Work Text:
Winnie
I’m not sure what I thought I was going to feel when I stepped out of the airport. After all, it’s been seven years since I’ve last been in Warren county. If you held up a picture of the small airport from the last time I was here in 1977 and now, in 1984, I don’t think anyone could really tell the difference. Honestly, the only thing that’s changed is the cars driving past the terminal road, but what actually changed about them was the extra rust and dents on the side of the car. However, I don’t see any differences on the wooden bench to the left of the airport entrance. Well, it’s technically the entrance and the exit, but I suppose that’s the perk of a small county airport. Just looking at the bench, I can’t help but think of him.
I wonder how he felt when I left. It feels like yesterday when we sat next to each other there, waiting for my one-way trip to Minneapolis. I still remember what we said to each other that day, we promised we’d write letters to each other, that we’d call each other once a month, we’d still wear those friendship bracelets. We never wrote letters. Never called, either. And I lost that bracelet in the Minneapolis airport. I pulled my duffel bag closer to my chest, lugging my suitcase behind me as I shuffled over to the bench. Now, I have to wait for my grandpa to pick me up.
Personally, I’m not sure why my parents decided to send me back to Warren county for the summer. Usually, kids go to bible study or some dingy summer camp. But this summer, I guess they had residual guilt from moving away when me and him were so close. What were they expecting, though? If we reconnected, that would just make leaving again even harder. If we didn’t reconnect, it would just be an awkward month for both of us. Even so, that all relies on the fact that he hasn’t moved. It’s a coin toss whether or not he even still lives here. I mindlessly kick a stray cigarette butt next to my bag, shooting it a few feet in front of me. I should look on the bright side. Maybe we can actually write letters to each other when I leave again. Although, I don’t really see why we’d need to. Surely, he doesn’t think about me much anymore.
A car horn blares in front of me, the source being a rusty red pickup truck. That horn used to scare me when I was younger. I never liked loud noises. Breaking out of my thoughts, my eyes darted up to see a familiar face in the driver’s window. My parents always told me I looked just like my grandpa. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes, and similar moles; one under the mouth we both share. I push myself off the bench, hoisting my duffel bag on my shoulder and extending the handle on my suitcase. Other than cards, this is the first time I’ve seen my grandpa since he visited my family in Minnesota three years ago.
“Hey, Winnie! Come give ‘yer papa a hug!” My grandpa always had a thick country accent, luckily, I never picked it up from my parents. He didn’t either. I quickened my pace to get to my grandpa, setting my things down to wrap my arms around him. “Oh, you’ve grown up so fast! How old are ‘ya now? 16?”
“Hey, grandpa! I’m 17 now, actually. I’m starting senior year after this summer’s over. How’s the ranch?” While talking, I gather my discarded things and start to head around to the back of the truck, pulling the latch on the back down so I can slide my suitcase into the truck bed, quickly followed by my duffel bag.
“Never better! We got more ranch hands since you left. Remember those kids you used to play with down at the creek? Most’ve them started working ‘ere for a summer job. Boy, even your best bud! I remember, you two used to cause trouble everywhere you went!”
So, he didn’t move.
“Oh, really?” I already threw everything into the truck bed, so I’m not quite sure what to do with my hands. I’m not sure why, but every time someone mentions him, I just feel awkward. Like, it’s some secret, taboo topic. Or maybe like my skin is itchy all over. Maybe I’m just scared of how different he’ll be. Like I have some frozen, idealized version of him in my head that would be popped by seeing him again.
“Yep! I’ll probably have him show you ‘round town. After all, it’s ‘most completely different from when you were little.” Every word sends prickles of anxiety down my arms and legs. The goosebumps make me look like I was just standing in a freezer, even though it’s already like sitting in a boiler down here. I make my way back to the front of the truck, throwing open the door and stepping up the ledge to the passenger seat.
As soon as I start to put on my seatbelt, the strong smell of old cigarettes hits my nose. It’s not as bad as I remember it being, but it’s bad nonetheless. I remember when we’d pick him up to stay over the weekend, we’d always hold our breath in the backseat. On Sunday, we’d always beg my parents to let him stay longer, partly because we wanted to have more fun, but also partly because neither of us wanted to go back in that car. I cross my arms over my chest and start to bounce my heel up and down on the floor of the car, waiting for my grandpa to hop into the car and start driving to the farm. After what felt like an hour, my grandpa hoisted himself into the driver's seat with a grunt, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the car.
“You nervous?” Once again, I was shocked out of my thoughts.
“What? What d’you mean?”
“Seeing ‘im again. It’s been ‘bout a decade, right?”
