Snowdrops and Snapdragons {Charity}

When he heard Noreen’s voice, Scutcher was sure that he’d finally gotten off to sleep- but that couldn’t be right, since the snowdrops under his fingertips still felt as soft and real in the dream as they did in real life. Pulling the papers from his face, he had to admit that the soft light did feel a little otherworldly, especially the way that it played on the strands of Noreen’s hair. Blinking a little, balling the mathematics and equations into his fist, Scutcher slid up and looked over at her- mouth as slack jawed as usual, eyes round and very blue, fighting for his face not to flush.

There couldn’t be a more perfect person on the whole planet, the whole world than Noreen right now, smiling in a floaty dress like she’d ridden on a cloud, pillowed and protected by a little layer of fat that she’d amassed, stomach protruding incredibly noticeably. What was the word they used, glowing? Well they were wrong; Noreen was beyond glowing, beyond luminescent, like a star up close, or a supernova about to explode. Running his hand through his hair, Scutcher found it impossible not to smile- felt her draw one out of him like pulling it into her orbit.

“You got real fat,” he said with a hushed sort of reverence through his grin. “It’s...it’s…” How do you describe the way your heart clenches in your chest? The way that a person appears so real and full of colour yet too perfect to be anything other than a dream that you know you’d be able to see even when you shut your eyes? For a smart person it would be difficult, for Scutcher it was almost impossible. Single syllables, montone staccato hardly seemed to do it justice. “You look real pretty, Noreen,” he finally decided on, with a solemn nod to show that he thoroughly meant every word of it. And of course, in the moments following, he immediately turned scarlet.

Go back to familiar territory, back to the garden, Scutcher. Take it easy. Don’t crash.

“I’m thinking of puttin’ a water butt down here,” he stammered, standing up quickly and gesturing to the garden. “Might get dry down here in summer and I can’t be bringin’ water down from my place- we use a lot in summer for the mud in the field ,else the pigs get unhappy. My dad would notice too an’ he don’t need to know nothin’ about this place.” No Scutcher’s father certainly did not; there were extra vegetables at dinner but Loomis Tansy never seemed to care, never seemed grateful for it, just sitting back in his chair spitting out tobacco and hate around the room. If Scutcher’s dad came to know about this place then that would be the end of Scutcher coming here for good- especially when he had so much to do with the pigs.

And maybe Scutcher’s dad was right, maybe he really shouldn’t be here- leaving his responsibility to his family somewhere at edge of the wood, shedding his worries like a second skin the minute that the familiar smell of lavender hit him. But Scutcher couldn’t not be here, he couldn’t. He needed this place far more than it needed him watering and weeding, needed the reminder that in all of this mud and this grime that there could still be beautiful things, quiet things. He needed to be around Noreen. Not the way it was at school, too terrified to approach her in front of all those eyes, seeming to wait until he tripped up so that Scutcher always thought that he would. No. It had to be here and in the private where he felt like he could talk properly.

Or not talk, no pressure. It was nice to just sit, or kneel at the flowerbed pulling out the last straggling strands of weeds, simply feeling another person’s presence somewhere in the back of his mind as opposed to the frightening, obvious strain of social interaction. Especially with someone who actually wanted to see him and she’d even said so- someone who wasn’t just putting up with him to be polite, because they had to or because they were family. No, just someone who for some reason enjoyed his company.

“It’s good to see you too, Noreen,” smiled Scutcher. “How have you been?”

On jelly legs Scutcher staggered back a little, as though pushed in the chest firmly by her words. Eyes like saucers, his brows furrowed and then relaxed, as though tracking the information as it travelled through cortex, synapse and lobes. But for all of that, his brain wouldn’t quite tell him how to react. It wasn’t a surprise though, was it? It was obvious, wasn’t it…was it…what? Well now obviously it was, now that she’d said it. Of course the protuberance in her stomach was from a baby, it had been growing for weeks and weeks now and maybe she’d mentioned something, hadn’t she? He definitely should have known. Honestly, Scutcher didn’t think he’d been paying attention, getting lost up in her hair and her eyes and her smile, the rest, the reality just blurring until his mind had given him something more manageable, something a little less like the real girl Noreen and more like a fantasy.

“Babies,” he repeated, softly. “Noreen, you’re gonna be somebody’s momma,” Scutcher said-as though she didn’t already know- in the same sort of hushed reverence he’d used before, like she was something special and magical. Almost everything he knew about babies was from pigs, and it only took them three months to make a litter so they got bigger much faster than she had done- but mothers were the same in every species; watching over their litter, giving them everything that they needed for as long as they could. He thought of his own mother, with her sad, heavy lidded eyes and her low soothing voice- always patient with him, slipping him a smile as she passed him his dinner. It was a good thing, being a mother.

