Lithium – Chptr 11 – Xperience Fiction

Lithium – Chptr 11 – Xperience Fiction – by Liam Sweeny.

Plywood, two-by-fours and bags of concrete sat in the lot as Mel and Andy pulled up, It wasn’t at all a surprise, as the square acreage of the farm was eclipsed by the square acreage of the plot of land upon which the farm stood. Burle fancied himself a baron in the local meat industry, and every day he was doing something to build his fiefdom. But Mell didn’t know what they were building that day, nor did he care. All of his cares were in confronting Burle – the robber baron.

As Mel found an unobtrusive place to park, he had to get ahead of his temper. He didn’t know that Burle stole his EBT card. And it didn’t make perfect sense that he would sink that low. But what was burrowing itself in Mel’s skull was the fact that Burle not once mentioned what he got for the painting. Five hundred dollars could solve almost all of Mel’s problems. It could put him in meds for ninety days.

“Andy, you go to the clearing and search our tent for the EBT card, just in case. I don’t want to say something and find out we’ve been sleeping on it.”’

Andy set course and Mel went for the front porch, where he thought he saw Burle when he pulled in. No such luck; his carved maple rocking chair was empty. Mel pushed the screen door in and walked into the living room.

“Burle? You in here?”

“Kitchen,” Burle said. “C’mon in.”

Mel walked in to see him opening an oversized can of stewed tomatoes. The kitchen table was filled with canned goods and loaves of bread, their dinner, and maybe more than one of them.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I went to the pharmacy, and my meds are pretty expensive to begin with. But I went to spend the money because I need them, and my debit card is missing.”

“Do you think someone took it?”

“It was in my wallet, in the minivan. I don’t know who could’ve gotten in there.” Mel knew exactly who had gotten in there.

“I know you like the other workers,” Burle said. “And they seem to like you, but that doesn’t mean you can trust them. I’ll tell you what; I’ll let Casey know, and he can keep his eyes open. Now what does it look like?”

Mel felt shame come to his lips. “It’s an EBT card.”

“Oh, a welfare card. You can get that replaced, right?”

“Maybe, not in time to keep me from running out of my meds.”

“Do you mind if I ask what’s wrong with you?”

“Really rather not say,” Mel said. “But it is serious. I definitely need the meds.”

Mel set the can on the kitchen table and picked up another can, bringing it to a device Mel knew to be a can opener, but he’d never seen before.

“We’re not going to find you dead, are we?”

“No. Not that,” Mel said. “Did you ever sell my painting?”

“Actually, I found a small shop that let me put it on commission,” Burle said. “So if someone buys it and they pay me, I’ll pay you.”

“I could’ve really used money from the painting instead.” Cocksucker. Motherfucker.

“That’s just the way it works,” Burle said. “You plan on staying around for a little while, right?”

Mel gritted his teeth. “Yeah, sure.”

“It’ll sell, I’m sure. But even if it does, you might not get a lot.”

You got five hundred, you greasy prick. Mel marshalled his faculties and his will to keep from letting Burle taste hellfire. He had almost all of Mel’s money, and payday was three days away.

“Can I get an advance of my paycheck?”

“I don’t do that,” Burle said. “People have burned me too many times. Are you going to be able to make it till payday, or should you go to the emergency room?”

It was a bullshit choice. Mel couldn’t afford meds in a pharmacy; no way he could afford them coming out of an ER. They’d give him at most three days of meds and kick him out the door.

Mel just then realized he was going to have to leave the farm come payday, meds or not.

“I’ll deal,” Mel said, then he kicked off to go find Casey, pick up his afternoon work assignment.

In any other circumstance, Mel would’ve loved to turn compost, especially given all the other work they could have him doing. Not that turning mulch on a farm was easy; it was nothing less that digging dirt, just with a pitchfork. But it was mind blanking, so simple he could lose himself in the task and let his mind explore whatever dramatic, fantastical landscape he could dream up on any given day. But that day, his dramas involved him hurting someone, and no matter how well deserved the hurt would be, he loathed occupying his mind like that.

He couldn’t be angry. Actually, he could; he could be furious beyond any human understanding. But if he released even a smidgeon of that rage, he wasn’t an angry man. Should he strike someone, he wasn’t a violent man. In either case, he was a mentally unstable man. His violence would be considered erratic and unpredictable, no matter how legitimate his gripe might be. He couldn’t express emotions that even normal people had every day.

He finished with the compost around four o’clock. It was too late to get another assignment from Casey, not that he’d see it that way. Mel found the back of the barn and leaned against a tree that was itself leaning against the barn. He had a thirst to beat the band, but Casey patrolled the faucets for tired workers to harass. So Mel sat there, exhausted and desperate, thinking about a kid he wouldn’t be able to face later.

The shade felt good, but it wouldn’t last. Casey checked behind the barn too. He begged his bones for forgiveness as he groaned his way to standing. He wiped the moisture from his face, wishing all to hell that it was sweat and not tears.

