The Farm
by Matt Hasek
We were quickly nearing the end of the one mile road in Sussex,
Virginia. The trees on our left flew by at a speed of fifty five, and soon
began to thin out until we reached the field that stretched in front of
the house that my grandparents raised their five children in. Aunt Beth,
my mother’s older sister, inherited the house when her father died. The
house was the same as I always remembered. Its white paneling, though
dirty, seemed pure when in contrast to the black shutters lining the many
windows on the face of the house. I turned into their long dirt driveway.
The countless acres of soybean plants waved hello in the breeze on either
side of my car. I pulled the car up behind the house.
Before getting out, I stole a glance at the only person I really
would have wanted to make the trip with. His back was straight even as
he unclicked his seatbelt. I wondered if he sat with such good posture the
whole five hours. His short, dark hair hadn’t lost its edginess even after
the long day, probably because he always raked his hand back through it.
I tried copying him once, but it just didn’t work for me.
We closed the car doors and stretched in the new surroundings.
Though the breeze wasn’t noticeable, the crops still whispered secrets of
the wind. The air smelled of nothing, it was simply fresh and clear, the
way the country should smell. Eric took in the soybean field next to my
late granddaddy’s house. As we drifted over to the porch door, I noticed
him gazing off to the distant tree line opposite the field. He remained
speechless as he tried to tak R