High Noon on Jefferson: Chapter Ten

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

The rest of the day seemed to drag forever. It was not because it was a sense of something big was about to happen. It was because it was a sense of failure and frustration loomed and swirled around me. It felt like there was nothing I could do to stop the oncoming train wreck and I felt, in part responsible. Except, I wasn't really responsible. I had done and could not have done a thing to have changed what was happening. Well, perhaps I could have chosen a different route to school, but that might have postponed the inevitable, but not stopped it.

Maven was going to go after Dad and there was no way to stop it.

Or so it felt at the time.

I felt school and simply tinked to the Pranksters I'd let them know if we could get to my Dad's early. I started to walk home alone and dejected when Tom showed up. He didn't say anything. He didn't make a comment about what was happening. He didn't act silly. He didn't make a tasteless joke. To be honest, I might have wanted one, but I might have hated him for it, too. It was a hard place to be.

He walked with me. Quietly and respectfully and amazingly insightfully. For Tom that is. And, even as it smarts to say this, caringly. He even walked all the way to my house, even though our paths diverged much earlier. Then he gave me a squeeze on the shoulder and left.

I went inside and shucked my boots and jacket. I went up to my room and sat for a bit. Longer than I ought, because I did have homework. However, I did it all the same. Then I rose and went upstairs. I went up to Mom's floor and stood outside her door.

For a moment, I wanted to tell my Mom all about what had happened and what could be about to happen and tap her wisdom. Mom's are not perfect, but they do have a life time of experience. One thing really stayed my hand from opening her door: she wasn't exactly getting along with Dad and was a person of intensity. When she felt something, she felt it intensely. If she was in love, she felt love very intensely. If she felt hate, you better have had a bunker to cower in until her nuclear blast of fury was gone. When she was angry, well, not quite as bad as hate, but...

And she was angry with Dad.

I don't know why. I really didn't want to know why. I didn't want to be in the pathway of that constant volley of emotional missiles. However, had I told her about Dad, or what I thought was happening with Dad, she might have lashed out at him more. Or so I thought at the time.

So instead of pushing open her door and going in to tell all, I silently slinked downstairs and found the cookie jar and grabbed some milk. Milk from Dad's cows. We had some of his goat milk as well. He always gave it for free. He also sent the cookies. He made them. Some times he brought them or some other treat himself, but recently, he'd sent them by bot or gave them to us when we came over. I suspected he didn't like Mom's fury any more than anyone else being nuked by a hostile power.

I crunched and munched on cookies and sipped the milk when Mom came down to make dinner. She knew something was up and it was also clear I wasn't going to tell. So, she started dinner and chatted with me. She didn't ask what happened and I didn't volunteer it. She talked about her day. She talked about my brother. She talked about her job. She talked about something from when she was young. She reminded me and embarrassed me about something from my childhood.

When I was two, my parents were cooking in the kitchen in what is now Dad's farm. This was before they were divorced. This was before my brother was born. They had given me a bowl of popcorn to eat. While they were happily chatting over preparing the meal, I had come in and pointed at my nose. It was distended and distorted. Dad and Mom looked at it closely: my nose was stuffed full of unpopped popcorn kernels. They tried to get some out but there was so much they were freaking out. They rushed out to the car and then to the hospital. Dad was in front and driving faster than the self drive capability would have allowed. Mom was in back and was trying to suck the kernels out of my nose: if she were not so freaked out, she would have gagged from all the snot in her mouth. They were yelling and freaked and scared. They made it to the clinic and the doctor removed most of the ones directly in my nose. He saw thought there might be more. He directed my Dad to cover my mouth with his and to blow suddenly and strongly. Dad did. Snot and popcorn kernels shot out into his face. He repeated it five times until all seemed to be gone. The side of his face was utterly slimed. The doctor reassured my parents I would be fine and we went home. The really funny part, at least to Mom and Dad, was the next day I walked over to them and in my hand was another snot covered popcorn kernel. Like a bad horror movie ending.

Mom was almost in stitches laughing. I was redder than a red dwarf star or a really ripe tomato.

The funny part for me?

They never gave me popcorn with kernels in it ever again.

Even as a teenager.

Mom and Dad never said anything about that but they just did it. I found it funny they still did it. I guess the trauma of that day couldn't be washed away by the laughter after all.

Mom then walked over and hugged me, gave me a peck on the forehead and then went to work making dinner.

Then I noticed one of my cookies was gone.

Sneaky, sneaky Mommy.

However, I knew what had to be done and I knew it couldn't happen before its time. Except one part.

I helped Mom with dinner that night and then went upstairs after surviving my brother's gross stories over dinner. he seemed to delight in getting us grossed out while we were eating. I wondered why Mom put up with it. If I had done that at his age, I would have been busted.

When I went in my room, I sat down and went to work on my homework. I even got it done before what would have been bed time. I prepared for bed, but didn't go to sleep. Instead, I synced my booster and slide into it as deeply as I could mentally.

There was one way Maven couldn't get there faster than I could: instead of sleeping, I was going to hack Dad's farm.

Mom had given me the idea. Sneaky, sneaky Mom had a sneaky, sneaky daughter.