in search of the absurd: fiction & nonfiction
On The Farm -- by Jonathan Curelop
Johnny Barnett sat on the front fender of his durable pick-up waiting for Mike. The day of farming was over, about 7:30, but the sun still beat down pretty fierce. The Varney farm incident had been one hell of a break in the day and he couldn’t wait to tell Mike about it, but it was getting late and he wanted to head on over to The Counter, where tonight’s special was macaroni and cheese. Italian was his favorite.
The only relief to this weather was the occasional breeze and right now Johnny could see it sweeping up Mike’s truck dust in gentle swirling fits. The truck, identical to his since they’d bought them on the same day, stopped about ten yards from Johnny’s. Mike climbed down from the sidebar, spread his arms and said, “What I miss?”
It felt good to see the old boy again. It had been too long, almost a month. They were out at the parking lot of the old high school, which was rotting away, crumbling brick by brick since they built the new one almost ten years ago. Looking at the decrepit building, Johnny silently recalled how they’d met as freshmen on the JV basketball team. He noticed Mike was putting on weight these days and letting his hair go to snarls.
Mike joined him on the fender.
“I’ve been waiting a half-hour,” Johnny said.
“Smitty kept me late, bustin’ my back. Did you really see it?”
“Of course I saw it.”
“I thought you were over at the feed store.”
“I was.”
“Then how’d you see it?”
“You kiddin’? I followed the crowd. Ran the whole way.”
“Is it true, what they say?”
“Wait till I tell ya. Man, you picked the wrong day to pick up a chain for that old saw of yours.”
“Man, I miss everything.”
“You know, Kelly’s having a sale down at Saw City.”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“When I got there, Old Lady Varney was already on top of the silo, looking over the edge. Everyone’s there, I’m there, the Maguires are there, the Humbolt family’s there, which makes twelve if you count that cousin with the one eye that moved in last year from over in Greenville.”
“Hey, leave Eugene alone. He helped me split a heap of wood last fall.”
“I’m just saying there were lots of people. Anyway, before the ambulance or the fire department arrives, the old lady jumps. And the only thing she’s got to land on is that mud and hay around the silo and I’m thinking maybe it’ll be soft enough to cushion her fall. But then I hear screams and everyone’s turning their heads away so’s not to see her splat. And I think that’s it. Old Lady Varney’s gonna buy it right here and now. But that new cow they got-”
“Yeah, yeah, the one with the reddish spot on its rear!”
“That’s the one. It starts running toward her, then pickin’ up speed faster ‘n faster and then it just takes flight like a magic carpet.”
“Man,” Mike said, standing up and clapping his hands a single time. “I knew there was something strange about that red spot.”
“Just before she hits the ground that cow slips under her, real gentle-like, and Old Lady Varney’s right on top, smooth as silk. In mid air.”
“Where’d the cow take her?”
“Just flew away. Took off over them woods along the south field, its legs pushing through the air. Looked like one of Santa’s reindeer in a Christmas cartoon.”
They sat in silence for a moment, smiles lingering on their faces.
“You don’t see that every day,” Mike said.
“No, sir,” Johnny replied, lifting himself from the fender, anxious for dinner, “that’s odd behavior for a Holstein.” He walked to the driver’s door of his truck and said, “Want to stop by The Counter? It’s mac ‘n cheese tonight.” He knew what his friend’s answer would be.
“I told Lori I’d be home for dinner.”
“All righty then. See ya soon.”
The two men hoisted themselves into the seats of their trucks and slammed their doors. Johnny watched Mike’s truck rumble out of the dirt lot. Then he started his engine and, before pressing down on the gas, leaned toward his windshield and glanced up into the darkening sky.
