Old Wisdom (long) (703 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.72 on 17 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by itchy <Mritchytoyou.at.hotmail.com> (View user info) at 2005-03-03 10:26:07 EST
Some spring break THIS was going to be. . .
Dave Lightle slapped his palm down on the open window pane of his rusty old Nissan Sentra in frustration. He had just passed the Interstate sign informing him that he was currently missing out on the splendor and majesty that was Fort Morgan, Colorado. All of Dave's friends were traveling now, too.
They were driving to Daytona Beach, or South Padre Island or Lake Havasu, hell; Ken's folks were even sending HIM to god damned JAMAICA.
Not Dave though. Dave was going to a place he hadn't been in three long years; a place he wasn't sure he ever wanted to go to again. Dave was going home, to Big Springs, Nebraska . . . population, 500 souls, give or take.
It wasn't that Big Springs was a BAD place. Really, it wasn't. It was just that Boulder was "home" now. School was "home" now. He had made new friends; he had made a new LIFE, and he enjoyed living it.
But when Dave's father had called him, Dave knew that he was going to have to go back. The fact that it was his father who called was enough to signify the importance of the summons. The man hated speaking on the phone unless it was absolutely necessary, so if it had been an unimportant matter, it would have been his mother calling.
Thinking back on the phone call, Dave recollected that his father had never even ASKED him to come. In fairness, the man had never issued a direct order either. Not outright. But that's what the call had been. Or, as good as, anyway.
"You know your Grandpa's gettin' on in years now," his father had explained. "The cattle side pretty much runs itself, but he's still working the entire six hundred acres in crops. All of that needs seedin' and you know corn didn't go for shit last fall. He ain't got the money to bring people on this time . . . it's up to us. We'll be staying over at his place when you get back."
And that was it. Dave's friends were going to spend their hard-earned breaks in various sub-equatorial paradises. He was going to bust his ass to plant wheat, soybeans and alfalfa. THEY were going to sip tropical drinks and hook up with exotic women from all across the country; HE would be lucky to get a warm Old Style before he fought off a tick-infested farm-dog for a spot on the guest bed.
This just sucked.
Ovid. He was just past Ovid, Colorado now, almost back home.
"Man, there just is NOTHING uglier than Eastern Colorado," he thought, "nothing but dirt and sage brush."
Having acclimated himself to his new home in the mountains, the barren nature of the prairie disturbed him greatly. "There is no BEAUTY here," he thought absently, "nothing worth paying attention to; nothing worth even looking at."
Sighing deeply, he attempted to reconcile himself with his fate. It wouldn't be ALL bad, he knew. He hadn't seen his folks or his little sister since they had come out to "visit" him last fall. The "coincidence" that Nebraska had just so happened to be playing Colorado that weekend went, for the most part uncommented upon. Except for the one time his father had let slip that there were still people in Big Springs who wouldn't speak to him since they had learned that Dave had chosen to go to CU.
Fucking small-town people.
It would be nice to see his Grandfather again, too. Although Dave admitted to himself that there was a certain amount of fear that went along with the reunion.
Back in the 1930's, Big Springs had been on the northern edge of the "Dust Bowl," a massive drought that had devastated a large portion of "the nation's breadbasket" and exacerbated many elements of the Great Depression. Dave's Grandfather had been born right into the heart of the Dust Bowl.
Family legend said that his Grandfather had begun helping his own father work on the farm as soon as he was able to walk. The man hadn't stopped since.
His Grandfather worked on the farm. That's what he DID. That's what he WAS. To think about his Grandfather not being able to manage the farm was like trying to think about water flowing up-hill or to think about Oklahoma not being a bunch of over-rated criminals who don't suck. It was unnatural. It turned the order of things on its head. Dave didn't want to face that.
So it was with a great deal of apprehension that Dave pulled off the interstate at Exit 107 and crossed the Platte River, heading north. Heading for "home."
Big Springs hadn't changed at all in the last three years, of course. Big Springs never changed. That was why he'd had to leave in the first place. He didn't even have to look around as he drove down Fork Street. There was nothing to see. Just like there never had been.
