Chapter Three: The First Day

The next morning Jack and I stood in the crop field. A pile of tools were spread out on the ground next to us. They weren't the best around, but they were useable, and in a decent condition. It was good enough for me. All of them were made of bronze, and looked like they were new when I was in diapers. But, everything we needed was here; a hoe, a watering can, the seeds, and a hammer.

I looked up at a cloudless blue sky and a warm breeze blew in my face. It was a nice spring day; a perfect day to teach Jack the basis of farming.

I picked up the hoe, a tool with a long wooden handle and a flat bronze blade. I held it in front of Jack's face. "Hoe," I said. "This is a hoe. You use it to till the ground so we can plant the seeds.

Jack nodded affirmatively.

"Okay, watch what I do." I slammed the blade of the hoe into the ground, and dragged it out, unearthing the brown, earthy soil underneath. I repeated the action several times until I had made myself a nice brown square plot.

"Now, you try," I handed the hoe over to him. "Do the same thing next to my spot."

Jack immediately started whacking at the ground. He would have been doing fine, if the blade wasn't point up. "Jack," I groaned. "Use the pointy end."

He looked up and blinked. "Oh… right."

I chuckled. What a silly bastard.

After about ten minutes Jack had finished making his spot. It wasn't nearly as neat as mine, or even in the shape of a square, but it was a good start. From that point on, we both took turns tilling the land until after an hour or so we had managed to create two rows of properly tilled land. They stretched the entire length of the property. We would have made a third row, but the trees and rocks strewn along the river portion of the land made it difficult.

It was now time to plant. I grabbed the seeds. "Alright Jack, without actually using seeds, show me how you planted them last time."

"Without seeds?" Jack asked, unsure.

"Yeah, without," I stated again. "Just, uh, do what you did in mime or whatever."

"Okay," said Jack. He moved to the center of the two rows, and pretended to throw a bunch of seeds over his head. "Just like that."

I shook my head. "No Jack, just no. That's a waste of seeds right out. Do as I do."

Sometime later, we had planted half the rows with potatoes and the other half with turnips. It was enough for Jack to learn on, screw up, and for us to still make some form of profit. I picked up the watering can. It was a small, bronze thing which looked like it could barely hold any amount of water at all. I tossed it Jack. "Go fill 'er up, we get to water all of the seeds next."

Jack grumbled. Farming apparently was a lot harder and more work than he had been expecting.

Watering took us the better part of the rest of the morning. Jack didn't know a damn thing about farming. He wasn't even aware of the basic stereotypical knowledge a person picked up from the video game simulations and National Geographic specials. His first attempt at watering the seeds was drowning them in an amount of water the earth hadn't seen since Noah's flood. It was only through my interventionist efforts that the seeds were saved, and Jack was taught moderation. That boy was an uphill battle all the way.

We sat down on the grass next to the rows, dead tired. We had been working all morning; I had been up since at least six o' clock. The sun was high above our heads. I guessed it to be around noon or so. The growling of our stomachs also motivated me to make the lunchtime guess.

Before we could satisfy our growing desire for some grub, a very tall, muscular man with black, buzz-cut hair stepped in front of us. He sported an impressive five o'clock shadow, and had to be at least five years older than us. He wore a white wife beater, blue jeans, and sported a heart tattoo with the word MOM across in big capitals. Apparently, my first impression told me, this town had white trash too.

"Howdy there boys," the man said in a slight country accent. "How goes the farm?"

"Fine," I answered. "Who the hell are you?"

"Bob Black, yer shipper," the man answered, putting his hands on his hips, as if he were proud of that fact. "Whatever you put in the shipping box, I come and get it in the mornings, and take it to the nearest town to sell. I pay you whatever I sell, and take a small slice as my fee for my wonderful services."

"Works out very well for you, I suppose," I replied. "We don't really have a choice, do we?"

"Not really," Bob grinned. "I'm the only shipper in these parts."

"Heh," I chuckled. He acted the same way I would have if I was him. "Guess we're in business then. My name's Benson." I offered my hand.

Bob took it. "Nice to meet ya Benson."

I jabbed my thumb over at Jack. "Haven't you already met him, if you're the shipper?" I asked. "He's been here almost two weeks now."

"Er, yeah, yeah, but since it looks like you'll be a big help around the farm, I wanted to introduce myself to you personally."

I smiled. "I'm sure I will Bob."

He nodded. "See you boys later."

He walked to the road and turned left in the direction of Blue Sky Ranch.

"Seems like a nice guy," I commented. "If a little bit redneck. I like the way he tried to beat around the bush of you sucking at farming."

"Oh, shut up," Jack mumbled.

I patted Jack on the back. "C'mon, let's go get lunch."

Lunch consisted of sandwiches made from whatever I could find living in the fridge. Jack had told me the mayor had given him some food products to fill it with, some lunch meat, milk, cheese, among other things. I wasn't entirely sure if the lunch meat was even meat, it looked a bit like ham and tasted a bit like ham, but in the back of mind there was klaxon going off that it was probably from the more private parts of the pig.

