Fuck. No.
“What the fuck?” Fists pounding, I protest his assault with shouts and kicks and poorly angled punches but it gets me nowhere as Jason carries me through the freezing cold to the barn and plants me beside a large butcher block table that’s at least a foot thick, supported by sturdy wooden legs.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shout as soon as I’m on steady ground. I feel a little ridiculous balling my fists at my side, like a child standing up to a grown up.
Jason just turns around and leaves the barn, but not before taking a fuckingsawoff the wall. Before the door swings shut I spot Dylan stepping out onto the back porch in his snow attire as well. He must be going to help Jason bring in the elk.
I could risk the cold by going back to the house, but there’s at least two and a half feet of snow outside since the last time I shoveled. And my clothes would get soaked. Is it really worth it?
What the fuck is Jason’s game? Why does he insist on pushing my buttons and my boundaries? I thought we were making some progress with our coexistence when he showed me the breathtaking frozen pond. And we read together almost every night. I’ve kept that habit up mainly because I have nothing else to do. We started Heart of Darkness two nights ago. I’ve never read this one before, either.
I’m stuck standing in the moderately warmer barn waiting for the two dickheads to come back and get me. I don’t have a watch and there isn’t a clock in the barn so I have no idea how much time passes. But it feels like a while.
As I’m taking my first step toward the door, it flies open letting a flurry of snowflakes in. I’m met with the dark eyes of a decapitated elk that are truthfully smaller than I realized. The most horrifying part—more terrifying than the bloody entrails hanging from its neck—is the fact that the mouth is hanging open. If the tongue was hanging out as well, I might have vomitedright on the spot.
I jerk back at the gruesome sight as Jason stomps into the barn knocking snow off his boots in the process. He looks me dead in the eye as he steps in from the cold before gently lowering the elk head to the ground against the wall.
Dylan joins us with what looks like one fourth of the elk’s body slung over his shoulders. The elk looked massive from the window. But up close, even in pieces, it’s ginormous. I always pictured elk the same as deer, like Bambi. Clearly, they are substantially bigger and entirely made of muscle. Maybe that’s why everyone in Oregon goes nuts for them, the payoff of meat for one kill is exponentially higher than deer.
“Did you cut it up in the snow?” I ask with a sneer on my face. I don’t even want to look in that direction when I go back to the house. It’s probably a bloodbath amidst the pristine white.
“Had to,” Dylan explains, “those fuckers are too heavy to carry back in one piece.” Dylan swings the chunk of meat off his shoulders and onto the butcher block table with a huff of air. He certainly sounds like he exerted energy transporting it back.
Jason leaves, presumably to collect another piece of the elk carcass. But Dylan rummages through some tools laid out on a folding table instead of helping his brother. Pretty soon, he has an array of knives and tools laid out on the butcher block just as Jason returns with another hunk of elk meat.
“Why do I have to watch this?” I direct my question at Jason although I know he can’t answer. But I swear the way he looks at me is almost audible. I can almost hear him saybecause you need to learn. Though, I don’t know what it is I need to learn.
Dylan dons a pair of latex gloves before taking a knife in hand and starts cutting the fur away from the meat, skinning the poor beast to reveal the red meat beneath the surface. Blood is everywhere, by now, and the sound of him tearing the skin away from the body is one I’ll never forget. It’s akin to Velcro being ripped apart, but add a touch of slasher movie soundtrack to it.
I turn my head so I don’t have to watch but remain rooted to the spot I’vebeen in since Jason returned with my arms banded across my chest. I’m too stunned to move, at this point.
Jason heads out to collect the rest. And by the time the entire elk is in the barn in pieces, Dylan has the first part free of skin and fur and Jason aids in cutting chunks off to freeze for later.
To my utter horror, Jason strides across the barn with an outstretched bloody, gloved hand and grabs my arm, careful not to get the blood on my skin. I’m logical enough to know the blood won’t hurt me, but the idea of it touching my skin still sends shivers up my spine.
With no room for argument, Jason yanks me toward the workstation and hands me a pair of gloves. I stare at the gloves then at the butchered piece of elk I saw standing in the yard not that long ago. After putting the gloves on, as directed, Jason hands me a knife and guides my hands to start cutting the meat away from the bone, pointing at fatty pieces we don’t want, and expertly slicing the proper shapes.
It’s disgusting. But I do it anyway. I’ve learned well enough that if Jason is insistent on something, there’s little room for protest. So I do my part to earn my keep here and help them cut up the poor animal.
It takes nearly the entire day, but together we get the bones clear of meat and save as much as we can. Dylan explained that the liver is a great vitamin replacement, and the bones make excellent broth. No part of this sacrifice was wasted.
And by the end of the process, that’s what this feels like, a sacrifice. Dylan said the elk had lived a long life, he told me that once elk reach this age, they run the risk of impregnating their own daughters and creating genetic inbreeding that’s bad for the population. This is all part of the wildlife dynamic that keeps the species going.
I saw the way the elk dropped in a heartbeat, it didn’t suffer, didn’t even know what was happening by the time it was over. That sounds like a peaceful way to go.
After an entire day of cutting up elk meat, vacuum sealing it, and storing it in the freezer, my body felt like I’d run a marathon. Processing an elk isway more strenuous than I imagined.
And that’s the reason I slept in this morning. One of the boys had to bang on my door to finally pull me from my slumber. The clock says eight in the morning when I roll over to see it. Only an hour later than I normally get up. But I’ve certainly started going to bed earlier with all the work I’ve been doing.
It’s Thanksgiving, which means both Jason and Dylan are putting their work aside for a day (aside from tending to the animals) to cook for the day. Dylan was raving about Jason’s grilling skills and stuffing while we butchered the elk. And he assigned me the task of making rolls today.
Seeing as it’s a holiday, I decide to wear the long dress from the trunk of clothes that belonged to Mrs. Alder. It’s a sage green maxi dress speckled with little white flowers. The top is smocked with long sleeves that bunch at the cuff so I can roll them to my elbows while I work. Since I don’t have my usual styling products, my hair either hangs down my back or lives in a bun atop my head. Occasionally I opt for a braid like I am today. My hair isn’t exceptionally long but it’s long enough to hang over my shoulder, a nicer way to keep it out of my face without crinkling it into a mess.
When I land on the main level of the house, Jason is in the kitchen already at work smothering a huge chunk of elk meat in some sort of seasoning. He pauses briefly to eye my attire, I’ve never considered how it would make them feel to see me in their mother’s clothes. Logically, I know they willingly allowed me to wear them, but it was more out of necessity than generosity.
I don’t know how their parents died. Their father died during our senior year of high school. I think I heard it was an accident or maybe he drank himself to death. I don’t know. I didn’t really care enough to pay attention to the small town gossip. Their mother must have passed away after I’d moved to California.
The dark gray color of his eyes flashes silver before he goes back to working on our dinner.Ignore it, he’s probably just not sure how to feel about someone wearing his mom’s clothes.
