sweets | richie tozier

"tough girl ain't feelin' so tough"

"keep it together grace. you're fine. stop worrying" — grace gisbourne

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Working on the Hanlon's farm wasn't as bad as Mr. Hanlon and my mother made it out to be. Mostly, it consisted of me tending to the animals and cleaning than me doing any actual heavy-lifting. That part was left to the older and more capable men—their jobs being driving the tractor, moving haystacks and barrels from here to there, as well as the hardest task of all—actually killing the animals. Sometimes, Mr. Hanlon explained to me, farms would often get animals that were too small, or too weak, or too aggressive, which can "bring more hassle than what they're worth." Therefore, putting those animals down is just less of a struggle than raising it when it has no purpose.

It shocked me when I first saw them do it. I was outside of the chicken pen eating an apple when one of the men walked through the gate, snatched a chicken by its throat, and cut an axe through the air to sever its head from its body. I had jumped out of my chair with a startled scream, completely shocked and taken-aback, but the man just shook his head at me and took the headless-chicken around the back to pluck it. I rushed around the side of the house to throw up, and—though I would never admit this to anyone—cry a little. Maybe it was because of the shock of it all. Maybe because it was so inhumane. But eventually, I had calmed down enough to stop crying. Mike had found me soon after and we got back to work.

Working with Mike was fun. He wasn't as talkative as I expected, but he was funny. And incredibly smart. His grandfather was hard on him, however, which made me think that was why he didn't really talk a lot. There was no doubt that Mr. Hanlon continuously put pressure on the boy, and from what I picked up on, it had something to do with Mike's father. I didn't pry, however, and respectfully kept my thoughts to myself. The last thing I wanted was a scolding from Mr. Hanlon for not minding my own business.

Mike and I were dismissed at around 4:30 that afternoon, with the order to deliver some fresh meat to the butcher in town. I was given my cash in hand and was told to go home as soon as the meat was delivered. Mr. Hanlon was even kind enough to lend me an old bike until I had saved up enough to buy my own, so that I could make it to work and home without having to walk the long distance. I accepted the rickety bike with a full heart and a beaming smile, thanking the old man again and again for his generosity. Soon after that, Mike and I left for the butcher's.

We raced the whole way there, and Mike won only by a few seconds. We got off the bikes and walked them when we hit the main streets and then, finally, we made it to the butcher's. The streets were filled with cars and people, talking or working or both. It was always lively in the heart of the town.

I was about to lean my bike in the bike rack when suddenly, a hand shot out and yanked me back, forcefully pushing me into the long alleyway next to the butcher's. I looked over to Mike in surprise and saw nothing but pure fear in his eyes.