All characters depicted in this story are over eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
I was not happy to say the least. It was the summer before my senior year of high school, I had just turned eighteen, and how was I going to spend it? Working on my grandparent's farm in the middle of nowhere. I was currently riding in the passenger seat of my Mom's BMW, watching the wide open grass fields of Kansas roll by. My forehead vibrated against the window of the glass as I glared outward at my new found prison.
"There's where you'll be going to school in the fall," Mom said as we passed a large cluster of buildings. The school was surrounded by evergreen trees, giving it a stark contrast to the corn fields that rose up in the mid July heat around it. My glare was unchanging as I watched the school roll past.
Let me back up a little bit.
My name is Jason Clark. I was being transferred from Wichita to Dawson, all because I had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A "friend" of mine had invited me to a small party over at what he had claimed was his brother's house, and then abandoned me along with over a pound of marijuana when the cops had kicked in the door.
I had managed to convince the judge of my innocence and avoid jail time, but my parents were not convinced. Of course, the drug charge on top of an already small list of run-ins with the law since I was sixteen didn't help matters. Thus, they were moving me from a city of over three hundred thousand people to a town of less then two hundred. "For your own good" was phrase they had used whenever I tried to argue against them.
Mom turned right off of the main highway and onto a smaller blacktop. A few abandoned, rusting oil wells and storage tanks sat on either side of the road, making the place feel even more abandoned by humanity. On our left, a set of railroad tracks cut through the Kansas prairie. But, like the tanks and wells, the iron rails had gathered rust and weeds from years of neglect.
"I'm sure you're going to enjoy this," Mom said, trying to break the uneasy silence.
"I'd rather be with my friends," I muttered.
"Your 'friends' are the reason you're here, Jason. Besides, I'm sure there's all kinds of people around here your age. You'll make some new friends in no time," she said. I simply grunted before I returned to resting my head against the window. The car ride continued on in silence after that. I watched as the fields changed between the tall greens of corn, to the low golden waves of wheat, and the wide wild grass of pasture.
The car made a sudden bump as the tracks that had been running on our left suddenly changed course and crossed the road. My forehead cracked against the glass, causing me to grimace in pain.
"There's Dawson," Mom said, oblivious to what had just occurred. I rubbed my forehead and allowed my vision to clear before I looked to where she was pointing. A single grain elevator rose above a small cluster of buildings and trees. My heart sank further as I watched the small town draw closer and closer. Unlike the massive concrete cylinders that stood several stories tall along the rail yards in Wichita, this grain elevator was barely three stories tall and made entirely from metal. Even from here, I could see the rust forming on the roof of one of the storage cylinders.
I let out a sigh before I returned to my original position of looking out the window. Before all this I had plans, goals for this summer and my senior year. As a young man, freshly legal, I was hoping that I was going to finally lose my virginity this summer. I had tried several times in the past, what teenage male hadn't? But like most teens, none of my attempts had been successful. Now as the small town drew closer, it was looking like that I was going to spend another year as a virgin.
The town was about as small as I expected. Three blocks wide east to west, three blocks long north to south, with the railroad marking the town's southern boundary. Main Street was the only street that was paved, all the rest were gravel. I watched as the town rolled by, spying a few guys my age playing basketball at a rundown court next to Main Street.
'At least there's someone in this town that's my age' I thought to myself. The black BMW continued east, passing the town and crossing a creek that ran along the town's eastern edge. The road turned from blacktop to gravel, making the ride much bumpier then it had been. We suddenly turned right onto a small dirt trail that led through a field toward a small cluster of trees.
The farmhouse was a large two story structure with faded and flaking white paint. A large shed sat next to the house with a few trucks and a tractor visible inside. The barn, which sat across the driveway from the shed, had stone making up its ground floor with shining metal tin rising up to make up the hayloft.
A large black and white Australian Shepard rested on the back of a flatbed truck in the shade of the shed, its pink tongue hanging out of its mouth as it panted from the heat. It stared at us with icy pale blue eyes as Mom brought the vehicle to a halt.
"There's Sam, you remember Sam don't you Jason?" she asked as she put the vehicle in park and shut it off. I vaguely recognized the dog from my last visit here. He had been a small pup then, not the fully grown work dog that he was now. I didn't say anything as I opened my door and climbed out into the summer heat.
I rose to my full height of six foot two and stretched, feeling my mussels pop after the long car ride. Reaching down into the car, I grabbed my hat and placed it on my head. I wasn't skinny by any means, but I wasn't fat either. Rather I was broad shouldered and built like I was ready to work or play football. I was wearing a brown t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of worn work boots, along with the tan Stetson marshal that now rested on my head.
For those of you who don't know, my hat is the same style worn by the main character in the TV series 'Justified'. Most people assumed I wore the hat because I was such a big fan of the show. In reality, I had been wearing it long before the show had ever premiered. I wore it for two reasons: it felt comfortable, and it irritated my mother to no end. She always insisted that a kid in the city should never wear a cowboy hat, but I kept sticking the damn thing on my head every time I stepped out the front door regardless.
"Well well, look who came dressed to work," called a deep rough voice that reminded me of Sam Elliot's. I turned toward the back porch of the house and spotted my grandfather. He was a tall, skinny man wearing blue overalls and a sun faded white cowboy hat. A black pipe hung out of his mouth with bluish white smoke curling up around his face.
"Hi Grandpa," I said. I may have been upset with my parents and this whole situation, but that didn't mean that I blamed him or Grandma for any of this. If anything, they were in the same boat I was.
"You two made it just in time, your grandmother just finished with supper. Come on inside and get yourselves something to eat," the farmer said before he turned around and opened the door to the house. I took a moment to check my cell phone. It was fifteen minutes after six.
"Supper? Doesn't he mean Dinner?" I asked in confusion.
"They'll explain everything later," Mom replied before leading the way into the farmhouse. I grabbed my rucksack full of spare clothes and followed her inside out of the heat. After saying hello to Grandma and eating meal which consisted of hamburgers and baked potatoes, I bid my mother farewell as she left to return to Wichita.
"You stay out of the cards, Jason," Mom said as she drove past.
"Don't stay a stranger now, Sally," Grandpa called as she pulled out of the driveway and vanished into a cloud of dust. I stood and watched, unsure of what do with myself now. Turning around and heading back into the house, I hung my hat on a hook by the door before grabbing my rucksack.
"If you two don't mind, I'll be headed to bed now," I said. My grandmother nodded.