“I think so, yeah. It’s been almost seven years. Yeah. I’m a bit nervous, I’d say.”
“Trust me, it’s gonna be like no time passed!” I didn’t have a response to that. I grumbled an affirmative mhm, before facing forward towards the road. If I remember, the drive is about an hour and a half. It’s about 6:30pm right now, so we’ll get there at around 8:00pm.
Throughout the drive, my grandpa tells me all about how everything and everyone is doing. At least, that’s what I think he’s saying. He’s not asking me any questions, and I’m too preoccupied going through every possibility of what might happen when we get there. Will I recognize him? Will he even recognize me? Will we talk like no time has passed? Will we even talk at all? My mom always told me to think positively, because positive thoughts make positive actions, but I honestly can’t help it. I’m just too anxious. I started absentmindedly biting at my thumb nail, a habit I picked up during freshman year from one of my friends. Well, more like an acquaintance. I don’t think I’ve had a super close friend since him and- no. I need to think about something, anything, else.
“Am I gonna stay in my old room?” My own voice shocks me, like I spoke without thinking. My grandpa doesn’t seem fazed, and he answers my question without missing a beat.
“Yep! It’s funny, actually, his room is right ‘cross from you.” We both know who “he” referred to. My grandpa probably noticed I was stressed. Glancing down at my wrist, we probably only had around ten minutes until we arrived at the farm. Turning my head, I looked out at the fields on the side of the dirt road we were driving on. The only thing separating them was a small, rusted metal fence. Honestly, the only thing that fence could stop is a fox. Anything else could probably jump over it or crawl under it. It looks like the kind of thing we would jump over.
The car started to slow down, and through the headlights, I could see the big, blue, house I grew up running through. The truck came to a stop on a path of bare ground surrounded by grass, the dirt packed down from decades of cars parked on top of it. I unlocked my seatbelt, stretching my arms above my head before opening the door and jumping out of the car. I circle around the back, unlocking the latch and dragging my things out of the bed. I closed the hatch before hoisting my bag over my shoulder and walking toward the door to the house.
Opening the door, it’s slightly creakier than I remembered, but familiar. The walls in the entry way look like they’ve been repainted recently, a fresh, pale green. My suitcase was jostled around from the uneven floorboards as I started to walk forward.
“Why don’t you hit the hay? You can say hi to everyone tomorrow.” I turned back around to face my grandpa.
“Yeah, sure. See you in the morning.” I twisted forward to keep walking towards my room. The hallways looked practically the same other than the new paint. Same photos in the same frames, same hallway tables with the same empty vases. It’s like a trip down memory lane, except I’m actually in some of the photos. At the end of the hallway, on the wall between our doors, is a photo of us. We decorated the frame during our first play date, when we were maybe five.
Looking back at my door, I can still see the old sticker residue from when we decorated it with stickers from the dollar general in town. It’s like everything in this entire county reminds me of him. It’s like he’s always looming over me like a ghost. Looming over me like the inevitability of us seeing each other. Just as I started to turn the knob on my door, I heard someone call my name.
“Winnie?”
I jerked my head towards the source. Maybe ten feet away. He looks just like I remember. The same shaggy brown hair. The same hazel eyes. The same thick eyebrows. He’s even wearing an orange shirt. He looks almost exactly the same.
“Hey, Augustine.”
Augustine
Looking into his eyes, I feel like I’ve become encased in stone. He looks exactly like I thought he would, I just didn’t think he’d outgrow me.
“Uh, hey. You’re… visiting?” Even I was caught off guard by the twinge of annoyance and confusion in my voice. Like I was asking if I was interrogating someone. The work gloves in my hands felt a little heavier than before, and I became sensitive to their rough texture on my hands.
“Oh, um, yeah. For a month.” After he finished talking, the silence between us could’ve been cut with one of the rusty saws in the back shed near the barn. I was the first one to break eye contact, a small wave of warmth spread across my cheeks and neck as I furrowed my brows. I lowered my gaze to the worn floorboards, walking towards my door across from him.
“We can- maybe -catch up more tomorrow? I’m sure you’re tired from traveling, huh?” My voice was gruff and clipped as I whisked past him. Before he could answer, I swiftly turned and pulled myself into my room, quietly closing the rickety door behind me.
……..
I think I might be sick. Laying in my bed, I feel like I suddenly contracted vertigo. I think I always knew he’d come back eventually, but I thought I would’ve gotten at least a warning from Mr. Bosko.
Why is he here?