The farmhouse Jack and I sat on the fence right outside the house overlooking the road, looking at the river and tree line of the opposite shore. We had ham and cheese sandwiches, made by myself. I had quickly learned the previous night that Jack had no cooking skills. I only learned this through the sacrifice of one of my good plaid shirts. He would be missed.

"Gotta hand it to you Jack," I said after swallowing a particular large bite of ham and cheese. "We may be in the middle of nowhere, but it sure is a pretty side of nowhere."

Jack nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's a beautiful town."

We ate in silence for a few more minutes. Then Jack asked a question.

"Hey Benson, do you… believe in spirits?"

"Spirits?" I stopped myself from taking a bite to repeat him. "What kind?"

"Like harvest sprites or something."

"Harvest sprites," I said skeptically.

"Right."

"I'm not following, Jack."

"Well, see, the first day I was here, these three little guys came up to me, calling themselves harvest sprites," Jack explained. "They led me to this spring up in the mountains, and wanted me to collect these magical notes to save the harvest goddess."

I stared at him for a few minutes dumbfounded. Jesus, Jack may have been good-natured, but he couldn't sense a large pile of BS if the bull shot out some right in front of his nose. "Jack, no, just no," I said assertively. "Harvest goddess? Notes? Just a dream dude, nothing but a dream. Don't go telling the entire town before they think your nuts and have to be committed."

"But it wasn't a dream," Jack whined.

"Jack, let me put it this way, continue talking about this crazy babble and I'll commit you."

He never said a word about harvest sprites or magical notes ever again.

After lunch, we found ourselves with nothing to do. I suggested going up into the mountains, and see what the fat of the land was like. Jack wanted to introduce me to some of the locals instead. I agreed to it, so long as none were like Nina, who gave me the creeps.

Our first stop was to our neighbors across the road at Blue Sky Ranch. This was the place, Jack explained, where we would be able to buy animals and stuff. The owner was Hank, who seemed like a nice guy, but was off-kilter most of the time. It probably had something to do with the fact that the man had the smell of cheap alcohol on his breath. To top it off, he was dressed in a cowboy outfit, though I don't think he did any of the ranch work himself.

Hank had a nephew and daughter living with him. The nephew, nicknamed Blue, was out doing ranch work. The daughter on the other hand came out to greet us. Her name was Ellen. She was a short brown-haired little thing, in a pleated skirt and an apron. She was alright, but a bit overly nice to the point of psychosis, a point Jack often failed to grasp in some people. Ellen also brought up the mayor's "handsome" comment. Christ, why were all the crazy broads always in to me?

The people there may have been dysfunctional human oddities, but they deserved credit for at least being helpful oddities. In order to raise animals, we'd need to construct a barn, and according to the measurements given by Hank, and corrected by Ellen, we'd need a much bigger plot of land to even accommodate the smallest barn. There just wasn't enough room on the property to have both animals and crops. So, Jack and I took a detour. We headed down south towards the shoreline and Spring Farm. To the carpenter, Jack had said, who also sold property on the side.

We arrived outside the large log cabin twenty minutes later. It was, unfortunately, across the street from the lair of the pink-haired weirdoes over at Spring Farm. We went inside and found our inside a spacious workshop. The majority of this space was to the left of us as we entered, itself filled with all sorts of woodworking tools and machines which would surely cause a massacre if I ever used them. To the right of us were beds and wardrobes and tables and chairs, all sorts of furniture on display and laid up against the wall. The floor and walls were surprisingly made of concrete. The log cabin exterior apparently was a façade. There was a single desk over by the far wall, and next to it was a brown oak door.

An old man came and greeted us as we entered."Jack!" he said with a slight southern drawl. "So you decided to finally bring around the farming cousin, eh? My name's James Sawyer, but everyone calls me Woody."

He shook my hand. "Nice to meet you, Woody," I said politely.

He grinned, showing two rows of yellow, crooked teeth. Woody looked old, and I guessed his age anywhere from fifty to eighty. His white hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he had thick eyebrows and a bushy beard. He wore a maroon and white shirt that looked like it had been sawed in half and crudely sewn back together. Woody wore a dark brown satchel around his neck, and a tool satchel hung from his belt and jeans.

"I'm the master carpenter around these parts," said Woody. "Anythin' you need help with, come to me."

Woody turned his around to look at two young men standing by the woodworking tools. "Those two are my apprentices. Boys! Come here!" he barked at them.

The two stepped forward. They both looked to be my age. The first one stood taller and appeared more confident than the second one. He had an award-winning smile, and gave me a strong handshake. He had long brown hair capped under a starry bandanna. He wore a striped shirt with a tan vest and brown cargo pants. He wore the same kind of satchel that Woody wore.

He introduced himself as Joe. "Pleased to meetcha!" he said cheerily. "Nice to see a new custo- er, I mean farmer around."

I chuckled at his failure of a joke. "Careful, I might decide to outsource."

"Probably, but it might help if we weren't miles from the nearest town."

"It would."

