easy condition to treat in most cases.”

Seth said maybe they should give her a lower dose because her speed was often excessive.

Eustace laughed. “But if it’s mono, then we all might get it,” he said.

Seth held up his hands like he was getting arrested. “Hey man, I haven’t touched her.”

“No doubt,” said Eustace. He’s very confident because of being tall and handsome. “Mono can be spread via food and dishes. And it can take quite a while to clear up. If you get it, you’ll just have to rest up until you feel better. Good thing it’s fall and things are starting to slow down around here.”

“Except for the new barn and the out-of-control mule and that six hundred–item to-do list she’s asked us to complete in the next day and a half,” said Seth. He sounded like he was hoping we all had mono.

“Barn?” said Eustace. “What’s going on with the barn?”

Seth looked down at his plate.

I don’t think Prudence wanted us to say anything to anyone, especially Eustace. She wanted the barn to be a surprise.

“I think she hired someone,” said Seth in a quiet voice, like he was hoping Prudence wouldn’t hear him from her bedroom.

“Who?” asked Eustace. He looked sort of upset. Like he had hurt feelings. He must have wanted to build the barn for Prudence. He loves to do things for her.

“Some young dude. Looks like he might belong to one of those churches where they don’t let anyone go through puberty until they’re thirty.”

“I never heard of a church like that,” I said. Of all of us, I’m the
only one who has attended church regularly. My friend Bethany’s parents used to take me to their church. The people there were very nice.

“There is no church like that. At least not around here,” said Eustace. I could tell that he wanted to ask more questions about the barn and the guy Prudence hired to build it, but he didn’t. He has a lot of self-control.

“While she’s sick, can you check on her every so often? She’s going to be sleeping a lot. Just make sure she’s still eating and don’t give her a hard time about her memory or anything else. Don’t let her take on more than she can handle. Taking it easy is going to be tough for her.”

“I can teach her,” said Seth. “Taking it easy is my specialty.”

“Just because she’s taking it easy doesn’t mean you are,” said Eustace. “Everyone is going to have to pull together to keep this place going if she’s going to be down for a while.” Then he took the tea and blanket upstairs to Prudence.

He is so nice!

Seth hooked a finger at me and said never to trust the medical system. “We’ll research this terrible situation ourselves using the people’s tool.”

“The people’s tool?” I said.

“Also known as the Internet. That’s where the smart money goes to find out what’s wrong with them. All you have to do is plug in your symptoms and then you get a diagnosis. Your health is too important to leave to doctors.”

So me and Seth went on his computer and it was really fun. We had Ripples chips and No-Name pop for dinner because Prudence was in her room and wouldn’t catch us. Getting to research and take charge is part of why I love living on Woefield Farm.

H
oly shit. That’s all I have to say. The Interwebs is a terrifying place from a trying-not-to-die perspective. Little Sara and I spent some time researching Prudence’s symptoms. Eustace and her doctor were correct that Prudence has many of the signs of hypothyroidism and/or mono, as well as early onset dementia.

What if she’s crocked and I get stuck running this place and nursemaiding her? I’m just beginning to flower over here, personal-development-wise. The loss of Prudence could shut me down for real. No time for meetings and recovery. Hardly any time to watch TV or go online to surf music and celebrity gossip. No time to find a girlfriend.

FFS. This could be a nightmare.

Sure, right now Eustace is being Mr. Helpful. Taking Prudence to the doctor and getting her blankets and tea. But how long will that last? He’s a busy guy. Got that whole hot vet thing going on. He’ll be able to help out with Prudence a few hours a day, max. The rest of it will fall on my shoulders.

They say people stop maturing when they start drinking or getting high in a serious way. That makes me approximately thirteen years old right now. I am on the verge of calling social services on behalf of myself.

Not coping. That’s the slogan for the day. Easy does it. One day at a time. Think, think, think, and not coping.

I’m also concerned because Prudence is one of my favorite people. She’s got all that energy and she’s non-neurotic, which is a rare thing. When things go wrong, she never takes it personally. She just figures out a way to fix the problem. She takes the same approach to people.

When Prudence asks you to do something, you get this sense that she has total faith in you, even if nothing you’ve ever done or said should give her cause for confidence. Her optimism is so strong it overpowers everything in its path, even advanced incompetence and unwillingness.

So if she’s got the early onset dementia or mono or is having a glandular meltdown or any of the other heinous disorders my research points to, I won’t let her down. I’ll take care of her until the end if I have to. Bury her in the backyard! By hand! That would be some Old Testament shit, because we basically have no dirt here on Woefield. Seriously. There’s a half-inch of dust and grass and then it’s solid bedrock. If we end up burying Prudence here after a long drawn-out illness during which we (mostly me) tend selflessly to her every need (a feat of kindness and compassion that catches the attention of numerous eligible and attractive women), I may have to put her in one of the raised beds, just on account of my back. We’ll call it the Prudence Burns Memorial Raised Bed. We’ll plant flowers in it. Not the kind you put on salads, either, which is usually the only kind Prudence lets us grow. Maybe dahlias. I don’t think they’re edible.

Whatever.

As I was emotionally processing the situation, I found myself getting kind of upset. There may have been a tear, which I tried to hide so Sara wouldn’t worry. The kid has had enough trauma in her life, courtesy of her god-awful parents, whose only good quality as far as I can tell is that they let her live here.

What if Prudence doesn’t pass away until I am in my mid-to-late-forties and my best days are behind me? Jesus. I’d miss her but I’d miss my youth and sexual peak even more. What if she was in pain? I’d have to score her drugs. What impact would that have on my sobriety? I might end up getting hooked on smack. Just thinking about it got me crying a few more small tears and Sara happened to notice and asked if I had allergies and I said yeah, I did. She said I should take Benadryl. I reminded her that Prudence doesn’t believe in pharmaceuticals. That got me thinking how fucking hard it was going to be to take care of Prudence during her hard times. I mean seriously, drugs are so often the answer. She would probably want me to make her mint and grass tea and remedies made out of various ditch weeds, naturally shed tree bark and sun-dried butterfly wings.

There might have been some more tears due to me being so emotionally open these days, but then my email plinked. I opened it and found a message from someone I hadn’t seen or heard from in years. I thought things were complicated for me due to our fearless leader being laid up with a potentially terminal wasting disease. The minute I read the message, I knew life was about to get exponentially more complicated. And here I’d been doing so well.