Daniel once told me that his father hit him. He ran to me one day, after sunset, and held onto me. His eyes were large and full of tears as he spat out words I couldn't understand. Slowly, I got to the ground, in the same place he and I met every night, and placed his head on my lap. I'd seen Mamma do it countless times with the younger children and I figured it must help.
"He's not wakin' up, Lyd," he tried his best to explain. "I hit him real hard and he fell," he continued, beginning to gasp between words, "and he ain't wakin' up!"
That's when I noticed the scratches and bruises lining his arms, the blood already dried. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't. He was thirteen then and had been through more than I could ever imagine.
I didn't see Daniel again for a few weeks. But when I finally did, I knew deep in my heart that he wasn't the same. He hardly said two words to me after informing me that, "he ain't dead." I knew it was a sin, but I wished that his father had died right then. Mainly because I knew that Daniel wished for it too.
Things began to change over time. I very rarely heard him laugh or get excited over anything like a young boy should. But I worked around it and I felt like I was special because I was the only person he talked to.
He never went back to normal.
That is until now.
I watch the back of his head as he nods to people in the town, his hands comfortable in their pockets and his feet crossing lazily as he walks. Even from here I can see the side of his lip turned up in a genuine grin.
Trying my best to keep up with him, I run a tiny bit until I'm side-by-side with the tall young man. The corners of his eyes crinkle, a result of the smile, and he looks down at me with a playful question on his face.
"What?" he asks. "Why you lookin' at me all funny?"
I shrug my shoulders and look down at my feet to avoid answering. To focus on something else I move my gaze to the town. It looks as dead and dry as ever. Trees that frame either side have reached the point where they've been exposed to so much heat, all their leaves break off. The intensity has plunged them into an early fall state.
Dust billows up into the air underneath the hooves of horses, or tires of automobiles that nobody around here could afford. Everyone is still tucked away peacefully in their homes, excepting the shop owners and police officer.
We only have one officer and it took a long night of arguing and liquor to get him. Now that we have him, we're not so sure we need him. He stands in the same position, moving his eyes back-and-forth in the same time intervals.
I skim over the handful of different shops, all identical to the last time I saw them. A drug store, barber shop, beauty salon, and the one on the very end, a general store. The general store is where I work. Or where I hope to work again.
A soft fiddle starts to play, and my head turns in the direction of the source. The town hillbilly, Rooster, sits on the sidewalk with the instrument tucked neatly under his chin. We call him the town hillbilly, because if he isn't the town hillbilly, that means my daddy is. Mamma refuses to let the title gain a place among our family.
I walk further-and-further into town, ignoring my surroundings so that I can focus on the music. At a certain point during his song, I swear I can see orbs of light emitting from his bow.
He cuts the music short and snaps his eyes up to mine, tossing his hand in the air as a hello.
"Yer really good on that thang," I compliment, clasping my hands in front of my dress.
I don't earn a response from him, just a shameful, thin-lipped frown and a glance to his side. Nobody takes offense to Rooster remaining mute, because he does that to everyone. I heard a story that his tongue was cut off when he was a boy, leaving him wordless the rest of his life. Not sure I even believe that, but in times like these I have no choice but to question it.
"Now I figure I should warn ya, ya know, before we go in there," Daniel says, as though my little conversation with Rooster never occurred. He slows down dramatically, giving my legs a much needed break from keeping up.
"Boss doesn't really mind, uh," he begins, trying to form the words in his head. "What I mean is, Boss was kinda glad when ya left."
I stare at him for a few seconds, letting him concern himself with how blunt he came across. But then I let a large smile loose.
"I know," I say.
I'm used to hearing things like that by now. It's no secret that my personality can come off as improper. But if everyone else at least tried to have a personality, mine wouldn't have to try so hard.
As far as Boss goes, he has no right in judging my attitude. He's rude and has a sneer that could curdle milk. I've never had a conversation with that man that didn't end in yelling. I figure that the day we don't argue, is the day something awful happens.
We reach the end of town, just a couple feet away from the store. I move up onto the sidewalk, gaining an inch or two on him.
"Of course ya know," Daniel realizes, shaking his head as he scratches the back of his head.
He looks up at me, his eyes squinting something awful due to the bright sun. His hand down to mine, our fingers interlocking. "It's good to have ya back," he admits as he gestures his free hand to the general store's open door.
We both walk in, dropping hands. I immediately smell the licorice and men's aftershave. It all looks the same, cramped and filled to the ceiling with junk. Everything from children's toys to fishing gear.
Daniel get's comfortable quickly, the place having become a sort of home to him. He rounds the corner over to the counter. A rusty old register sits on top, the antique worth more than all the items sold here put together.
I watch as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, lifting it up to his chapped lips.
"This place has been so boring," he says, blowing out the smoke with his words. "The store has been dead without ya in it."
Still looking around the place, I take a few steps toward him.
"Ya see? You guys need me. To brighten up the place and stuff," I comment, throwing in a teasing height to my tone. "If anything," I continue, taking the cigarette from his grip, "at least I was here to break you of this danged habit." Making sure he's watching, I take a few steps and throw the cigarette onto the dirt road outside.
"Actually, I kinda liked it," he says, raising both his eyebrows. "I could hear myself think."
I throw both of my hands onto my hips, walking back over. Easily, I jump on top of the counter, swinging both of my legs.
"I'm so glad you said that," I remark, letting my head sink into my shoulders. "Cause now I can make yer life a livin' hell again."
"You'd bet'tah not," he threatens, rubbing his creased forehead.
I look over my shoulder and just stare at him, mesmerized by the sight. With only five months passing, he's aged so much. His eyes seem a little more tired, and his lips a little more dried. The corners of his eyes have already begun to wrinkle, the exposure of sun giving him a head start on that feature. It's not the way a nineteen-year-old should look. But he's still as handsome as ever.
He rests his chin in his fist, tilting his head to look up at me. "I'm just messing with ya," he breaks the silence. "Truth is, I've been wrecked without you."
Loud stomps interrupt the moment and we both turn and look over at Boss. He faces the mirror in the tiny hall, adjusting his suspenders like he always does after taking a long nap.
"I hoped ya wouldn't show up," he grumbles, turning toward us once he's done straightening himself out. With every step he takes, he mutters under his breath about something.
He stops quickly in front of me, giving me a good view of the toothpick being juggled around four of his teeth. His eyes narrow at me, causing his overgrown eyebrows to come down as well.
"Just don't git in'tah an argument with the ma'yah again, got it?" he suggests, moving his way out of the building as quickly as he came in.
I jump off and land back on my feet, watching Boss leave until he stops a woman on her way in. "Got it."