Pulling into the graveled drive-way of his Grandfather's house Dave observed that every branch of the family appeared to be represented. There was his father's pick-up. There was Uncle Bub's. Over there under the big cotton-wood was Aunt Kelly's minivan.
The house itself was aglow in the shade of an early spring dusk. All the lights in the house were on, and the windows emanated warmth against the chill that was setting in as the sun went down.
Parking his own car behind his father's pick-up, Dave readied himself and exited the Sentra, offering his hands to be sniffed by the pack of dogs that always swarmed to new visitors to the farm. He noticed a couple of new faces there and supposed that maybe a few things did change, from time to time.
Sulking his way onto the porch, he opened the front door and walked in without knocking. No one ever knocked in Big Springs.
Entering the house, he was almost overwhelmed by the smell of the place. It smelled like dirt. It smelled like the rich soil that his Grandfather had turned his entire life. There was an earthiness to it - a delicate mixture of the sharp scent of decay and the softer aroma of new life. It was hard to pin down, but the smell triggered a flood of memories from his boyhood not so long ago.
Like the rest of Big Springs, nothing in his Grandfather's house ever changed either. The furniture was the same furniture that had always been there. The frilly bits of decoration that adorned various shelves throughout the house were the same ones that had been lovingly placed there by his Grandmother years and years before, before she got sick and passed on. She was such a nice lady, his Grandmother.
But before Dave could settle in on his boyhood memories, or memories of his Grandmother, the sounds of laughter drew him back toward the kitchen. The family always gathered in the Kitchen. He supposed they always would.
With his footsteps echoing against the hard wood of the ancient floor boards, Dave stalked down the hallway, trying to peer around the corner into the kitchen. Wondering who would see him first, how he would, or how he was supposed to react when they did.
His Uncle Bub saw him first. Bub was leaning against the counter with an Old Style in his hand, trying to stay out of the way of the women who were busily preparing a dinner large enough to feed the small army gathered there. Bub had already been smiling and laughing at something, but when his eyes lit on Dave, his wide face spread in an even bigger smile.
"DAVE!" he boomed, "You're here!"
And so Uncle Bub led the wave of hugs and warm greetings that followed. Dave stood dumbly in the midst of the swarm of attention, and did his best to reply to the barrage of questions that came with.
Yes, he was enjoying school. Yes, it did get cold up in the mountains. Yes, it was possible that he had gotten taller or thinner, or that he had put on weight. No, he did not currently have a girlfriend. Yes, he did think it was a little funny that CU was in trouble for recruiting violations.
But looking around the room, Dave did not see his Grandfather. He asked his father where he might be.
His father grunted. "Out back, in the shed. Said there was 'too much noise in here.' Said he wanted to fix a couple of the valves on the spreader. I offered to help, but you know how he is. You should head out back and say hello. But don't take too long, supper's almost ready."
Dave didn't want to go out back and say hello. He didn't want to face the change in the one thing, the one person in this whole place who HAD changed, but shouldn't have. The one who couldn't. Wouldn't.
But he knew that his father was right. He knew that he had to go out there. He had to say hello. So he picked his way through the crowded kitchen and made his way out the back door, leaving the warmth of the family behind him.
The dogs were on him again as soon as he was out the door, and their playful yips and hand licking did a little to ease the foreboding that he felt as he approached the shed. The big door was wide open and light spilled out from it. Inside, he could hear the clanging of a hammer striking heavy metal again and again.
Peeking inside cautiously, he could see the form of his Grandfather, a man of over eighty years, bent over the sprayer heads on the spreader, beating vigorously against a wrench with a large hammer. Dave was surprised not to see the hunched and tired body he had expected. His Grandfather was still active; he was still lean and lanky, his back was still straight and supple, and his shoulders were still broad. He didn't appear to have aged a day.
"G-Gramps?" Dave stuttered, trying to get the man's attention.
