July 19, 2016
A blank slate of a day to fill.  Daunting?  Yes.  Exciting?  Yes.  Letting the caffeine energize my groggy self should help get me started.  I have a list...always a list of things to do.  But what to do first?  Of course, it is putting another piece of myself out into the world.  Cheers!


Buford’s Head
MPOTOCKI

Synopsis:  Summers with Pops were always interesting.  But this summer proved to be something Carls could never have imagined, especially when the key ingredients involved a bowling ball, a Rusty Gates and a young girl’s heart.


Much of the time Carls enjoyed her grandfather’s eccentricities.  It was the best thing about her summer stays at his farm.  The last couple of years had been a bit more challenging then interesting.  Could just be that she was getting older and it just wasn’t as fun as it was when she was a child.  She was 16 now, nearly an adult and less interested in Pops’ crazy antics and more so into time spent on the phone talking to her girlfriends, the latest cool songs and, of course, boys. 

Today’s antics involved the annual erection of the scarecrow.  Pops wasn’t feeling well, so asked Carls to man the show solo.  As minutes dragged into hours, she became more frustrated and less interested in finishing this annual chore.

“Only Pops would expect a bowling ball to be the ‘proper head’ for a scarecrow.”    “A scarecrow!!” she muttered to the headless, straw-stuffed body nailed to the post.  When Pops set his mind to something, there was little use in arguing.  He found his old bowling ball in the closet and thought that the thumb hole would be the perfect way to mount the head onto Buford’s body.

Carls her morning getting the head onto the post only to watch it teeter for a bit, fall, then roll into the cornfield, playing hide ‘n seek like a small child.  One of her seeking treks brought an unexpected turn to the day.

Pops had pretty much stopped farming over a decade ago, but stuff still grew here and there.  As Carls was muttering hotly under her breath, looking for Buford’s head for the umpteenth time, she stepped through a row of tall corn to find an open space.  Lying on a lounge chair, drinking lemonade, catching some sun, was a man.

“Sup, Sunshine?”  “Buford’s head went that way,” as he pointed to his right.  “Lovely day to be alive.”  “Lemonade?” 

Reaching into the cooler next to him, he pulled out an icy glass of what looked like freshly squeezed lemonade.

“Made it this morning before heading out to see what the day would bring.”

Awestruck,  Carls could only nod.  All thoughts of Buford’s head, Pops, everything but the man in front of her, melted away as she gazed upon this very tan, very topless and extremely good looking man in the middle of Pops’ cornfield.

“What....?”  “Who...?” Carls stammered as he rose to bring her the sweating glass.

“Name’s Rusty,” he said with the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.  “Rusty Gates.” 

Just as their hands briefly touched in the glass exchange, Pops came charging through the field, shotgun in hand.  “Stay away from her you hippie!”  “Back away or I’ll shoot your head clean off!”

Rusty broke into another smile as he stepped away from Carls.  “Nothing to worry about, sir.”  “Just passing through and offering a cold beverage to this young lady, who, I might add, has had quite the morning.”  “She’s been trying to put a bowling ball onto a post to complete a scarecrow.”  “Darnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”  “Puts it up just to have it fall down and roll into the field.”  “Kept calling it Buford and saying something about how Pops had finally lost it.”  “Buford’s head is that way,” Rusty said as he pointed to where the ball had last rolled.

“Buford,” Pops said, a bit surprised that this stranger knew about his scarecrow.  “Carls, come over here to me.”  “And you.”  “You need to leave before I call the Sheriff.”  “Not sure where you’re from, but trespassin’s still illegal in these parts.”  “What are doing here anyway?”

“Sir.”  “Name’s Rusty Gates and I was on my way to apply for a job with a Mr. Todd Leon.”  “Know him?”  “There’s no addresses on any of the houses ‘round here and I just stopped for an afternoon siesta before continuing on my way.”  “Didn’t mean no harm.”  “Just passin’ through.”

“You looking for Todd Leon, huh?”  “Well,” Pops said as he lowered the shotgun and extended his hand to shake.  “Looks like you found him.”  “I’m Todd Leon.”  “This here is my granddaughter, Carls Shaye.”

Carls was standing there, watching this unfold like some TV show, when all she could do was start laughing.  Laughing at the futility of using a bowling ball for the head of a scarecrow, the oddness of finding a half-naked man in the cornfield having lemonade, the ferocity of her grandfather coming to her aid and that she should have expected it all.

They sat in that open patch in her grandfather’s field the rest of the afternoon, drinking lemonade and swapping stories.  Rusty was the most amazing man Carls had ever met.  It seemed hardly possible that he was only a few years older than she was.  He had seen and done so much but the stories that she and Pops told him about their summers on the farm together made him laugh.  Carls never appreciated her grandfather’s oddness more than now.  It wove a connection with another human being.  Carls was often shy around strangers, but not with Rusty.  They connected from the beginning and that connection grew stronger with the passing summer.  Pops hired Rusty there, that day.  The three of them spent every afternoon in that sunny spot in the cornfield, enjoying the company of kindred souls.

Carls experienced many firsts that summer.  Her first major crush turned first summer romance.  Her first kiss.  Her first heartbreak.  Come the end of the summer, Rusty packed up his few belongings and headed out without even a good-bye.  He left Carls an amazing poem and urged her to continue their afternoon siestas until she left for school.  She couldn’t do it for about a week, still nursing her broken  heart, but on the day she left the farm, she walked out to their spot in the field and found a sea of flowers around an album of photos of their summer together resting against Buford’s head.