***

If Mel could’ve considered anything on the farm a reprieve, it would’ve been his next assignment. He got it after breakfast, which he got to late because he overslept. He was surprised at that, since his body naturally woke up at dawn, when the clearing was dead calm, and he had at least an hour to organize himself seated at the still-warm embers from the fire the night before. Maybe he woke up because there was no fire the night before, save for garbage. He was also surprised that they let him eat.

He was still angry; that wouldn’t likely go away until he was miles away from the farm. But he wasn’t as furious as he was the day before. He knew he couldn’t be, lest his rage snowball into actions that would get him kicked off before payday, and he was dead certain Burle would use the opportunity to not pay him.

But when he got to breakfast, Burle was friendly, more so than most mornings, when he’d be nose down in his cornflakes. And Andy was eager to go to school, which was even stranger, given that his bruises hadn’t fully healed yet.

Casey gave him the cherry assignment out behind the barn, as he and the rest of the workers sat around in a semi-circle.

“Allie, I want you on compost today,” Casey said. “We’re gonna be planting in the field next to the clearing, so we need to start getting the soil ready.”

He pivoted on his heels.

“Ulysses, you’re on the east fence. Make sure you use the newer sledgehammer, ‘cause Max broke the old one yesterday and we haven’t had time to fix it.”

“Max, Mel; I want you guys on the barn today. Max, I need you to re-shingle the side roof, the addition. Mel, I’m going to have you start painting. There are shingles and paint in the barn.”

Mel sat stone-faced, but inside, he was enthused, though his excitement may have been betraying his anger a little. But he had to have a reason to keep going on until payday.

He liked Max. If anybody there he could’ve considered a friend, it was Max. They got creative over the past two weeks of getting to work near enough each other to talk. He was also one of the few other people who still had a phone, so they spent time in the minivan charging up through the ashtray.

“You ready to paint the barn red?” He said as they made their way to the barn.

“I wouldn’t paint a mural on this cursed land, that’s for sure.” Mel pulled open the door in a minor feat of strength, “You sleep alright last night?”

“Oh, the fire. Yeah. You get used to that, huh?”

“It’s good to sit by the embers in the morning,” Mel said as he pulled a canvas tarp off the paint cans, which were on a pallet climbing five feet high. “I get right with Jesus near those pebbles.”

“You a Jesus guy?”

“Nah, just fucking around. I mean I got no problem with him, but my dad never took me to church.” Mel grabbed three paint cans, hooking his fingers in the handles. “He didn’t want the competition, I think.” Max chuckled.

“Places like this run off bad dads,” he said. “Or bad moms. Either or.”

“He was troubled, man. I got over being mad at him a long time ago.”

Mac hoisted a sack of shingles on his back. “That’s good,” he said. “Some people never do.”

Mel loved painting. He loved painting walls slightly less, but it was close to his element. He had a paint can hooked to his ladder, which he had to trust more than Burle’s spendthrift, but not by much. Even if the ladder wasn’t about to collapse, it was flimsy enough to shake if Mel leaned just a few degrees either side. It made painting any good-sized area impossible. So he was painting less and getting on and off the ladder to reposition it more.

Max was down below him on the side roof, pulling the old shingles off and taking his time. Mel’s side quest was to keep an eye out for Casey and let Max know he had to pick up the pace for a minute or two.

“Casey wouldn’t kick us out for working slow,” he said. “But somehow, it comes out in our pay.”

“Do you even know how much he pays?” Mel said. “Like, per hour?”

“Minimum wage, if anyone asks him.” Max struggled to pull off a shingle. “But he pays whatever the hell he wants to pay. And it doesn’t do any good to argue it. I’ve seen people try. They’re gone the next day, fucking house policy.”

Mel came down off the ladder to reposition it. “Burle sold one of my paintings. I found it in a gallery in Jamestown. They paid five hundred bucks for it.”

“Oh yeah?” Max said. “How much did you get?”

“He said they had it on commission. I’ll get paid when he gets paid.”

“Which he already did, so, never,” Max said. He looked around and sat down. Half the shingles were off. For his conspicuous laziness, Max was a good worker.

“I saw a guy pound the shit out of Burle once,” he said.

“Really?” Mel laughed. “I would’ve loved to see that.”

“Laid him out. Of course, he went to jail for it. Burle’s not a guy that can handle a good old fist fight. For as big as he is, he ain’t got hands.”

“Still would’ve loved to see it,” Mel said. He stared up the wall, wishing he could find a way to get better spread. Maybe they had a roller in the barn he could go look for. Not that a roller would be easy, because he’d need a pan to roll the paint. So maybe not a…

Mel was startled by a crash from the side barn. Shit. Max. It was a loud, full crash. Mel could guess at what it was, and his guess would’ve been bad news. But it would’ve been accurate, as he opened the side door to the barn with protest and the first thing he saw was light pouring down from a massive gouge in the roof. He followed the light to see Max, struggling in a pile of plank and splinter.

