(no subject)
May. 5th, 2006 12:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_f_twistSeems that fence and that gate get worse ever year, and when Jack finally straightens, his back cracks in protest. One hand on the gate, the other on his hip, he looks out over the empty plains, squinting and sweating, before he swings the gate back and forth, testing.
It creaks a bit, but holds, and despite the heat and the ache in his neck, Jack grins, pleased with himself, takes off the rough work gloves covering his hands and sticks them in his back pocket when he turns around to head back.
The house itself squats, gray and sullen--one more lump out here in the middle a godforsaken nowhere, and the screen door bangs behind him when he heads into the kitchen, hangs his hat up on a nail by the door and gets a glass, runs some cool tap water into it.
Home sweet home.
It creaks a bit, but holds, and despite the heat and the ache in his neck, Jack grins, pleased with himself, takes off the rough work gloves covering his hands and sticks them in his back pocket when he turns around to head back.
The house itself squats, gray and sullen--one more lump out here in the middle a godforsaken nowhere, and the screen door bangs behind him when he heads into the kitchen, hangs his hat up on a nail by the door and gets a glass, runs some cool tap water into it.
Home sweet home.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-06 07:32 pm (UTC)Stupid, really, to go out and mow the lawn in the middle of the hottest part of the day, but Jack is restless and smarting and stifled in the kitchen, so he puts his empty, rinsed plate on the counter and turns around to put a hand--big and rough-worn--gentle on his momma's shoulder, bends down to give her worn cheek a kiss.
"Thanks for lunch, Momma."
When he straightens, he looks right at his father, trying to ignore the brown stain by the corner of John's mouth.
"Might go out 'n check on the stock after. Like you said, plenty a work to do. Figure I'll be back for dinner." The last is said more to his mother, while his hand leaves her shoulder and he turns to the door, takes his beat-up hat from off the nail on the wall and settles it on his head. Gotta go, gotta work, gotta get out of here, gotta find some air to breathe because hell if he can get any in this place.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-06 08:46 pm (UTC)And there's a dozen things she wants to say, really. Don't chew at the table, and The day he doesn't come back because of you is the day I'll go out and won't come back either, and Please, and mostly, What happened? because she's certain once they were--maybe not happy, even, but it didn't feel like hell to have a meal.
Dozens of things that could be said, and all she says is, "Got washing to do," as she stands and goes to gather the laundry.
Always something to do, after all.