Leaving Through The Window: Chapter 3-How We Glorify The Undeserving
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"Logan!!" Thomas Howlett hollered, standing on the porch outside the farmhouse. His son was the spitting image of himself as a younger man, though they differed extremely in personalities.
"I'm here Pop!" Logan answered, coming from around the side of the house. His hair was still dripping wet, and his clothes were now wet too. He could tell his father was looking him over.
Mr. Howlett raised an eyebrow at his son suspiciously. "What the hell happened to ya boy?" he asked, making a weird face.
"I uh.." Logan stumbled for an explanation. "After practice some o' the guys dumped the water cooler on me, we were uh..jus' foolin' around Pop." he lied quickly, keeping his eyes on his father's unflinching stare.
"Hmph." Thomas grumbled, then jerked his head toward the house. "Get in side an' eat'cher supper. Then ya can go out back an' stack the hay."
Logan sighed, slowly dragging his heavy boot-clad feet up the wooden porch steps. "Yeh, whatever you say..." he mumbled grudgingly under his breath as he passed.
"What you say?" his father asked angrily, grabbing Logan's shoulder.
"I said 'yes sir'." he lied, pulling from his dad's grasp and heading inside the house.
*****
The old barn smelled of must, wood, and hay. The remainder of sunlight from the setting sun shone through the loft window, leaving a bright spot on the dirt floor inside the barn.
Logan hefted another hay bail off the truck that was backed into the barn, and set it down with the rest of the stacked hay. Sweat dripped from his forehead and he paused a moment, pulling off the thick leather gloves and wiping away the sweat with his bare arm.
"Hey farm-boy."
Turning around where the voice had come from, Logan spotted Hallie leaning against the opening of the barn, hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans.
Logan smiled, sitting down on a hay bail and deciding to take a break. He figured he'd earned one. "Heya Hal."
Hallie took a look at all the hay Logan had already stacked. She frowned, sitting down on a bail beside him. "Your dad shouldn't work you so hard. Ya know, with your bad heart an' all." she said with a concerned tone to her normally care-free voice.
Logan just shrugged.
A few years ago, there was an accident in the field and a piece of a tractor blade got lodged in Logan's chest. He was rushed to the hospital and had emergency surgery to remove the metal that had gotten into his heart and nearly killed him. Ever since then, Logan's had problems with his heart and was forced to take pills every day.
Hallie let out a long sigh, looking over at the bails of hay on the truck that still needed to be stacked. "I could help you. I know I can't lift the bails on my own, but if we go two by two I can do it." she cocked her head to the side and smiled.
"It's alright Hal, I got it." Logan told her stubbornly, wiping more sweat from his forehead as he stood up.
Hallie rolled her eyes, then a thought came to her and she stood in front of Logan so he couldn't get to the truck. "Hey, wait a second. Logan, you've got an excuse ta quit football! I can't believe we never thought of this before!" she started excitedly.
Logan arched an eyebrow at her and put up a hand for her to stop. "I know what yer thinkin' Hallie. I can't jus' tell the coach about my heart problem, my Pop's makin' me hide it. Why do ya think he got the town doc ta fudge my physical? He knew I'd never be allowed ta play if the coach got my medical records."
Hallie frowned, upset that she hadn't found a sollution to her best friend's problems. She changed the subject and started to grab a hay bail from the truck. "Gimme a hand will ya? An' don't give me that look, I got nothin' better ta do anyways." she told him sternly before smiling playfully.
Rolling his eyes, Logan grabbed the other side of the hay and the two of them lifted it off the truck, dumping it with the other pile on the barn floor.
*****
When the sun had fully set, no more glimmers of light were left in the sky, even the stars didn't dare shine this night. Only darkness loomed, the little town of Trent, Kansas was gloomy just like the sky. It was nearly midnight, the time of night where the drunks and drifters came out and headed to the pubs to drink their lives away and forget.
Thomas Howlett was one of those drunks, sitting in the lonely Wild Coyote bar where brawling was often the highlight of the evening and the winner of the fights usually called 'drinks on the house'. He relished these nights, where he would use some set-aside cash from farming all week and spend away on hard liquor.
*****
Logan had been lying awake in his room, like most nights when his father went out drinking. He had to keep alert until his father was back, otherwise he might not be awake if his dad came raging into his room with a baseball bat or something.
Glancing at the clock beside his bed, Logan sat up with a sigh. It was nearly 2 a.m. and his old man still wasn't home. This was bad. He was usually back by 12:30, or 1 at the latest. If he was out this long, it meant he was dead drunk and wouldn't even be able to drive home. With a frustrated groan, Logan got up and put on a shirt and some jeans that were lying on the floor. He lazily pulled on his boots, and without tying them, headed sleepily out of his room.
*****
Pulling the old rickety truck his father let him use, into the dusty parking lot, Logan tiredly stepped outside, leaving the engine running, then casually walked into the bar.
The air inside was smoky and putrid smelling, and he had to keep himself from gagging. Looking towards the bar, Logan spotted his dad leaning against the table surrounded by empty beer bottles and shot glasses. He cautiously stepped toward him and grabbed his arm. "C'mon Pop, it's time ta get home." he grumbled gruffly.
Thomas Howlett swatted his son's arm away. "Don' tell me...whut t'do.." he slurred, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes as if he didn't recognize him.
Logan let out an annoyed sigh, grabbing his father's arm, tighter this time, and hefting him off the barstool to his feet. In this type of drunken state where he was ready to pass out, Logan knew his dad wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. That was definetly a good thing. Though, in the morning however, a hangover would put him in a nasty mood. "I ain't tellin' ya what ta do, ya said you wanted me ta pick ya up." Logan lied, knowing how easy it would be to trick the drunk man.
"Oh..." Thomas mumbled tiredly, raising his head a little. "well, whut took yuh so damn...long?" he grumbled through slurred speech.
"I'm sorry Pop." Logan grumbled in return as he led his father out into the parking lot.
Pushing his dad into the pasenger seat of his rickety truck, Logan got in on the other side and started backing out of the parking lot.
"Wait!" Thomas shouted at him, "I waaant muh truck."
"You can go get it in the mornin' Pop." Logan assured him as he continued driving.
*****
As the truck neared the farmhouse, Logan had thought his dad passed out during the drive. Suddenly Thomas jerked to the side and snarled in his son's face. "Whut the hell're yuh doin' boy! I want muh truck!" he hollered, grabbing at the steering wheel.
"Pop!" Logan yelled as he tried getting control of the wheel back. His drunk father held strong and the two began veering off the road out of control.
*****
Note: PLEEEAAASSSEEE REVIEW!!!! *gets down on knees with muse and gives big puppy-dog eyes*