Larry wondered where Marty was that weekend but Uncle Reind didn't know. It was kind of fun being the only kid on the place. Everybody at the main barn where Larry usually worked and Marty usually played really liked Marty and he got most of the attention. But with Marty gone, all that attention belonged to Larry. They liked him. They really liked him. God, they teased him and joked with him and praised him just like they did Marty. Sam Davis, he was about seventeen, slung Larry over his shoulder and playfully threatened to throw the boy into the manure pit for teasing him about his girlfriend. He heard Uncle Reind asking Luther Melski, another of the assistant herdsmen, if Luther had noticed what a good job "my boy" is doing. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't worthless. Maybe somebody would like him—love him enough to keep him. Could he even hope? Could he even hope that that somebody would be Uncle Reind and Aunt Betje?
When Larry wasn't there, Luther fed the calves but tonight he was over in the milking parlor. Larry, without being told, fed all the calves and then went to the parlor and helped finish the milking.
They had lasagna for supper. Aunt Betje had asked Larry the previous week what his favorite food was. Lasagna, he had told her. She didn't even know what it was. She must have looked it up or asked someone and made it just because he said he liked it. It was really good, too. Larry went to "his" room that night thinking, "That's probably the kind of stuff a real mother does for her son." He both loved it and wished they'd quit it. You got to love it when they're so nice to you but you feel like shit when they dump you.
Damn! There was a new TV and an Atari in "his" room. He knew about Atari because he had played with Marty's down at Uncle Henry's. When Larry asked if he could play with the one in "his" room they said, "Of course you can. It's yours."
Uncle Reind only let Larry have two helpings of ham, eggs and fried potatoes that morning. "You'll get fat. Anyway, we got to get those calves fed. I need you to help me pick up some things in Madison." Larry had never even been to Madison. He'd never been out of Jefferson County, even though it seemed to him that he'd lived in every damn foster home in the county.
Madison was neat. God, it was big. Uncle Reind told Larry that Milwaukee was even bigger and Chicago was bigger than Milwaukee. Cities looked like fun places but Larry didn't want to live in one. He wanted to live on the Grünfelder Farm.
Uncle Reind took him past the University of Wisconsin. Larry got to see where the Badgers play. That was a Larry Moment. Marty Moments were hilarious—all that jumping around and chattering. Larry Moments were amusing. Larry wanted to act like Marty—he was that excited. He loved the Badgers but when you've just turned thirteen and are now a teenager, you got to act like you don't care. Reind smiled and Larry almost ruptured himself trying to contain his excitement.
On the way home, it occurred to Larry that he had done nothing to help Uncle Reind. Uncle Reind had gone to some farm near the University and talked to some guy, put a bag of something in the bed of the truck and they ate in a McDonalds—a first for Larry. Again Reind smiled. He thought, "I better stop exciting this kid. He'll explode trying to act cool."
Larry knew that Uncle Reind didn't want his help. He wanted his company. It was like something a real dad would do with his son.
It was too perfect to last. That afternoon when he was feeding the calves and got to LeAnn, she had her leg stuck through the space between the boards around her box stall. He could tell that she wasn't hurt. She just didn't know how to get her leg back out. He set the bucket down and gently lifted her so that her leg was free. He looked her over good to be sure she wasn't hurt and then went to pick up the bucket. He didn't notice that he had his foot on the nipple.
Oh, shit. Why did this have to happen on what he had thought was the best day of his life? The nipple was still under his foot and the milk replacer was on his gumboot and the stall floor. God, he was such a fuck up. They were so nice to him. Aunt Betje had made him lasagna. They had bought him a TV and an Atari. He couldn't have been happier spending the day with Uncle Reind and he went and did this shit to them. He knew they would dump him. He couldn't face them. He ran out of the barn and headed to town. He'd hide in the cellar at Aunt Myrt's and decide what to do. He'd probably kill himself.
It was almost five miles to town and Larry must have run and cried most of the way. When he got to Aunt Myrt's he was exhusted both emotionally and physically. He'd lie on his bed for a while before he went to the cellar. After he'd caught his breath, he needed to be alone. He needed to be in the cellar in case he decided to kill himself. He didn't want the little kids to see him if he was dead.
He couldn't lie on his bed. It had a suitcase and a cardboard box on it. His room also had Aunt Myrt and—oh my God—Aunt Betje in it. They were putting all his stuff in the suitcase and the box. He didn't think what that might mean. He just heard himself saying to Aunt Betje, "What you doing here, you dumb Dutch bitch? Get the hell out of my room. I hate you! You can't even talk right!"
As soon as he realized what he had said, oh, God, he wished he hadn't. He didn't hate her but something in him drove him to try to hurt her as much as he was sure she was going to hurt him. He had to wipe the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand in order to see her. The expression on her face had not changed. She stood there for a moment before she spoke. "Are you finished?"
Larry said to the floor, "I guess."
"Good. Now help us finish getting your things together. You need to get back there and finish feeding the calves. You know, you have Reind worried half to death.
"Look at me." She put her hand under his chin and lifted his face so that they were looking into each other's eyes.
"You are much more important to us than a calf bucket. You're going to live with us from now on. I know you were very afraid, but don't you ever talk to me like that again!
"Now, get busy and help us finish packing your things."
Larry moved as if in a trance. He somehow knew what he was doing but he couldn't process all this. He said nothing as he sat beside Aunt Betje on the way back to the farm—could it really be back home? He knew, however, that he was, indeed, home when Uncle Reind wrapped his arms around him, held him tightly and sobbed. When he had spent his emotion, Reind said, "You domkop. That nipple was about worn out anyway. Please don't you ever worry your dad like that again."
Your dad? Your dad? Did he really say that? Yes he did, and now it was Larry's turn to sob. He held tightly to Reind—to his dad—for several minutes and then turned to his mother. They held each other and Larry said over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you."
Larry cried himself to sleep that night. It had been the best, then the worst, and finally the very, very best day of his life.
Copyright © 2004 Gordon Klopfenstein
Posted 21 December 2024