The misses came in this morning to tell me she was going into town for some shopping, but that I was still expected to get my work done even though she wouldn’t be there to watch me. Watch me? Is that what she calls it? Well I call it her sitting on the porch drinking sweet tea while I work in her fields. Yeah, she may look over at us once in a while, but that don’t mean she’s watchin’. It just means she ain’t got nothing better to do that day because her hair didn’t take as long to curl. That’s one thing I got on her; my hair curls just fine.
It seems hotter than usual today. Not a cloud in the sky to save us from that sun. We all like to call our sun hats our “best friends” because they’re the only things that keep us from getting burnt right through to the skull. It’s about damn time I got a new one, though. There’s holes in the sides and it’s starting to smell something god-awful. I’m hoping to get down to the creek sometime this weekend. Lord knows we could all use a bath, and some laundry done.
The thing that gets me through the days mostly are my thoughts. I put myself somewhere else – anywhere else – but here. Someplace where they’re the ones serving me. And if I come home after a long day of fishin’, there’s somebody there to rub my damn feet. Someplace I don’t need a home with fields like these, I can just have a grassy area to roam. And even though that ain’t the truth, and may never be, at least I have the picture of it to get me through the day.
She’s home. Ready for her the old man to read her a nice little story while she drinks her sweet tea on the porch. I’ll picture me in her shoes tomorrow, and it’ll be enough to get me through the day.
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