My entire body feels restless, like all of my nerves are trying to drag me out of my own bed. I pressed the heel of my hand against my temple, searching for some sort of relief. Turning to my right side, I can see all the loose beads on my night stand. My friendship bracelet broke one day while I was hanging out in the woods with my friends, but I managed to catch most of the beads and bring them back home. I always promised myself that I’d fix the bracelet, for Winnie, but I never did. Now, they’re just loose beads that I take with me between Mr. Bosko’s farm and my house. Though, they’ll probably start collecting dust soon, since I typically spend the majority of the summer at the farm. The only time I really see my parents is at church every Sunday.
I twist my body again. Towards the left this time, facing my dresser. I force my eyes shut. Holding my blanket in an iron grip, I try to force myself into a fitful sleep.
……..
Harsh sunlight threatens to burn through my eyelids. Definitely a rude awakening, if you asked me. My muscles ached as I sat up on my sheets, pulling my tendons as I stretched my arms above my head. Peering towards the right, I checked my clock. It’s 8:31. I should probably start getting ready for the day. My body feels glued to my bed, like all my bones were replaced with lead in the shape of his face. More likely than not, Mr. Bosko is going to glue us together for anything and everything. Hell, he probably doesn’t even remember where anything is. He probably doesn’t care enough to know. It might not have been his choice to leave, but it’s not like he even bothered to stay in touch.
It’s not like I can avoid it, anyways. Pushing myself from my bed, I could feel my muscles stretching with every step towards my dresser. The clothes I picked out were similar to the ones from the day before, but I think that’s the case with most stuff I wear. I sat back down on my bed, staring at my door with dread pooling in my gut. He probably isn’t even awake yet. Either way, I can just hide behind all the other ranch hands and hope he takes the hint.
I tried my best to silence the door as I opened it, not wanting him to know I had left my room. Avoiding all the creaky floor boards was like trying to solve a puzzle, except I’ve put the same puzzle together multiple times. Eventually, I made it to the other side of the house and into the kitchen. I think Rody is supposed to have kitchen duty today, which means Vincent will have a second kitchen duty and Rody will just hand him ingredients. Rody always has to cook on Wednesdays, and from what I've heard, he couldn’t cook something edible if his life depended on it. He started working at the farm during April, and since I only come in on weekends during the school year, I’ve never had to eat anything he makes. The only reason the rest of the house was spared from food poisoning was because Vincent stepped in to help him.
The two of them were always close friends. If I remember correctly, Vincent started working here maybe a year before Rody. He finished his degree and came back to his hometown to save up money for a restaurant. I’m pretty sure Rody dropped out of college, but no one’s really asked for details besides that.
Rounding the corner, I slipped past the two, making sure not to let any oil from the pan splatter on me as I hurried by, and pulled out one of the stools under the kitchen island, falling into it with a sigh. Rody peered past Vincent, noticing me first.
“Oof, looks like someone didn’t get enough sleep last night.” He says every word with a grin plastered on his face. It’s amazing how much energy he could have in the morning. Maybe it’s just because he’s with Vincent?
“Yeah, well, I guess I was just caught off guard from last night.” There’s a slight hint of frustration in my voice, but Rody seemingly didn’t pick up on it.
“Oh, you mean Mr. Bosko’s grandson? What’s his name, Walter? Winston?-”
“Winnie. His… his name is Winnie.” Rody started to pick up on the irritation in my voice, his eyes taking on a small squint. “Did you guys know he was visiting?” He seemed frozen for a second before snapping back to life.
“Oh, well, I think he mentioned it once or twice. He told us not to tell you because he thought it would be a fun surprise. Do you… not like him?” Rody’s sweet, good with all the animals too, but he’s not the best at picking up on subtext.
“We used to be really close when we were younger.” Talking about him is already making me fidget with my shirt. “He moved away about seven years ago? I think we were ten.” My voice started to get more tense, gritting my words out between my teeth. “He promised we’d keep in touch, but I haven’t heard anything from him since he left. And now… I guess he finally decided it would be fun to care about me.”
“I take it you don’t like him?” They both had their eyes trained on me like I was about to reveal a prophecy, the only sound in the kitchen was the splattering oil from the pan. If I can’t be honest with myself, I have to at least be honest with them.
“I don’t know.”
Winnie
Maybe he was just tired. Maybe it was just a long day. Maybe I was too tired to tell how he was feeling. Maybe I looked too annoyed. Maybe I spoke in a judgmental tone. Maybe he does hate me. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. That's all I can think of. I know he left his room a while ago, but I can’t bring myself to go after him. I probably look like a deer in headlights, petrified on my bed, still recoiling from last night. I might just have to stay laying here for the whole month, but I doubt my grandpa would let me. Although, I could use the extra rest. I nodded in and out of sleep nearly the whole night.
