Page 17 of Ginjuh

“I kind of like it,” I said, letting my thought spill out.

Austin shrugged beside me, so close that his arm brushed against mine. We both sat there and listened, sipping our waters, and as the song ended, I decided that I actually might want to check Tom Waits’ other songs out later when I was at home. Another song started up, a gentle strumming of a guitar, and Austin pulled his earbud away from me.

“Hey.” I laughed. “Is that another one of his songs?”

“I’m ready to work some more.” He said, already moving to stand.

“All right.” I shrugged.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon, Austin and I worked on cutting down corn, but we didn’t talk. Not about whatever it was he was writing in his notebook, which was set gingerly off to the side from wherever we were working. And not about Tom Waits. We worked in silence, trying to get as much done as possible before we had to call it a day. We only took a break to have lunch up at the house with Grandpa. As always, Grandpa and I talked—well, I mostly talked while he mostly listened, though he added more to the conversation than Austin. He only spoke when he was spoken to, and he never said more than was necessary to respond. Of course, Grandpa had served us big, hearty sandwiches and cucumber salad, and chips—a hearty yet refreshing meal that wouldn’t be puked up if we got too hot while working.

Then Austin and I continued working in the field until the sun began to set and our muscles were aching and screaming out in agony. I was used to the feeling of my arms wanting to fall off and my spine wanting to snap in half so that I would have to fall down and rest. Austin, on the other hand, appeared miserable and ready for death, though he said nothing in the way of complaining. Again, we told Grandpa we were done for the day and I let Austin go wait in the car while I cleaned up the scythes and stowed them in the shed where they belonged.

When I got to the car, Austin’s head was back against the headrest and he was sleeping. His notebook was in his lap and I had a moment where I actually considered taking a peek while he was asleep. However, I wasn’t curious enough to do something so sneaky and underhanded. Instead, I drove away from Grandpa’s as gently and quietly as I could so Austin could sleep on the way home. As I drove, I began to realize that Austin had a particular smell after a whole day of work in the sun. He smelled like sweet earth and salt and the warmth of the summer sun. It wasn’t the unpleasant smell of most guys who got sweaty and dirty. He smelled like long days in summer and adventure under the sun. I had to shake my head to clear that thought, too.

When we got to his house, I gently shook his arm to wake him. He woke in stages, as though each part of him had to get used to the idea of being alive again. He got out after we agreed that I’d be around to pick him up at the same time on Sunday. When he got halfway up the walkway to his house, he gave a wave over his shoulder and I drove away. I smiled to myself on the way home, wondering if maybe Austin would at least become a little more social over weekends working on Grandpa’s farm with me.

Sunday morning was essentially the same. Austin was sitting on the curb, waiting for me when I pulled up. He got in the car, accepted the energy drink I offered, and we drove out to Grandpa’s. We were greeted again by my rocking, coffee-drinking grandfather, and we got the scythes out and got to work while Grandpa went in the house. We worked through the morning sun, stopping to break once for water and to rest a minute. Austin scribbled in his notebook while I answered texts from Jay on my phone, and then we got back to work. At lunchtime, we ate with Grandpa again, though Austin still didn’t contribute much to the conversation. It was sandwiches and cucumber salad and chips again, but also fresh sweet tea, which really hit the spot.

After lunch, Austin and I went back to work, but he kept both earbuds in his ear the rest of the workday, obviously not in the mood to listen to me talk anymore. When the sun was starting to set, he pulled out one earbud and asked if we should keep going or wait until it was darker. Looking up at the darkening sky, I sighed, realizing that we had only gotten half of the work done that I had hoped we could accomplish in a weekend. We’d have to scythe more the following weekend—maybe all three days. I shrugged and said we may as well quit. Austin actually had enough energy to help me clean and put the scythes away, so that made the chore a little easier on me.

Again, we reported in to Grandpa and he thanked us for a job well done. I didn’t understand that since I hadn’t delivered on my expectation that we’d be done with the scything in one weekend. However, I got the feeling that Grandpa had felt that I was overreaching with my expectations and fully expected the report he got from us. When we got to the car, Austin set his notebook on the car’s hood and stood there.

“You ready?” I frowned as he stood there.

“My dad is supposed to be picking me up.”

“Oh.”

“We’re going to go get some food.” Austin shrugged. “Since I have school tomorrow and I haven’t seen him all weekend.”

Two whole sentences. Two sentences that gave me a peek into his home life.

“That’s nice,” I said neutrally.

He shrugged as the sound of tires on gravel reached my ears. Mr. Mankins’ car was coming down the driveway, kicking up a small cloud of dust, pink and purple in the dusky light. Mr. Mankins pulled up alongside my car on Austin’s side and rolled his window down. He smiled out at the two of us.

“You boys don’t look any worse for the wear.” He said happily.

“Looks are deceiving, sir.” I quipped.

He laughed heartily.

“You ready, Austin?” He asked.

Austin merely nodded and stiffly walked around the front of his dad’s car before sliding into the passenger seat.

“You boys get it all done?” Mr. Mankins asked me as Austin buckled himself in. “Or, at least what you planned to get done this weekend?”

“No, sir.” I kicked at the gravel. “But we will next weekend.”

“Good deal.” He gave me a nod. “Well, be careful getting home, Ginjuh.”

“Yes. Sir.” I said through gritted teeth that I hoped passed for a smile.

Grandpa had specifically told the man that my name was “Zach”, yet he had already forgotten. He waved genially before rolling up his window and backing up. Austin was staring out of the side window at nothing as his dad navigated turning around and heading down the driveway. They were nearly out of sight when I spotted Austin’s notebook on the hood of my car. I started to try and wave them down but I realized they wouldn’t see me in the low light of dusk. Then it occurred to me that I could just jump in the car and follow them and hand Austin his notebook back when they stopped wherever it was they were going to get food. Instead, I just shrugged, realizing that I could give it back to him at school the next day.

I scooped up his notebook and threw it into the passenger seat when I climbed into the car. My joints and muscles ached, but in a good way, the whole drive back to my house. When I got home, mom and dad were out—probably to dinner, like Austin and Mr. Mankins. So, I threw my things, and Austin’s notebook, on my bed, then jumped in the shower. By the time I was clean and dry, my body and mind were beginning to shut down. However, I forced myself to chug a huge cup of water down in the kitchen and eat something before I headed back up to bed. When I got upstairs, my eyes landed on the notebook again. I didn’t intend to open it, to pry into Austin’s private thoughts, but I found myself drawn to it, flipping it open to an arbitrary spot, my eyes landing on the elegant black ink cursive Austin had scratched.