A big thank you to everyone who contacted me, it means so much to me to know that people are actually reading this story, it gives me a lot of motivation to continue.
All disclaimers apply: characters and events are fictitious, distribution require author's permission, please do not read if you aren't suppose to.
Milo And Other Grains part 2
I'm late, my grandpa wakes me up and I throw my jeans on from last night. I run to the kitchen and get my mom's meds and a pop tart and juice for her.
She is in her bed watching the news and smoking a cigarette.
"Mom you need to quit smoking,"
"Milo, don't tell me what to do," and she gives me a death stare and then softens and looks guilty, "besides I don't have lung cancer."
"Yeah, but you're gonna burn this damn trailer down."
My mom laughs, "good riddance to this shithole. And watch your language young man."
I pretend to not hear that last comment as I leave her bedroom, "Alright grandpa I'm ready,"
"No you're not, what have you had for breakfast?"
"Nothing, I'll grab a pop tart."
"No you won't,"
My grandpa proceeds to make me a massive breakfast, oatmeal, bacon, eggs, toast, waffles. "You know Milo, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, a young man needs a hearty breakfast or else he won't be in any shape to help out on my farm, no siree."
I finish breakfast and we get in his tan 1986 Chevy C-10 pickup and he lectures me the whole way to his farm.
"You know when I was your age I didn't have as much on my plate, but by god I always made it to work on time, that was something I always took pride in."
I just sit there in agreement, it's useless to argue with him. If I do that I'll have to listen to this all day instead of just on the way to his farm.
"I know grandpa, I was just working a little late last night," I hope that will get me in the clear.
"Don't let them overwork you Milo, you're just a kid, there are laws about how many hours you can work."
Geez, I can't win today, sometimes grandpa can get stuck in these moods, it's like perpetual advice day. No matter what comment I make, it's going to be some lesson afterwards.
"I know grandpa, I know,"
"Well it's not about you knowing it's about you doing."
"Please grandpa, not today," I look at him pleadingly.
He laughs, "alright, alright." And then leans over and musses my hair, god, I hate it when he does that, well maybe hate is too strong of a word.
It's so bright out, I wish I was in my bed, curtains closed, no interruptions, just me in my thoughts, which would probably revolve around Atticus. I mean shit, I can't stop thinking about last night.
"Milo. . . Milo . . .Earth to Milo!"
"Huh, what's up"
"God Milo, already, I'm losing you already, I need you today and you're already in space."
"Sorry, what's going on today gramps?"
"I was just telling you that you need to watch out for Rosco."
"Who's Rosco,"
"Rosco is my new horse, and he's a mean sucker,"
"What, you got a new horse, why?" I swear for some reason he just doesn't get it, his farm is going under, and he takes on a horse, horses cost money, and there is no use for them unless you're a breeder or a trainer, they're a money pit.
"Because if I didn't take him in he'd be made into glue, and he's a good horse damn it, got some potential, just like you Milo."
"well, alright then," I state dryly.
"Oh come on, don't be like that, now you're acting like your mom."
"Hey, don't say that, I'm just being practical"
"Okay, okay"
We pull into his driveway. It's already hot and its only nine o'clock. Today is not going to be a good day. I get out of the truck and head to the barn to start my routine. I water and feed the cows, I collect the eggs, I shovel the shit out of the pig barn and check on how much hay and grain we have. Then I run into Glen.
"Hey, man what's up,"
"Nothing, just got done spraying the corn."
"Don't tell me about that Glen," Glen always likes to get into arguments, I always bite and this is one of our favorites to get into, "you know when this farm is mine, it's going to be organic . No herbicide, pesticide, fungicide. Don't you recognize a common theme with those products Glen," cide," killer, and its suicide for people to be using them. "
"Well in that case I better start looking for another job, because if we stop using pesticide the only thing killed will be this farm." He looks at me smirking, Glen is fun sometimes but other times he is just annoying. Glen is eighteen and I know, what a weird name for a eighteen year old, he graduated a couple of weeks ago, and has been working here and on other farms intermittently during his high school days. Now he seems to be a fixture on my grandpa's farm, and I really don't know how he gets paid. But I guess he does because he keeps showing up here day after day.
"So did you see Rosco yet?" Glen asks,
"No, but I heard he's a mean sucker." I respond back, "My grandpa's phrase, not mine,"
"Well your grandpa's right, Rosco seems to have some social disorders, to put it nicely ."
"Oh, great, well I might as well see this damn horse," Glen leads me to the horse barn, which is more like a garage with a dirt floor. Rosco is a Tennessee walking horse, but he doesn't seem like he has any desire to walk, he looks like he wants to buck. He has a chestnut coat and he is winnowing and huffing about, marching proudly in his enclosure.
Glen looks at me," I really don't want to have to go in and clean this barn while Rosco is in there." I go around back, jump the fence and open the gate for Rosco to go into the horse field. As soon as I do this he sprints towards the open gate and I leap out of the way.