The batteries in my old clock have probably been dead for years, so I’ve resorted to using my watch. It’s around 9:00am right now, which means I’ve been withering in my bed long enough. I pressed myself up on aching arms, grumbling like someone was trying to drag me out of my bed themselves instead of my own volition.
Augustine
“Well, I guess there’s not much I can do for you, then.” Vincent waved me off as he continued frying eggs.
“Really? Not even a little advice?” I held my hands in front of me like a prayer, or maybe something more akin to begging for forgiveness. “You’re old, right? Shouldn’t you be wise and knowledgeable?”
Vincent seemingly left the conversation, although I’m sure he was listening. Rody, taking his place, sounded a lot more apologetic as he spoke. “Look, we can’t solve this for you. I’m absolutely sure that you two will reconnect. I mean, if you find out that you don’t like him at the end of the month, then boom! There’s your answer. What if you two do reconnect?” Rody looked like an elementary schooler during recess, like the idea of me and… him… being friends was some magical, predestined event he had faith in. I might as well just add pink bows to his fluffy red hair.
“Can you all please keep it down?” Thankfully, Matthew coming in distracted Roddy from me. “You know my room is right above you?” He pressed his fingers to his temple, like he was trying to press a headache out of his skull.
“Perfect timing! Matthew, what do you think?” If only Rody’s energy was contagious, we’d probably be able to save thousands of dollars on coffee.
“What do I think? About what, exactly?” As he spoke, he nearly tipped the coffee pot upside down, trying to get as much in his cup as possible. Mumbling when there was still a millimeter of room at the top.
“About Winnie.” I tried to keep my tone neutral, but by Matthew’s look, I clearly didn’t do the best.
“I’m not sure.” He punctuated his sentence with a chug of coffee, gulping just about half of it. “I can’t say I’m the best person to ask for advice.”
“I mean, I’m not asking for advice, though.” Rody turned back to helping Vincent with breakfast, leaving me and Matthew alone in the conversation, although Rody and Vincent’s ears were still turned towards us. “Just… like… what would you do?”
“Yeah. That’s advice.” He had a slight laugh as he spoke, which made him spill a little coffee on his black work shirt. Luckily, he didn’t notice.
“Then give me advice!” My voice went up an octave in exasperation.
“Okay, okay.” He held his side as he laughed, wiping a small tear from his eye before clearing his throat. “I think I agree with Rody. You might as well just give it a shot.” He leaned back in the stool for a second, like he was reading a long list of things to say next. “It’s always a good idea to try. Either way, you’ll have to be with him, so you might as well try to make something good out of it.”
“Oh yeah? Is that what you do with Bryce?” Rody was fighting his own laughter just to talk. Even Vincent had a small smile as he spoke.
“W- hey! Bryce is… different. He’s insufferable and you know it!” Matthew’s main job was to repair things around the ranch. He also arranged shipments and inventory. The person that ships our goods, Bryce Stryker, seemed like an asshole. Now that I think about it, he looks similar to Winnie. His hair is just a little darker. Every time we have to do a shipment, we practically have to force Matthew at gunpoint to meet with him. If I remember correctly, Matthew hates him because Bryce accidentally broke his glasses the first time they met. “I don’t know anything about Winnie, but Bryce is an egotistical, arrogant, selfish, piece of shit!”
Rody faked a gasp of surprise, dramatically stumbling back and almost hitting Vincent along the way. “Augustine, cover your ears!” He held his hand over his chest, like he was heartbroken at the idea of someone swearing in my presence. He turned his gaze to Matthew, his brows furrowed. “Matthew! Watch your tone, mister! There is a child here. You’re corrupting his sweet, innocent mind with your… your… crude language!”
“I’m not a kid! I’ll be eighteen next month!” Before Matthew could chuck his mug at Rody’s head, he turned his attention back towards me.
“Hush, hush, hush, Augustine. You’re too young to know what you’re talking about.” He held his finger in front of my mouth, metaphorically silencing me.
“Oh, you asshole! You asked for it!” Matthew grabbed Rody’s collar and held him in place as he cocked his fist back, aiming straight for his nose. Rody was rambling at the speed of light, like he was trying to fit an essay on why Matthew shouldn’t beat him up into a single sentence.
“Can you all stop running around the kitchen!? You’re going to make me burn something!” Even Vincent was jumping in. Everyone’s voice was clashing with each other, making a cacophony of angry words. So, it was a surprise when everyone could hear a fifth voice.
“Is everything… ok?” Everyone froze in place, looking past one another towards the entrance to the kitchen. There he was, in the flesh, the man of the hour. Winnie Bosko.