As she turned away from him though, towards the garden and the weeds, somewhere deep down was the slow disheartening realisation that she was going to be with Jack forever now. The beginnings of her family was all right there inside of her, a family that had no room or Scutcher in it. It would have happened sooner or later, but while he’d been hoping for the latter, this was far far sooner than Scutcher could have imagined. Like she said, she’d get bigger; it was harder for the sows to get around when they were in pig, mostly laying inside the pig arks, nesting, barely venturing out into the yard and then when they had their babies they mostly devoted all of their time to caring for them. It would go the same way with Noreen and eventually she’d stop coming to the garden altogether. Things would go back to being the way they were before he’d ever met her; winter turns into spring but always comes back around again. But it would be worse, because at least before, he didn’t know her so he couldn’t miss her.

The thought roared in Scutcher’s ears like an angry ocean, so loudly that he hardly heard her speaking to him. Just stood still somewhere behind her, a few paces away, a million miles, watching her weeding- his shoulders stiff, worrying on his lip so savagely he could have drawn blood. Scutcher wanted to go home, right now and stop thinking about the garden completely- leave her before she had the chance to leave him. See how’d she’d like it. Though of course, she probably wouldn’t care.

But she patted the ground and Scutcher did as he was told, sinking to his knees and staring very fixedly at the ground, burying his fingers into the mud, where he felt safe and comforted. In this sulk, he could barely dredge up any excitement, even for his pigs- the topic that would usually, making do with mumbling to his knees. “S’fine.” Scutcher’s ears felt hot, his fingers slow and stupid.

“I looked at the potatoes the other day…” he said finally, moodily, taking a handful of roots, not really caring if they were flowers or weeds and pulling them up roughly, before pushing all of his weight into throwing them aside. Scutcher regretted that as soon as he had finished, looking at the forlorn snowdrop plant hurtling across the garden before falling, limp and sad onto the floor. “They’re no good, not one of ‘em. I didn’t grow ‘em right, frost must’ve gotten in... All of ‘em got rotten.”

Of course she’d choose to ditch Scutcher first chance she got; he couldn’t even take care of potatoes, couldn’t tell a snowdrop from a weed when he saw one.

Out of habit, Scutcher flinched and his shoulders stiffened as Nonnie took his hand though he knew better than that she would try to hurt him. But her fingers felt strange, invading and prickling at his skin, making the hair on his arms stand on end. They were gentle, of course they were- how could Noreen be anything but gentle- but they could have been claws to Scutcher, or dry twigs and thorns scratching deep enough to draw blood. He was rigid as a board, chest thumping so hardly that Scutcher was sure she must be able to hear the echoing drum as a board as the hand went to her stomach. After that, Scutcher didn’t dare let himself relax.

She’d done this so that he could feel the baby kick, but all Scutcher could feel was her, her stomach, her skin beneath the dress. Even with her belly so big, she was delicate and he didn’t dare put too much weight onto his hand as if she might shatter. He’ never touched Noreen like this, never done it at all if you didn’t count accidental brushes that made Scutcher almost leap out of his skin with panic and want to apologise for immediately afterwards. This though, this was with purpose, with a little pressure, so close to being almost intimate. He liked it, felt a curl of something stir at his core, and hated himself for liking it so much that it wasn’t long before he started to hate it too. The world started to spin a little and, from inside of her, the baby kicked as though letting Scutcher know that it was onto his game.

Scutcher pulled his hand away as though it had been scalded, cradling it in the other. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at her, sure that he would flush a guilty shade of carmine if he so much as caught a glimpse of her steely blue irises. His breath was so loud, to him, as it pushed its way out that it was almost obscene. Without really thinking, he worried on his lip and with fingernails unkempt and split with malnourishment and rough work he pinched down on the sensitive skin that stretched between each finger, finding that at least soothing.

Like a flower turning towards the sun, he turned his head upwards from the ground slowly, hopefully as she began to mention blackberry pie. He’d had one, he was sure, in the far off past- back when he was always smiling in his memories and there was laughter and warmth. He remembered hot, sharp juice running deep rich purple, oozing from beneath crisp golden pastry, sucking on a spoon until each crumb and scrap was finally gone. Of course though, his mother hadn’t made pies in quite some time now- especially not a frivolous sweet tasting dessert pie and Scutcher realised how desperately he wanted to have one.

His father, though, would call it charity and the Tansy family ‘didn’t have no need for charity or pity’, hawking up another ball of pheglm and spitting it right into the middle of a stew that someone from the chicken factory had given to mom to take home. This almost definitely was pity on Noreen’s part, as though trying to sweeten him up with sweets so she would feel better about abandoning him and the garden when she was happy at home later. Well screw her, and screw the desserts, he wasn’t a child.