"Mother Fucker!" My heart racing and Glen runs up to the fence.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," I can't believe this fucking horse. I have worked around horses before and have never felt scared, but there seems to be something different about Rosco. He has too much energy. He is running laps in his new grassy field with a certain arrogance, sometimes circling closer to where me and Glen are standing. Rosco stops every once in a while to look at us and seemingly to tell us in his own way that this field is now his. And I don't think me and Glen are willing to argue with Rosco's assertion.
Me and Glen head up to the house, Grandpa is working in his makeshift office off of the kitchen and is talking on the phone. Its noon and grandpa points me to the refrigerator, I open it and find some egg salad sandwiches on a platter, which I am guessing are for me and Glen.
Glen and I walk outside to the porch and eat like only ravenous teenagers can, and we have to stop ourselves so something will be left for gramps.
Glen offers to take me home so I can get ready for work and we borrow my grandpa's pickup.
After driving in silence Glen turns to me, "So Milo, how come you were late today?" He states with more lecture then questioning.
"Well, I was hanging out with a friend after work, if you must know,"
"ooh la la does our little Milo have a girlfriend?"
"No it was a guy friend," I state shortly.
"Oh, then does our little Milo have a boyfriend?" I should have seen that coming.
"Shut up Glen,"
Glen looks at me laughing, "Don't get angry, I was just joking around,"
I sigh and add, "besides I doubt Atticus would like that appraisal."
"What, you're hanging out with Atticus?" Glen states with a certain shock and disapproval.
"Yeah, and why do you say it like that?"
"Because Milo, he is an asshole, and he's bad news, him and his friends get into a lot of trouble."
"What, come on he's not that bad,"
"Yes, he is, if I were you, I wouldn't hang out with him." Glen states this emphatically, almost with hurt in his eyes. I am thinking, wow, either Glen really cares about me and doesn't want me to get in any trouble or else Glen and Atticus have some kind of history. Whatever the scenario I can't ask any questions, Glen is pulling in my driveway and I jump out and thank him for the ride.
I walk inside and find my mother smoking.
"Really, smoking again, you could at least have the decency to do it behind my back,"
My mom laughs, "come here Milo," I walk over to her and she hugs me, "Oh Milo, what would I do without you."
"I don't know mom, I don't know." Today must be one of her good days she is walking around and doesn't seem to be in much pain. Still it's so foreign to see her like this, gaunt, yellowish skin and sunken in eyes. She used to be full of so much life. Six months ago she was an elementary school teacher, an active runner and the head of all the fundraisers at the Assumption First United Church of Christ. I've gotten used to her new appearance but every once in awhile I am flooded with a nauseated feeling, seeing her like this and comparing it with the memory I have of her.
My aunt Cindy is over and my mom and her are listening to George Michael Freedom! '90, and totally getting into it.
"You guys are so old and lame," I jokingly state.
Cindy runs up and tries to put me in a headlock, "Oh shut up Milo, we're the coolest people you know."
"Ha, that would be very sad if it was true,"
We sit at the kitchen table and Cindy makes me and my mother tea, it's whatever is left over from an expensive antioxidant herbal concoction from when we were still fighting this thing. When my mom first got sick Cindy was on top of everything. She convinced me and my mom that we were going to beat this. But months later there was no change for the better and we were all resigned to just enjoy each other's company and wait for the inevitable. Especially after hearing from the doctors that there was no surgery or chemo or radiation therapy available. This was a rare form of pancreatic cancer that was far too advanced.
Cindy asks, "So Milo, how is pops doing?"
"Oh, fine." I respond back. I want to tell Cindy about Rosco but I decide to wait until I can tell her in private, my mom would be pretty upset learning about my grandpa's inability to make prudent financial decisions when it comes to his farm.
My mother yawns and decides to go to her room to take a nap and after she leaves, Cindy corners me. "Milo, I have to tell you something."
"What, what's going on," I nervously state.
"Well we saw your mom's specialist yesterday and she is getting worse, a lot worse. The cancer has spread to her liver. Also her stomach and her small intestine have become almost entirely blocked, to keep her digestive tract working they would have to clear all the obstructive tissue with surgery."
"Wow, okay then, so when did you schedule it? I should tell my work tonight so that way I can be there."
"Milo, I don't know how to say this, your mom and her doctor decided that they weren't going to go ahead with the surgery."
"What, why not, what's going to happen then," I feel my face flush and my breathing increasing like I can't get enough oxygen.
"Well your mom's had enough Milo, I'm so sorry but it's time, we knew this would happen Milo,"
I am in shock for some strange reason. Cindy is right we knew that this would happen and it's just now hitting me how foolish it was for me to think I accepted it. I never accepted it even though I told myself that I had made my peace with her eventual death.
"It's time to pack the rest of your things Milo, call into work to let them know you won't be in tonight or for the next two weeks."
more on the way.