The dark streaks on his shirt and pants weren’t there before. Mel only hoped the stains were tar,

***

Mel knew from his emergency medical training that when you have an injured person, you don’t move them from the ground, lest you do further damage to them, resulting in internal bleeding, or even paralysis. But his emergency training was largely memes, YouTube videos and one CPR First Aid class he took when he was twenty, which he had largely forgotten courtesy of the many bong-loads that were powering him at the time. He ran in and found Max struggling to free himself of the wood that entrapped him. So apparently Max was in fighting shape.

Mel helped him get free and looked him over. He had lacerations over his abdomen, some deep and still bleeding, and his jeans were shredded. He had a wide, dark stain on his thigh – Mel feared it was an artery, but if it was, Max would drop before he could get up. When he managed to get up, hobbling and in need of Mel’s shoulder to brace, Mel figured the artery must have gone unmolested.

“We gotta get you to a hospital, man,” Mel said.

“I’ll be okay.”

“The fuck you will be. At the least you need stitches. At the most, you need a full workup to make sure you don’t have internal injuries.”

“Yes doctor. Will you take my Master Burger coupon?” He turned his head and smiled, but Mel could see that it took something out of him.

“They’ll bill you,” Mel said. “You worried about your credit?”

“No sir.”

“Let’s find Casey.” Mel got Max to a folding chair by the barn door. “You don’t move. I’m going to look for Casey or Burle.”

“Fuck Burle,” Max muttered. “Fuck Casey too.”

Mel wished Andy hadn’t gone back to school, he could’ve used him. Casey was always where you didn’t want him to be. Tired and need a rest? There was Casey, looking over your shoulder. Injured worker? He was sure to be clear across the farm.

Mel was about to head to the farmhouse to get Burle when Casey showed up on his golf cart.

“Max fell through the roof,” Mel said. “We need to get him to the ER.”

“Hold on now,” Casey said. “Hop in; let’s go take a look at him first.”

Mel hopped in, wondering if Casey was as easy to flatten out as Burle.

“So you’re a medic or an EMT on the off time?”

“I’ve been around here a lot,” Casey said. “Seen a lot of injuries. I’ll know what to do.”

They made it to the barn. Max was slumped over, supporting the weight of his head on his elbow. Mel jumped out and poked Max to attention, relieved that it worked. Casey came over and poked Max too – with a gardening glove, right on his wounds, causing Max to whimper.

“Alright,” he said. “It just looks like cuts and scrapes.” He bent over to Max’s ear. “Max? I’m going to get you on the cart and get you back to your tent. Rest up, we’ll give you tomorrow off. With full pay.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Mel, he’ll be fine. He just needs to rest.”

“You might be sending him to his death.” Mel said.

Casey lifted Max up under his arm. “Do you plan on driving him there? Waiting with him? Paying the bill?”

“Do you plan on talking to the cops when the coroner has to remove a cut-up body?”

“Do you plan on talking to them?” Casey said.

“He needs to go to a hospital,” Mel said. “I’ll take him if you won’t.” Mel decided to meet his challenge by diverting it.

Casey had Max loaded in the golf cart. He stood there, hands on his hips, looking around. It was then that Mel noticed three of the workers standing around, hopefully having heard the conversation.

“We’ll take him to the house, see what Burle wants to do.”

They drove the cart right up to the front door. Burle was in the porch, doing paperwork. Casey hopped out. So did Mel.

“What happened?” Burle asked.

“He fell through the side roof of the barn,” Mel said.

“He’s a little cut up,” Casey said. “I offered to let him have tomorrow off, take him to the clearing, but Mel thinks he knows better.”

“He’s not himself,” Mel said. “He fell on his back, he’s got severe cuts that probably need stitches, and he’s acting like he’s got a concussion.”

“Have you ever seen a concussion?” Burle said.

“I’ve had concussions.” Mel lied, but Burle lied all the time.

Burle walked down the steps and poked Max in pretty much the same way Casey did.

“Max, you want to take a shower, see how you feel?” Max pulled his arm out from beneath his head and gave a thumbs up.

“See? Let’s just get him in the shower,” Burle said. “That’ll wake him up, make him feel better.”

Mel pictured Max, barely able to stand as it was, slipping on the shower and finishing what the roof started.

“He needs to go to the ER to be checked out,” Mel said. “No showering, no ‘patch and pray.’ Just cause we got nowhere to go doesn’t mean we’re equipment you can bang around till you find the trick that works. I will take him. No matter what. If you won’t take him, I will.”

“What about your son?”

“My son can take care of himself for a night,” Mel said. “And if he needs anything, the others will be on it, I have no doubt. Or I’ll take him with me.”

Burle looked over to Casey, who shrugged and looked back. Max leaned back and looked like he was trying to perk up, but having a medium go at it.

“I’ll bring him,” Burle said. “I need you to paint the barn.”

“Thank you.” Mel said.

Burle pulled the car keys out of his pocket and motioned Casey to pull Max up and transport him to the pickup truck. “The gas money is coming out of what I get for your painting,” he said.

Mel hid his disgust and wondered what hospital he could get Max to for five hundred dollars’ worth of gas.

 

 

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