But then again, it couldn’t be charity if the fruit was part his too and his tongue had began to ache for the sharpness and sweetness of blackberries. No mention of what had happened earlier, no more talk of babies, Scutcher rose his head and nodded.

“Yeah…sounds good,” he mumbled and had almost achieved a half smile, before a niggling feeling hit him. He’d have to walk over to Noreen’s house, bake the pie, eat the pie and walk home and there was no way that they’d do that in under two hours. Even being here was neglecting his duties on the farm, but he was banking on his dad not noticing- but there was no way that wouldn’t happen if he was at Noreen’s long as he predicted they would be.

“I dunno though…” Scutcher dove his hand into his hair and began to ruffle it worriedly. “I can’t be away from the farm for too long…it’s my…well, you know, it gets real busy this time of year. I aint even supposed to be here really”

“Of course I do, you know I do… more than anythin’,” said Scutcher desperately, starting forwards before he’d even realised what he was saying, tripping over his tongue and spilling his guts among the rosemary plants. Casting his eyes down, Scutcher couldn’t believe how easily that had fallen out of him. It was true, though, that Scutcher would trade almost anything for a moment next to her, that when she wasn’t around it was all he could do not to think about her, and then when he was around her it was all he could do to keep his heart from exploding inside of his chest. But he never thought he’d say it right in front of her like that.

“I mean…we’re friends aint we?” He asked seriously, wanting to hear what she said, not wanting to, not really knowing what he wanted, if anything at all. His fingers felt strange and awkward, so it was easier to help her with the blackberries, something small to occupy his time while his question was floating out there in the ether. She said she wanted to treat Scutcher, and that was what friends did, didn’t they? They did things for each other like invite each other home for pie and help them in gardens. Noreen was nice enough to do that for him, but he still didn’t see why Noreen wanted to be his friend, half expected there to be some cruel punch line at the end of all this if he didn’t know Noreen any better. He couldn’t make her laugh, couldn’t bake her a pie or invite her home unless she wanted to be confronted with the sight of Loomis Tansy swearing at the stump where his leg used to be and vomiting on the kitchen table. He couldn’t do anything except wear the title of ‘friend’ like an ill fitting, uncomfortable suit that hadn’t been made for him.

And somewhere ,deep down, something was whispering ‘but I don’t want to be her friend, not the way that she does’, a part of himself that Scutcher didn’t like all that much and tried his best to ignore. Cupping fat blackberries in his hand, Scutcher tipped his head to look at Noreen, “It won’t matter none to my dad why I’m late, just that I am,” he confessed, aware that this was the first time he’d spoken properly to Noreen about his situation at home in plain definite terms. Considering the circumstances and the way he’d looked upon their first meeting, Scutcher was pretty sure that she knew that something was going on at home. But Scutcher had never really acknowledged it to anyone outside of the family. Partly because it wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s business and mostly, he was now ready to admit, because if he never spoke about it outside of the house then it was almost like it wasn’t happening at all.

Smiling faintly at the leaves and twisting thorns of the blackberry bush, Scutcher spoke more to it than to Noreen, “He’s always lookin’ for some excuse. I can bust my ass off at the farm, but it won’t never be good enough. I swear he’s happiest when I mess up bad enough fer him to really do somethin’.” A bumble bee came to rest on a thin white blackberry flower and Scutcher made himself stare at the wings to calm himself down, and when he did he realised with a dawning horror that he’d let his mouth get away from him yet again.

“But it aint his fault,” said Scutcher, turning to look at Noreen quickly. “My dad…you know…he’s got stuff. An’…well it all used to be good. He was a good dad,” Scutcher could see the old farm, the proper pig pens and the farmhouse made from stone and wood, rugs on the floor, fire in the hearth and the smell of pies from a stove. More vibrant of them all was the man who let Scutcher ride on his shoulders out to the farm and taught him everything he knew- even now, after all this, Scutcher was loyal to the memory of a man long gone above all else. “But he got sick…an’ they had to cut his leg off so he can’t work no more.”

Eyes back on the floor, trying to steady himself for what was coming. The sound of ceiling boards creaking, the fetid, pungent reek of urine. What Scutcher said next was rushed, an exorcism of his past, like ripping off a Band-Aid as quickly as he could, “He never wanted to be like this. It aint a way for a man to live. So he hung himself. But I cut him down…He wanted to die but I was selfish an’ I wouldn’t let him… an’ it’s my fault. Everythin’ that’s happened since has been down to me.”

A blackberry had burst in a clenched fist and Scutcher hadn’t realised it, sticky juices running down his wrists and into his shirt, “I know everyone thinks I’m stupid an’ I can’t take care of myself, but that aint why I stay at home,” Scutcher shook his head fiercely and ruffled his hair again. “My mom, my dad, my sister- they need me. They need me more than I need them, an’ my dad hates that. But he knows I won’t ever leave either.” Looking down at his hand, he saw his purple palms and wiped them on the front of his jeans, finally daring to look Noreen in the eye.