Hearing something, Dave's Grandfather stopped his efforts with the hammer and the wrench and stood up straighter. Turning his attention to the source of the noise, a face very similar to Uncle Bub's, but worn with many more years of toil and worry, exploded into smiles.
"DAVID!" he near shouted. Well, get over here, son! Let me take a look at ya."
Dave entered the shed and dutifully presented himself for inspection. His Grandfather's still keen eyes appraised him quickly.
"Hmmm," the old man said, eyes twinkling with barely contained pride, "looks like you've been eatin' alright. Looks like someone's been workin' ya too. Did ya find someplace out there to make yourself useful? They got any decent ground out thataway?"
"Nah," Dave said sheepishly, embarrassed by the attention, "I've just been going to school. I haven't been working for anyone. I just go to the gym a little. Try to work out."
"Hmmm," his Grandfather said again, this time with a hint of disappointment, "well you ought to find someplace to put yourself, someplace you can help out. Work's the best thing for ya. Make you a man quicker'n anything else."
"But still," he continued, "ya sure grown. I swear, lookin' at ya . . . You could have played for Nebraska, you know. You're big enough now."
Saying that, the old man delivered a solid punch directly into the meaty part of Dave's upper chest, catching Dave completely off guard, and surprising him with the strength behind the blow. "Like a damned ROCK," his Grandfather said, with the tinge of pride returning to his voice again.
Turning back to his work on the spreader, the old man said, "Ya know, I got to get this thing working afore tomorrow, son. Got to get the crops in so I can get all these damned 'helpful' PEOPLE out of my house. Come talk to me while I work."
So Dave followed him over to the sprayer and tried to make himself useful.
"The Neimier boy's studyin' 'agri-business' or some such thing down in Kansas, you know. What is it you're learnin' out west?" Dave's Grandfather asked.
"I'm actually trying to decide WHAT to major in right now," Dave said, "I'm about half-way to completing two separate majors. I don't think I want to stick around long enough to finish them both though. I'm trying to figure out if I should go with Literature or Philosophy."
His grandfather stopped his work again to look up at Dave with a puzzled expression.
"What in THE hell you going to do with THAT?" he asked.
"That's actually kind of the problem," Dave admitted, "With the literature degree, I can probably get a job writing somewhere, or maybe teaching . . . with the philosophy degree, I'm sort of stuck with teaching, but I'd have to go on and get a doctorate."
Turning back to his work, Dave's Grandfather shook his head, "Now, don't take this wrong, son, but none a that sounds like honest work to me."
Dave laughed. "Yeah, I know," he said, "it's really different from the kind of thing you'd expect from someone from around here. But that's kind of what I like about it all. Studying the things I am, it is just like, my gosh . . . you know Gramps, the world is SUCH a big place. There are so many things out there to see and learn about that I could just never see here. Out there, I feel like I'm a PART of this whole great-big thing, you know? I'm learning new ways to THINK. New ways to look at the world. It is amazing Gramps, just AMAZING!"
"Now, what's all this about 'new ways of thinking?'" his Grandfather asked, "seems to me there's just one way to think - you just THINK. Right?"
"Kind of," Dave responded, "but, like, for example, there was this guy, Descartes. He was trying to PROVE that he existed. So he sat and he thought about it for a long time. You know what he figured out? He figured out, that you can't really trust your eyes or your ears to tell you what is real. He figured out that if you are honest, you can't be sure, you can't be absolutely positive that everything that you see or hear isn't just a figment of your imagination. He figured out that all that you can know for sure, absolutely for sure, is that you think - that your MIND exists. THAT'S the kind of thing I'm talking about, Gramps. THAT'S the kind of thing folks around here would just never think of."
At hearing this, Dave's Grandfather stood up to his full height and stared at Dave for a long time. The old man's eyes, eyes that had seen over eighty seasons on his farm, peered into Dave's own. Dave had the impression that the man was reading his very soul.
After long moments of silence and pensive thought, the features of the old man softened. He set down his hammer and turned to exit the side door of the shed, motioning for Dave to follow him.
