Black Worm

Wishing Well

I shrugged an' said, "Last I noticed, Dad was still passed out in the outhouse after he took down all that whiskey from last night."

"Hoo-hoo!" Billy slapped his thigh. "Did you see him try to climb up that rickety lattice on the side of the house and fall down over Mom's gnome? Surprised he never snapped his neck. But that gnome wasn't so lucky." He shook his head, the knots in his straw-colored hair bounced. "And then trying to attach the head with the tobacco gunk in his mouth..." Billy plucked a crispy blade of deer grass, put it between his thumbs an' screeched out a sad whistle from it. After it fluttered to the ground, he said, "How did he think he'd never get caught in the act? What a brouhaha. Mom was so red a tomato would've been jealous."

"Why'd he do it?"

"I don't know. People don't act right drinking whiskey. They think they can do things others can't, act however they want."

"Is that why Dad walks out of the house naked sometimes?"

"Yup. Must think he's walking in the garden of Eden or something."

"Woah." I blinked. "I reckon Adam wasn't a drunk."

"Of course not." Billy patted my back before takin' a seat on the edge of our dried-up well. "What do you want to do today?"

"If that ol' well was magic we could wish for our parents to be better."

"Ah, Tom. There ain't enough magic in the world for that."

I sighed. "Okay, Billy."

"No really, let's do something fun; you and me. We can run around the area, pretend we're explorers. It's an hour walk, but we can see if Farmer Whittaker needs help at the ranch. You know he don't mind us. Or...we can hitch-hike into the city. Go get some ice-cream."

A pebble skipped across my calloused, bare feet as I drug them around, pacin'. "Why can't you be my parent, Billy?"

"Oh, you wouldn't want me as your ol' man. I'd have to tell you to go to bed early. I'd shake my finger at you and make sure you use your manners at the table. We couldn't have fun anymore."

"Yah, but then it would feel like family."

"I know, but that's not how it is."

His eyes wandered upward to the wispy white an' blue sky. "We'll be okay. We're tough."

"Like nails?" I inched closer to Billy an' hung on the crank of the well. "That's what Dad says. Tough as nails."

Billy's eyebrows rose. "Like screws! They're way more tough. No way when those things are stuck that you'll ever get them out."

"We're a bunch of screws."

"Now, you can't go around saying that though."

I shrugged and gave a tilt of my head. Why not?"

"Oh, you don't get it. But it's a bad word."

"Then I don't want to be a screw."

"Fine. We're nails."