Drive - A Memoir 52nd Installment
didn’t
work, and clearing the ice and snow was a bother. I don’t like the
winter. I hate the cold, and it seems to be too dark too long!
One
day a Chinook wind, a real ‘snow–eater’ blew in. The piles of
snow turned from crunchy frozen to swishy wet, and the icicles were
trying to melt before they fell. The sun was so bright it warmed our
bodies and shone light into our winter darkened brains.
With
spring our frame of mind improved, and Russell and I worked hard and
played hard that spring. We planned and argued about what we were
going to do – anticipating the upcoming jackrabbit drives. We also
were excited about full time work on Carl’s farm and other jobs for
hire Edith would line up for us as soon as school was out.
“Bootsey
Monte Everett Rudd – you kidding me?” Russell was laughing as he
asked.
“Yes,
that’s the name of the kid from Boston, ah…um…or somewhere back
East. He’s staying at Ted and Amber’s place for a while.” I
spoke very slowly and softly.
“Speak
up. Why are you mumbling?” Russ all but shouted.
“He’s
standing right over there!” I whispered stridently. Sure enough,
there he was, a skinny, small, freckled–faced, cowlicked boy
standing over by the propane tank. He was dressed really strange –
no flannel, no overalls, and no work boots! He was adorned eastern
style with a neatly pressed button–down shirt tucked into some
strange pants that actually had a fold mark down the front with
little cuffs at the shoes – actually church shoes. My first thought
was that he’d walk right out of them loafers the first time he
crossed a mud hole or stepped in a soft cow pie; they would come off
with a sucking sound.
“What’ll
we do now?” Russ asked softly. “Do we play with him?”
“Oh,
come on, he’s just another kid. Let’s talk to him. Who knows, he
may have great stories about the big cities we’ll never
see,” I said as I took a step in his direction.
Russell
grabbed my arm saying, “This is weird. There’s never been another
kid around on this farm – just you and me as long as I can
remember, except of course, the other farm kids we know at school and
Linda’s ridiculous friend, Sherry.”
“I
know ‘the third wheel gets the grease,’ or is that the squeaky
wheel? Oh well let’s just consider him the ‘third man out’” I
jerked free from his grip. “Let’s do this.”
“Hi,”
he squeaked.
“Hi,”
Russ and I said at the same time as we stood there a long time.
Bootsey Monte Everett Rudd just stared, didn’t move and say nothing
after the weak ‘hi’. “Now what do we do,” I thought.
“Come
on, we’ll show our jackrabbit drive clubs we’re making,” Russ
said. We took off
500 more words tomorrow
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