When they were outside, he turned and faced his grandson.
"Listenin' to what you said just now, that kind of brought me back," he said.
"You know I was in The War, right? World War II? I was too young, only sixteen, when I enlisted, but I wanted to help McArthur kick Jerry's tail back to Deutschland, so I lied when I signed up, and they let me in. But it wasn't just about Jerry and McArthur. I wanted to get out of here, too. I hadn't done anything my whole life but work HERE on THIS farm. I wanted to see that great big world that you're talkin' about."
"I saw it son, or at least I saw a lot of it. I got stationed all over Europe and I met a lot of people, made a lot of good friends. I even met a couple fellas who talked all the time just like you were talking now. Course, they never mentioned any 'Day-carts' or anything like that, but they had some wild notions in their heads about the way the world works."
"I wanna try and show you what I learned in the War, son. I wanna try and give you an example that you can understand," the old man said, motioning to the lumber pile stacked precariously against the side of the shed.
Walking over to the lumber pile, he grabbed a length of 2 x 4 that was lying on the top of the pile.
"Ya see this board?" he asked. "THIS board is kind of like you are now, like I was back in the early days of The War. You look at it, and you can see that it is new, kind of fresh from the mill. It is fresh and clean and strong. If you set your fingernail against it, you can make a dent in it, leave an impression. If you use it to build something, whatever you build will be strong. Of course, if you used a board like THIS one . . ." he said, leaning way down to pull a similar length of 2 x 4 from the bottom of the stack.
"You can tell this one is old just by looking at it. Its all weathered and gray. THIS board came from the old barn on the South 40 that we tore down a couple a years ago. THIS board has been around longer than I have, boy. My father built that barn before I was even a twinkle in his eye."
"So, if you use old wood like this to build something, that thing would be strong too. But you know what it wouldn't be? It wouldn't be flexible. If you use the new wood, you can pull and bend that shit and squeeze it into whatever shape you need. And its still gonna be strong."
"You use old wood like this?" he said hefting the board in his hands like a baseball bat, "and that shit's gonna be brittle. You try to bend it, and it's gonna break way before you ever get it where you need it. You get what I'm sayin' son?"
"I . . . I think I do," Dave stammered.
"No. Ya don't." his grandfather said, as he suddenly bellowed and swung the board mightily directly at Dave's chest.
The impact of the blow crushed the breath out of Dave's lungs and knocked him completely off his feet.
Dave's Grandfather stood over him, still clutching the board in his right hand and looking down with a pained expression.
"It weren't no 'figment of your imagination' just knocked you on your ass, boy," he said.
"You sit there and think about that for a minute, then come on inta the house and get washed up, supper's almost ready, and we got a lot a work to get done a fore the sun sets tomorrow."
User Reviews
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-03-07 10:32:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
having said that, it was still most entertaining.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-03-07 06:31:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
C.U.N.T review :
As mentioned before the use of 'words' in quotations by way over inflection is overdone and lazy. I can almost see you doing those apostrophes in the air. I am guilty of doing it myself as I am with capitals.
It doesn't help that on Uber legitimate things like italics aren't available.
Nevertheless, I haven't noticed you doing that a lot before, having said that out and out (semi-autobiographical?) fiction isn't something you have posted a lot of.
Something about the grandpa was both comforting and disturbing, although he was a walking talking cliche.
I suggest you read out loud what he was saying, the whole 'day cartes' thing was a bit fatuous.
/end cunt review.
STANDARD UBER REVIEW :
OMG! THIS WAS BRILLIANT. YOU ROCK!
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-03-07 06:18:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
only half way through but the use of "visit" and "" in general is irking me.
will carry on now.
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2005-03-03 15:10:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
T: Ya think it's the +2 rating that's scaring people away?
i: Hmmm. I don't know. Could be. Could be that "(long)" in the title too.
T: Should we fuck up the rating, see if that helps?
i: Ida know. Couldn't hurt.
T: I say we do it.
i: Okay. Go. By the way, you're talking to yourself again.