It was the most he’d said to anyone in about five years.

Noreen was the nicest person in the world, thought Scutcher- even if his shoulders were stiff and the hair on the back of his neck was prickling. She was so nice that it was getting hard to breathe under the pressure and he might have raised an arm a little, as though something in his muscle memory knew to let it rest on the small of her back, but he couldn't quite do it. Maybe not even because he didn't want to, maybe just because he really did. The smell from the garden was almost too much for Scutcher; heady and maddening as though the pollen in the air carried something hot and feverish with it. Her hair smelt nice too, he realized; like soft summer fruits and delicate orange blossom.

The heavy way she spoke and the feeling of her tears on his shoulders made his jaw ache and his throat hurt for her. She was saying that she understood, Scutcher thought and her parents made her cry too. It was odd that such a horrible thing united them; that she'd left home because of her parents, a swallow in a cage finally released and finally free. Scutcher was glad that she'd gotten out and gotten away...it was almost like he had too then.

But there was a strange protective anger too that he'd hardly felt before and he was certain that if he saw Noreen's parents that he would want to hurt them for making her cry like this. Her smile was so pretty, the way her eyes lit up along with the corners of her mouth that he couldn't understand why anyone would ever want to make her sad ever. So if he saw her parents, he felt sure that his fists would clench and even though it had never ever happened to him before that he would want nothing more than to make them bleed and make them hurt the way they'd hurt her and that he probably wouldn't be able to stop them. More to the point, now that he knew her, he was going to make sure that nothing happened to her ever again.

So he nodded his head solemnly when she made the offer of the blackberrys, rolled out his shoulders awkwardly from where she'd touched him and stood up. "Just so you know," he added, face as serious as a heart attack. "I'm very very sorry that you're crying and...and...I wont never ever let nobody hurt you, Noreen. I promise." And he meant it too, because Scutcher always kept his promises, no matter what. He'd decided that a long time ago when he'd promised not to let his family down and to never ever be the kind of man that his dad was for as long as he lived.

Waiting for her to stand up, he folded his arms around himself a little trying to echo the hug, realizing that he was very out of practice with that sort of thing.

She took his hand, but Scutcher only let his palm lie limp in hers, conscious of the shared warmth and his vaguely clammy hand. The urge to wipe them on his jeans and return them to hers, to squeeze and really feel each inch of skin and each bone underneath, arose but he carefully ignored it. As fitting for a day of firsts, this was the first time a girl he wasn’t related to had held his hand as well- save for perhaps the dim memory of a teacher who smelt of vanilla and cherries clutching him when he was a much younger child. He tried to remember what the teacher had looked like, pretty, maybe- but when he thought of pretty he could only picture Noreen, as though she was the only pretty girl on the planet.

Looking over at her on the walk, he couldn’t help but meet her eyes and shoot her a shy smile, eyes drifting down again to her belly, smile fading ever so slightly. “The sows at the farm had their babies in the spring. It sure sounded like it hurts.”
The house was in town, far from grand as was fitting with the rest of the architecture in district 10. But it seemed clean, neat and made from sturdy wood with a porch that Scutcher imagined people sitting on when the days were at their longest and their hottest, passing around homemade lemonade, people watching until an amber sun sank into the horizon. Jack really did have everything, didn’t he? Scutcher thought, with a knot of jelousy in his stomach, leaving him more than a little green around the edges.

At the edge of the porch, by the front door without a hint of peeling, scabbing paint, Scutcher stopped awkwardly and looked down at his boots, caked in mud as usual. “I should…I don’t wanna mess up the house.” He said quietly and bent over to unlace them. Already he felt like he didn’t belong; like something weird and wild and dirty that had no place indoors with civilised people. Scutcher bet that in this house people talked to eachother at dinner, maybe even laughed over shared jokes and helped eachother out.

Even his socks were muddy, but he kept his feet in them, wiggling his cotton-clad toes on the porch awkwardly as he set his big old battered boots to one side by the door. She’d said that everyone else was out- he thought- but Scutcher wanted her to clarify, just to make sure. He didn’t want to have to run into Jack’s parents, complete strangers who might want to talk to him and ask him questions or, perhaps even worse, Jack himself. “Is Jack…did Jack go out someplace? Did he say how long he’d be gone?” he asked, trying his best to be subtle about it, which was of course as subtle as a sledgehammer.

“You know, I aint ever baked a pie before. Aint ever had no one teach me how to cook. My mom probably don’t want me makin’ a mess or somethin’,” he smiled again. “But I’m sure I could help…if you wanted me to.”