Excerpt from Summer Heat

The sun rose above the skyline of the trees. The clouds slowly bled into a balayage of purple, blue, yellow, orange, and red. The sky only missed a hue of green, but the completion of the rainbow that day came from the trees. The meadowlarks chirped distantly. Those chirps broke the awkward silence between us. It wasn’t a fear of silence itself but the inability to quench it.

“I–” I started.

“It’s–”

I snickered nervously. “Go ahead.”

“No, you.”

I stared at him. His dark eyes saw through me. “I was just going to say that I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to catch you in such a predicament. I would’ve been embarrassed, too. So, I understand if you hate me after that.”

I felt the tension burn off him. He didn’t intend for it to, I felt. “Well, I guess I could say that it was my fault. I didn’t lock the door. And now you know what I look like in my whitey-tighties.” He began to laugh; so, I knew it was safe to laugh along as well.

“What were you going to say?”

“It was luck that my mom ran into your mom at the store. I usually go to Rock Eagle, but my dad was just laid off and it’s only my mom working now. I get to get out of the house and make a little money on the side.” He gave me a half-grin. The curvature of his mouth showed a bit of his white teeth.

“Well, I know for a fact that my dad is happy that you’ve come to work.”

“Why’s that?”

I said, “I’ve never really gotten out of the house during the summer. He hates that I do… nothing. I am doing things: Studying for the next school year, reading, trying to figure out if I want to go to UGA or not, making my parents proud.”

“I sorta know what you mean,” he said. “My dad wants me to play for the Dawgs, but I don’t know if I’m that good. They keep playing really good games since Vince Dooley became football coach. I’d love a chance to play under him.”

I raise my eyebrows as if I knew what he was talking about. “Yeah. I see myself becoming either a teacher or a writer.”

“Do you write?”

We stopped walking. “I dabble.” I pushed my short tufts of hair from my eyes. There wasn’t much there. Just a habit.

“I’d like to read something you’ve written. Rachel said you were really smart, but I suppose that would make sense since you were in 10th grade algebra.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m that smart.” I put my hoe in both hands. “Here’s the field. I guess I should show you what to do.”

My demonstration paid off. By the time my father arrived to the field (and as promised my thermos of coffee), we had cleared a third of the one field. Tommy and I were sweating to high heaven when Daddy whistled to us to take a break. I was quite thankful. Daddy had a large water cooler in his old Ford F-150.

Tommy went straight for the cold water in the cooler. His white shirt stuck to his back. It was soaked with sweat. My shirt was, too, doused in my own sweat and covered in red clay. Daddy handed me my coffee. I thanked him and went to sit on the tailgate. The old metal creaked with rust and age, but nothing could damage that thing. Not even the tree that fell on it on Christmas day last year.

“If y’all keep it up, I’ll have to move the truck to the next field.” My father laughed. “You two are doing good work. Better than my real hired help.”

I looked at my watch. It was just after 10:00. My father only took 15 minutes to eat, drink his coffee, and take a shit before going back into the field. What was he doing for two and a half hours?

Tommy took off his soaked shirt and poured the remainder of his water on his tanned, muscular body. I tried so very hard to advert my eyes before he caught me looking, but our eyes met. I felt my ears run hot. Tommy smiled.

By lunchtime, we had finished 2/3s of the field. Daddy drove us up to the house for lunch. Mama made us tomato sandwiches with a side of potato chips and sweet tea. Daddy refilled the water cooler, and we headed back to the field. We finished by two in the afternoon. By then, my shirt was off and my pale skin was soaking in the sun.

Daddy leaned against his hoe. “Bill, why don’t you and Tommy go cool off in the old waterhole that me and my brothers made when we was kids?”

My eyes widened. I just stared at my father.

“A waterhole does sound nice. Why don’t we, Billy-boy?”