Yesterday in the butcher shop, he wore a black T-shirt that showed how cut he was and all his tattoos.Hell, his voice is even cut.He had that drill sergeant’s voice when it came to the command of it. He wasn’t loud or forceful. He just was.
I wasn’t sure if he saw me first or if I saw him this morning. I was always focused when I ran, but when I saw Dawson as he ran toward me with no shirt on, I was sad to admit that I almost tripped on air. To see that not only were his arms fully tatted, so was his chest and back had me feeling all of the feels.Yes, I ashamedly turned around to get a glimpse.
My arm lifted to look at my watch.Five miles in forty-two minutes.A little relaxed but not bad. I did my scan of the porch before I stepped onto it. I huffed lowly when I saw Mrs. Cook at the front desk with her three sons. I wasn’t sure how old they were; it was early, so I assumed they were on their way to school.
I tried my best to get past them without speaking, but that was too good to be true. “Miss Winters, good morning! These are my boys. They are on their way to school. Boys, say hi.”
Her three sons turned around. Their eyes scanned me from my head to my feet with devilish smirks on their faces. “Damn, you’re fine and thick as fuck,” the tallest one said. He slapped his hand on the counter. “We’re out. We have something to do after school.”
As the boys walked out, they spoke loudly about if they had an opportunity to fuck me that they would. My head slowly shifted to Mrs. Cook to see her reaction. Embarrassment was present, but more shame outweighed it. She gave a nervous shrug. “What can I say? Boys will be boys.”
She’s the problem.“I’m sure that’s what every rapist’s mother said when they were jailed or killed for their iniquities. Boys will be boys, though.”
I left her there with the crazy look on her face. Yeah, she was crazy if she thought that kind of behavior was just boys being boys. That was predatory behavior. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had already violated someone’s daughter in town.
I had less than an hour to get ready for work. Yesterday, I reached out to my job and let them know that I needed to take an intermittent leave, which was covered under my FMLA. Dawson didn’t tell me that I needed any documentation for work, but I would bring some just in case.
I started my shower before I stripped out of my clothes. One thing that I could say was that the shower pressure here was amazing. This little bed-and-breakfast was also a little gem.
Dawson didn’t tell me what I would be doing today or how long I would be there. Luckily, I was used to long workdays. It was hard to admit that I was excited about today.
I arrived at the butcher shop at 0550 sharp. The sky was gorgeous here this morning. When I pulled into the parking lot, he sat in his nice, huge truck. He didn’t get out until I climbed out of mine. His work boots were worn, the same as the hat that he wore. There was a little bit of a chill in the air that I attributed his thermal to. There was a cup of a hot liquid in his hand.
“Early, I see.” His words broke me out of my observation of him. “I like that.” He walked slowly toward me.
I nodded. “You said 0600. To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late. To be late, never,” I responded.
“Coffee? You look like a cream, no sugar kind of girl,” he said with a smirk.
I took the cup from him, then took a slow sip. It was a perfect cup of coffee. “Thank you. None for you?”
“I drink my coffee before my runs. I figured that we would start today with a tour of the farm, then come back here to do your paperwork and tour. By that time, it should be time for lunch. Do you feel comfortable riding in my truck, or would you like to follow behind me?”
This was a test on whether I would trust him. Would I be willing to be a part of his squad? I knew that if I wanted to work cohesively and harmoniously with him, and anyone else that I might work with, that I would have to trust. “Yes, I will ride with you.”
I followed him to his truck. Before I opened the door, I scanned it as well as the back seat. The windows were tinted but not to the point that I couldn’t see if someone or something was back there. By the time I got in, he had already started it.
“Do you ever turn it off?” he asked. It was too broad of a question.
I glanced at him, more because I wanted to understand his intent behind the question than the question itself. “Do I ever turn what off?”
“The hypervigilance. Does that ever turn off?” He took his eyes off the dirt road for a quick second to put them on me.
I chose not to answer the question. Instead, I focused on the gold that started to peak through the blue skies. I gazed at the pastures which were breathtaking. This was my first time on a farm. I saw the cattle in the distance, minding their cattle business. I came out of my daze when the truck stopped.
We both got out, and he walked around to my side. “Alright, let me give you the lay of the land. It can be a lot, but don’t let it overwhelm you,” he encouraged. “The south pastures have our breeding stock. The east has our weanlings.”
He paused to give me a moment to ask a question. “What is that? Weanlings?”
“To put it simple, those are babies who are no longer on their mommy’s milk. They’re still young and getting used to grass, hay, or our feed. We keep them separate so we can watch them for separation anxiety and shit. Plus, their introduction to new food needs to be methodical. We treat them like babies . . . slow, soft, and steady,” he said.
I looked to the east, then out of habit scanned for things like blind spots, elevations, exits. It was the same thing that I would do for terrain overseas. I heard him mumble about my hypervigilance, but once again, I chose to ignore him. “This is a lot of land. It’s beautiful.”
He thanked me for the compliment, then said that our next stop was the barn. He walked beside me, not in front of me. I could tell that it was intentional on his part. He wanted me to understand that there was no ego or superiority. The barn was red and big. He told me that it was the main barn.
Hay and leather were the smells while the stamps of horses were the sound. The horses were so big and pretty. “Here, take these,” he instructed after he extended a pair of work gloves out to me. “The first thing that you need to know is on the farm, we take care of each other. By each other, I mean the people, the animals, the land.”
His eyes focused on mine. In that moment, it felt like we weren’t just two people who stood in a barn on a farm. We were two soldiers on a battlefield of sort on a mission for unity. No ego. He wasn’t my employer, and I wasn’t his employee. I was a part of the squad. “Copy.”
