Three Day Summer(29)

“What’s the van doing on the field in the first place?” Wes asks with just a touch of incredulity, and I can’t help smiling to myself. One day, he’ll see just how uncanny his resemblance to our dad really is.

Adam and Peter stop their conversation and we all watch the saga of the van unfold, as more and more people nearby rush to help. Now there are five people pushing. And then, once it rolls down again, six. At that moment, I’m sure we’re all equating it to something or other in our lives, the futile struggle, the resistance to inevitable failure.

Me? I go a bit more of a literal route. The van makes me think of the back of Ned’s truck. In early March, it was too cold to be in the barn, which would have offered more room.

Oh, fine, there’s some metaphor in there, too. Futile struggles and last-ditch efforts and all that. Only I was a girl in love, and a girl in love often can’t see when something has stalled for good. She’d rather spend all her energy trying to move a large hunk of metal up a mountain than face the truth. Because truth is the enemy of hope.

I am, thankfully, distracted from my thoughts by the loud noise of a helicopter flying low right over us. It’s green with the US Army’s logo emblazoned on its door.

“What are they doing here?” Wes asks breathlessly as we all stare up at it.

It hovers lower and lower. And then, right in front of our eyes, a package falls from it.

“Oh my God. Are they gassing us?” Adam asks.

“No, man!” We turn around to see a prematurely balding guy with a compensatory long beard. “They’re feeding us. The US Army is bringing us food.”

“No. Way,” Wes says, but from where we are, we can see the Hog Farm folks gathering around whatever was dropped from the helicopter, their bright red strips of fabric flying in the wind from the rotating blades.

My brother and his friends all hold their signs by their sides now. Right about where their jaws are.





chapter 34


Michael


After Cora’s brother and his friends go off to further investigate the army helicopter, I excuse myself for a few minutes. I really need to take a leak and there are some bushes that are calling my name. We’re also by the lake again and I think it might be nice to get some of the mud off, at least from my face.

Kneeling down near the water, I’m hit with a strong smell of cow shit. I see myself make a face in my reflection, and move over a little before splashing my face and arms. The water is cold but refreshing and it washes off most of the mud. I’m not sure if it’s drinkable, but then I spy a bunch of others happily lapping up handfuls. I shrug and do the same. If I can survive poisonous brown acid, surely a little farm-town water can’t hurt me.

“I’m a new man!” I say as I present myself to Cora.

“Sparkling clean,” she says after giving me a once-over.

“Absolutely. If you think about it, this could totally be a brown suit.” I look down at my still-spackled threads. “I could be a banker in these clothes.”

“You are the specimen of trust and responsibility.”

“Thank you.” As we walk toward the stage, the smell of fertilizer hits my nose again and I mention something about it to Cora.

“Yeah, that happens at a farm,” she said. “Of course, this isn’t just cow manure.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Like, other animals?”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “The bipedal kind.”

It finally dawns on me what she’s saying and I look around at the spread of humanity before us. “Ugh. Really?”

“’Fraid so,” she says. “There’s no way a couple hundred thousand people can hold it in for a few days, you know.”

All I know is that I’ve managed to so far and I hope I won’t be adding to the beautification of Bethel’s farmlands myself.

“So we’re walking around in crap. And that doesn’t bother you?” I ask.

“When you work at a hospital, you see a lot of crap. In many senses of the word,” she says.

“You are an unusual girl.”

The rest of my words are cut off by a loud chopping sound and a strong gust of wind. I look up to see that we are right by a helicopter that’s about to touch down. No US Army writing on this one.

I immediately perk up.

“I heard that’s how the artists are getting here!” I say to Cora, who only mouths the word “What?” to me. I end up having to shout in her ear that I heard they are staying at some hotel nearby and are being shuttled back and forth this way.

By this point, the helicopter’s door has opened.

“Let’s get closer!” I yell. “I want to see if we can see anybody.”

She nods and follows me. I am staring so intently at the chopper that I don’t even see the burly guy who has slipped right in front of me. I almost step on the toe of his boot.

“Man, where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

I look up at him and start to apologize. “Oh, sorry . . .” is all I get out, before I feel a hand clap my back.

“Roger?” I turn around to see a man in a suit. He has a thick moustache, dark hair, and big sunglasses. “Is that you?” He takes off his sunglasses and squints at me for a second before giving a little nod of confidence. “You’re here early. How did you get here?” His sunglasses go back on.