Page 6 of Severed Heart
“Am not, and Mom says I’ll be as big as my daddy someday.”
“We’re not big like them yet ’cause we haven’t hit our growth spurt.”
“What’s that?” Barrett asks.
“When you get hair in your armpits,” I tell him, “and,” I whisper low, “I heard Uncle Grayson say our balls will drop.”
“Drop where?”
“I dunno.” I scrunch my nose, wondering where my balls will drop to.
“Till my balls drop, Tyler, let me pick one of your apples onyourland.”
“Nope,” I say, wiping my apple on my shirt before taking a bite. “You have to workyour own land. Those are the rules.”
“Fine,” he puffs. “But you got to help me carry the ladder ’cross the highway.”
“Why? I can carry it by myself.”
“Liar, I saw Uncle Carter carry it over here!”
“Boys!” Mom calls. “Dinner!”
“Shit,” I mumble. “You’re gonna have to wait.”
“Come on, cousin,” Barrett whines, “let me pick one of your apples. I’ll be quick.”
I toss my apple and cross my arms. “What are you going to give me for it?”
“I don’t have any more money in my piggy bank. You already tooked it all,” he huffs out.
“Fine.” I tug down my ballcap. “You owe me two dollars next time you have money. Spit shake on it.”
“I’ll never have any money ifyoukeeptaking it.”
“That’s tough shit,” I say like Daddy does. “That’s the price of pickin’ onmyland.”
Barrett moves around me to get to the ladder, and I block him and shake my head. “Nuh uh, spit and shake on it. Two dollars.”
“Fine. Two dollars.”
We both spit in our hands and shake to make it a real deal between men.
“All right. Get on up, and I’ll hold your legs.”
“I should makeyoupick it for two whole dollars.”
“Barrett, you want to be a real farmer who works his land or not?”
“Yes!” he shouts as I shush him when Mom calls us again for dinner.
“Coming, Mama,” I holler back, ducking so she can’t see where we are in the orchard. “Tell her you’re coming and hurry up,” I order Barrett. He hollers at them and climbs the ladder. When he gets as far as he can with me holding him, I point out one he can reach.
“Almost ... got ... it,” he says, stretching to grab the apple. When he finally picks it, I lose my grip on his legs, and he screams as he starts to fall. Daddy appears and catches him before he hits the ground. I straighten my spine as Daddy turns toward me with Barrett wiggling in his arms, Barrett’s eyes as wide as mine.
“Daddy, that wasso, sofast,” I tell him. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“Nice lecture, Son,” Dad says in his ’thortive tone. “This boy was a foot away from his first break,” he says in a way that tells me I’ve earned a whoopin’, and it’s going to hurt. I lift my hand to the sun to see how mad he is and can only see him shake his head. That means he’s disappointed. “For a boy who likes to give orders, you sure have a horrible salute.”
