Friday, January 6, 2017

Drive - A Memoir 6th Installment

Russ said, “No!”
           How he could be a better tracker than me or anyone when he’s blind? I thought. “See, by that clump of sage on the north side of that the rock pile over there,” I said, pointing as I spoke.
       “No!” Russ snapped a second time.
       “Okay, remember how the Old Man taught us to see things against the horizon? You know how a different shape that doesn't belong to the line of sight breaks the ordinary edge of the bushes, rocks or hill side against the sky? Well, that round–ish bump doesn't belong to that sage brush. That’s the antelope’s ear; that’s him!”
        “Well, whoopee–doo, I guess I believe you – now its time for us to get our butts home and face the music,” Russ retorted as he waggled his butt at me.
       Russ and I had a symbiotic relationship because we were the only two boys our age for miles and therefore we only had each other. Oddly we truly liked each other, but we were brothers and the stereotype of brothers is squabbling. I am glad to say we got along perfectly, strange but true.
        The walk home was about two miles following the east ditch to the dirt road that lead over the sand hill south of the farm house. Russ led out and I trailed behind watching the heels of his work boots flick up sand.
Edith and Vernon, our parents, had met and married in Idaho Falls, Idaho, when Edith was seventeen and Vernon was twenty–six. Growing up, I had often wondered why we never said, “Mom or Dad” when we talked to our parents. Linda, my older sister and first child in our family, had told us it was Edith's rule for her children to not say mom, mother, mum or anything else, and we were to pay the proper respect and address her as Edith and our father as Vernon. Edith believed it made sense to call Russell and me by our names and not child or son because there was more than one of us. Therefore, in this stream of logic, we should call our mom and pop by their first names also. Well okay. But, I think it was a way to quell emotion, to keep everything calm and logical. No whining children around here!
        When they met, Vern was a triple “A” baseball pitcher on the local farm team and had received an offer to move to the big leagues. At the same time, he also had an opportunity to buy a farm in Hamer. Of course, I had always wished he had become a famous baseball pitcher making tons of money instead of a lousy dirt farmer working us kids to death like we were ‘hired hands.’ However, Vern had told us that, even the big leagues didn't pay much money. He was a knuckle ball pitcher, and he wouldn’t be able to throw long before he ruined his arm. So, sadly, he
500 More Words Tomorrow

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