The second young man was the shorter, and probably the younger of the two. He was clearly Joe's brother; you could see the resemblance in their faces. They had the same brown eyes, same straight-slanted nose, and the same thin lips. Instead of being cheery like his brother, he sulked around instead. He wore a military cameo headband and matching cargo pants. The rest of him was dressed in a black shirt and tanned leather vest. He wore the same tool bag Woody and Joe did. His name was Kurt, and he didn't talk nearly as much as his brother did. He gave me a weak handshake, and barely made eye contact at all.

"You need anythin' repaired or built, you come to me," said Woody. "I also sell some land fer the town. I don't own any of it meself, I just act as the town's proxy."

I nodded. "Sounds good."

Woody nodded, said a brief goodbye, and wandered away. Joe tried to strum up a conversation. "So… like fishing?"

I shrugged. "Dunno, never been fishing before."

"Oh, we should totally go fishing sometime," said Joe. "It's what I do during my free hours."

Joe and I then got into a lengthy conversation which eventually migrated into a variety of topics. Joe was an alright guy. Smart, funny, he goofed around a bit too much, but I liked him already. He was a vast improvement over Spring Farm. Our conversation ended when Woody howled at him to get back to work, and Jack and I left.

When we exited, Jack and I found that the sky had turned a pleasant shade of orange, and the sun had begun setting. Jack came up with a suggestion once again, that we go the beach, and enjoy the scenery. I agreed. The town was full of gossiping midgets, deranged women, and the oddest batch of genetics I had ever seen, but damn, it was a beautiful place.

The beach was a beautiful natural beach, something that could only have been made by the earth itself. It was a mile of sandy shore that stretched along the town's coast. We laid on our backs, propped up by our elbows and watched the great flaming of the sky slowly fade away into purple twilight. I lit up a cigarette and enjoyed the view.

After a few minutes Jack asked a question. "Benson, why'd you decide to come here?"

"Huh?" I lowered my head from gazing at the sky above and looked at him. "What'd you mean?"

"I mean, why did you answer my letter and come here?" asked Jack. "I honestly didn't think you'd come."

"Then why'd you ask me?"

"I was desperate."

"Oh, well," I puffed on my cigarette and shrugged. "I lost my job back in the city, and it was probably the last I'll get for awhile. Turns out most newspapers don't like hedonistic journalists."

"Why not get back into creative writing?"

I shook my ahead. "You can't make a good living that way, and I'm no Hemingway."

I thought about the question for a few minutes before speaking again. "To seriously answer, I guess… I dunno. Maybe I wanted a change of pace or something. You remember how I used to work on my granddaddy's farm up in Mineral Town during the summers in high school?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I kind of liked it. It was a nice town, the work was refreshing, and I was good at it. I probably would have gone back for the rest of my life if writing didn't win out. Not to mention college was too much fun."

Jack frowned. "You only went to community college."

I gave him a grin. "Yeah, but I still had the full lifestyle, heh."

Jack smiled, and didn't say anything for a few moments. He looked directly at my cigarette. "You shouldn't smoke those things you know."

I rolled my eyes. "Jack, don't get all preachy on me. You fully well know I can stop any time I want."

"So stop," he said simply. "That thing will kill you."

"I just like it too damn much." I blew smoke in his face to taunt him.

Jack coughed and whacked me on the back of the head. What a cheeky bastard. It was my bloody life, why should he worry about it? We sat in silence for awhile. The sun was going lower and lower into the sky, and the stars were starting to pierce the horizon. The world around us slowly got darker and darker. Before the sun could completely drop from sight, a curious figure appeared from the tree line down the shore. Whoever it was was so far away I couldn't make out who they were. The person's head turned and saw us. He or she started walking towards us.

As they get closer, I could make out some features. At first glance I thought it was Nina, as the hair was just as wild and the clothing crazy, but it wasn't. Instead of pink hair, they had purple hair, grown to an androgynous length. The fashion was totally insane; a multi-colored poncho that used so many purple and reddish colors that it was murder on the eyes. Whoever it was also wore a cowboy hat perched sideways on the head. What punk wore something like that like a goddamned rapper?

The person stood above the side of Jack just as the sun dipped wholly over the horizon. Even up close in person, I couldn't tell if it was a dude or a chick.

"You should just give up now," the person said. "Even with this burned-out shmuck to help you, you'll never rescue her or save the town."

"Sure Jaime, sure," Jack said nonchalantly. I got the feeling this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.

Jaime stalked away back towards the treeline.

"Jesus H. Christ, that was beyond creepy," I said as I got up from the sand. "Puts Nina out of the position of top crazy by a mile."

"Yup, that's Jaime, she's our biggest rival in town. The output of her farm is enourmous."

"That's Jaime?!" I said incredously. "We're getting beat out by a tranny? Hell no! I'll beat that little prick if it's the last thing I do."

Jack got up and brushed the sand off him. "Thanks Jack."

"Anytime," I said as we started walking back home. I flicked my cigarette away. "Christ, who knew this side of nowhere would have a tranny right in the middle of it?"

"Benson, I'm pretty sure she's a girl."

I snorted. "Pah, I couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl. We'll naturally assume hermaphrodite."

Jack laughed at my brashness and we returned home for the night.