Loving Life

Chapter 28: Mattie

This time, Dianne didn't bother yelling at me because I was late. When we had breakfast, she took one good look at me, then sighed. Deep down, I smiled. A little of that rebellious feeling crept to the surface and made me smile into my omelet. Speaking of rebellious, I started doing my midnight runs these past three nights, only this time I am more careful about avoiding the creaking steps. And now that Dianne and Frank will be leaving for work early to try and catch up on some bills, I won't have to worry about the creaky steps.

            It also gives me a chance to start my surprise project.

            Two hours after Dianne leaves, her tail lights disappearing down the curvaceous road, I slip into my overalls, throw my hair in a ponytail, and grab my red bandanna to hold my hair out of my face. For a moment, I stand in front of my mirror, contemplating whether I should send Ervin a text of me. Then, I decide I will.

            Is this the country girl you thought I was?

            He replies immediately. U're so cute

            Aww thanks

            Whatcha doin that u so ador?

             I thought I already was ador =) Remember what I told u what I was gonna do 4 D+F?

              Nice

              Yeah. So I prob wont answer calls/txts

            K. I'll have my phone w/ me @ all times. Send me updates!

            Will do. Luv u.

            Luv u 2.

            I smile at those three words. It was hard not answering him during our canning session, and I know what I am about to be doing will carry into the school year.

            When we are done, I help dry dishes. Like usual. While doing so, Diane asks if we should deliver the already made pies she put in the cellar and our jams.

              First off, I take a notepad with me as I aimlessly walk about the one hundred and thirty-eight-acre farm, jotting down notes of general ideas. Later on, I will go through each building, doing more detailed notes.

            There is a large garden to the northeast, containing tomatoes, strawberries, potatoes, green beans, sweet corn, carrots, cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli, and pickles. Dianne has been busy working and canning that the garden needs serious weeding and watering. At least, I think it needs a lot of weeding and watering. I add Ask Dianne what weeds look like and When to tell when plants need water.

            Even more northeast is the feed barn. A wall separates the room filled with feed bags from bales of grass I think they are called. A thing called something like a fork sits next to the round piles of grass. Not much in here besides cleaning up the floors.

            Directly west is the dairy barn. Every time I step in here, I want to gag. The mixture of still air, dry grass, and cow manure acts like cotton in my throat. General cleaning and A good mask. I stumble out, clutching my nose.

            The pig barn is worse. I don't write anything for that building and stream away from it.

            My next and most favorite building is the stable to the southwest from the pig barn. This place I am used to. Ever since my first time feeding the horses, I have grown used to the stale smell of grass and horse sweat. There has been a cat who likes to lay in the grass and gaze lazily at me as I go from stall to stall, feeding the horses. Every once in a while, I came out at night and sat in a beautiful Thoroughbred's stall named Misty. Occasionally, I fell asleep.

            I slowly turn in a circle, coming up with ideas for what I want to do in here. The stalls could be cleaned, but those will always be dirty. The floor is covered in more grass and dust and dirt, hazy sunlight filtering in through the grimy windows high above. Again, not much. Paint.

            The chicken barn. I have sat all day, daydreaming about this barn. I want to paint the old boards lining the windows blue-green, replace the windows, and paint the boards red, orange, yellow, and green. As for the inside—

            Oh my God, I have never smelt anything worse. The cows may be worse, but the chickens rank right up there.

            Inside, feathers and grass and feces make up the floor. About twenty golden chickens squawk at me as I climb inside. Something resembling a shoe rack at a McDonald's indoor playground with bars on the outside sits against the farthest wall. Straw and hens lie on fresh—or are they dead?—eggs. Flies mingle with my hair. Chickens nip at my ankles. I just about drop my clean and bacteria-free notepad in the fluffy pile matted with white droppings as I make a break from the germy building.

"Dianne, when will I find out if my parents wrote a will?" I ask that night as we all sit around the table, weary from the day's work. Frank has been gone the same time as Dianne, hauling who knows what. Before I can start on my projects, I need money. If Dianne is already struggling, the least I could do is hope my parents wrote a will for me.

            Dianne doesn't look at me. Instead, she stares at the slowly emptying pizza box. Tonight will be one of my longer runs, and I'll have to wait a while to let the greasy pizza pass. Today's hours went from six in the morning to seven at night, and that's what Dianne expects every day, five days a week, for a while before the hospital gets sick of her doing so much overtime. Will it be enough to help steer us on the right path? No one can tell yet.

            Frank, who has stopped drinking so much since Dianne told him how bankrupt they really were, answers. "She has gotten everything straightened out with your parents as of custody."

            "Obviously."

            Frank moves on. "She was gonna go to the state attorney to set up an appointment, get the money rightfully deserved for you, and give it to you as a birthday present..."

            "But my birthday was three days ago." I suppose now that I'm eighteen the money should easily be transferred to me.

            "...but she made that decision when this whole bankruptcy thing happened. She couldn't get into the offices early enough and deal with it since she was working so much."

            "Why couldn't you have gone?"

            He shrugs. "I figure you don't trust me, so why should I get into your business? You trust Dianne more than me. You think I'm just some old junkie who likes to drink and sit around all day."

             "That's a lie!" I cry, pushing myself away from the table. Dianne would make sure she gave me whatever I wanted as soon as possible, even though she is so short on money. And one night she came home so late I had to make myself dinner; that was a mess. Did she go to the attorney that night?

            "See, that's the problem. You also think whatever I say is a lie."

            "No, I don't."

            "Well, hardly anything I say is a lie."

            "Hardly? Who says 'hardly anything I say is a lie'?"

             "Mattie. Please. It's not a lie. Are you thinking of that one night when I came home so late? I was still working," Dianne says, sighing. "If I get off early enough, we'll do it tomorrow or sometime this week. Okay?"

                 "Fine." I let go of my chair, letting the blood flow back into my fingers but still clench my jaw. I try to not stomp up the stairs.

                 Either Dianne senses my anger or some other reason, she calls, "Do you want some more? You only had one and a half pieces."

            "I'm good!" I holler back, even though I could have eaten the entire pizza. I hardly ate anything today.