Wednesday, September 25, 2019

Empty memories


   Walking down a quiet country road, the dirt kicking up with each step a reminder that rain hasn't come along in a while. The corn isn't as high as it should be, and another bad crop will probably be the end of the farm.
   I can see my dad and mom sitting on the front porch, and I can imagine their talk isn't about love and such but what their going to do if the worst happens? It has to be a huge burden for them
   I was just seventeen when I got the calling and joined up, now six years later I'm coming home with scars unseen and nightmares most every night. The meds help some, but what keeps me going is the fact that I won't let them lose the farm, I won't.
   It was mom who saw me first, nearly falling out of her chair and running towards me as fast as her legs would go. I dropped my bag and braced myself for that momma bear hug I knew was coming. Dad tapped out his pipe and waited on the porch until we made it there. Welcome home son he said offering me his hand which I took in mine pumping a few times then looking away.
   The rains finally came, and we got the crop in and a few after that. Dad got hurt when a jack fell on his leg, and he had to stop farming, leaving it to me and my mom to keep things going. Then mom got sick with a cancer which took her from us way too soon.
   I never did like farming all that much, and dad wasn’t much good at anything those days since mom passed. The bank called in our loan and auctioned off the machinery and stuff from the house then sold it off to the highest bidder who came in with the winning bid of just twelve thousand dollars. Not much for a piece of land that we worked for so long.
   Dad ended up in a mobile home in the desert where he drank himself to death, and as for me well, I took a job at a factory that made cardboard boxes. It was a mindless job that didn’t take much skill, but it kept the voices quiet, and it was only a few miles from the old farm. I still walk down that dusty old country road sometimes looking at the old house that’s been painted, and the fences mended.
   I'm only twenty-seven tears old, and my life is nothing but some memories that someone much older than me should be having.







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