T: No. For real?
i: Yeah. Sorry to have to break it to you like this.
T: Maaaaan, I need to get that shit checked out.
i: True dat, homie. True dat. Should probably take a look at that attention whoring thing too.
T: Shut up. Bitch.
i: Whatever. You got any plans later?
T: Nah, nothin' really. Just biding my time till I get off work. You?
i: Nothin' dog. Nothin'.
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2005-03-03 12:33:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Sweet read!
Submitted by Yes (user info) at 2005-03-03 12:01:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
awesome.
Submitted by screamfeeder (user info) at 2005-03-03 11:55:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
What they said.
Bravo.
Submitted by Sphagnum (user info) at 2005-03-03 11:49:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good job Itchy, It's long but it's worth it.(unlike my review)
Submitted by Jeanneee (user info) at 2005-03-03 11:43:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This is so good it makes me want to beat the crap out a Nebraska farm boy with a 2x4.
Submitted by itchy (user info) at 2005-03-03 11:41:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Satchel - thank you for confirming the nagging doubts I already had (no, really, I mean it!). I use all caps a TON, and it is a crutch. I know that. I fully, agree that there should be ways to construct it so that they aren't needed.
I just wish little cheats like that weren't so damned easy.
Submitted by itchy (user info) at 2005-03-03 11:37:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks Badlands, I appreciate it.
But let me tell you what I was trying to do, in order to explain why I say I don't like the flow.
I started with the "gag" at the end. I was actually thinking about the "Day-carts" thing, and how the most obvious way to counter that way of thinking is to just punch someone in the nose (even though it doesn't REALLY counter the argument). So I wanted to try to tell a story leading up to that gag, which I viewed as sort of an anti-climax at the time, because it was so childish.
So then I came up with some crotchety old farmer to hold the old-fashioned view, and an idealistic college student for the "New World Order."
Everything beyond that was just an attempt to lead into the "gag," but I wanted to see how emotionally involving I could make the interplay between the Grandfather and the Grandson.
*I* think I needed to address the presupposed frailty of the Grandfather a little more . . . to show some disdain for the "old" on the part of Dave. To make the surprise to find him fully functional more concrete.
I also should have maybe ventured into some of those "boyhood memories" to give some back-story as to their relationship. . .
But, as you say, it DOES take a long time to get to the gag. Adding all the things I want to would probably make it unreadable. Although I could probably get rid of all that whining about Spring Break. . . maybe.
Submitted by satchel (user info) at 2005-03-03 11:35:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent. I really like how you've built up your paragraphs, the dialogue, and description. The ending was satisfying too - not too preachy, and I didn't see it coming.
Critique: You use quotes and all-caps for emphasis in too many places. I know this is because Uber won't let you italicize, bold and what not, but I think the majority of the all-caps and quotes could be dispensed with. During one writing course, a writer told me that if I had to resort to italics or bold, then I was using the wrong word, or not constructing the sentence correctly to allow the empahsis to fall on the right word or idea.
Example here: "So it was with a great deal of apprehension that Dave pulled off the interstate at Exit 107 and crossed the Platte River, heading north. Heading for 'home.' "
The sentence fragment you used at the end, "heading for home", sufficiently conveys the ironic quality of the word home.
I think this piece is a fully-realized short story. Good job, eh?
Submitted by Badlands (user info) at 2005-03-03 11:20:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I for one, found the flow of the story to be just fine. You do a tremendous job of painting a picture for your reader. Some people can only tell a story, but you have a knack for really showing. It's crisp and it's vivid and it takes you there. And I found the grandfather's "message" at the end to be a satisfying payoff...I just think that it took an awfully long time to get there.
Regardless...I appreciated the read.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-03-03 11:14:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
...
Submitted by itchy (user info) at 2005-03-03 10:54:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Damn, I should have sat on this for another day. Doesn't flow as well when you read it as it did in my head.
Dagnabbit.
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2005-03-03 10:46:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was great!
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2005-03-03 10:43:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I completely enjoyed this.
Just amazing.