chapter 4: emblazon

He must have fallen back asleep, because now the sun was shining directly on his face, and Dudley was stoically and methodically scratching at the front door to go outside.  Seth groaned, standing up slowly and gingerly.  He'd fallen asleep sitting up, his head tilted back on the couch, and now his neck was thoroughly pissed at him.

scritch scritch

Dudley looked back over his shoulder at Seth.  Seth shuddered.  The sound of Dudley's nails on the door for some reason reminded him of his dream from last night, but he didn't remember why.  He did remember, however, that he'd tried to call Amber, and already his brain was gearing up for another round of "let's remember every bad thing that's ever happened to you".  Which meant it was time for a run.

scritch scritch

"Dammit, Dudley, hold on!" Seth grumbled as he found a pair of sweat pants hanging on the doorknob to the bathroom.  Dudley watched him, indifferent.  Theirs was a marriage of convenience.  Their relationship was less owner and master and more two roommates who occasionally tolerated each other.  To Seth, Dudley looked like those pictures he'd seen on the news of the supposed chupacabra, which basically looked like an emaciated generic dog with mange, which was basically what Dudley was, sans mange (currently sans mange, rather, since Dudley had been infested with more than a few different kinds of parasites, bugs, and other whatsits when he and Seth first met).  To Dudley, Seth imagined he just looked like a giant rube.

Seth had found Dudley (or vice versa) shortly after he moved to Las Cruces over 3 years ago.  With the little bit of money he'd saved up, he'd bought this house against the realtor's better judgement, and Dudley had shown up not long after.  Dudley had actually been living in his neighborhood much longer than Seth had, living off the trash on the street (and there was plenty of that).   Seth had begun to leave out some dog food every day, and eventually Dudley decided Seth would be all right to co-habitate with.

Seth shrugged on a stained wife-beater and opened the door.  Dudley bounded out to do his business and Seth began to run.  Dudley might follow him or might off on his own, but they'd eventually meet back up at the house.  It was still early, only about 8 at the latest, so the sun hadn't reached its full brutality.  Seth ran for an hour, up and down the mostly-deserted streets of his neighborhood, focusing on his breathing and his heartbeat.  Running had been what saved him from drinking himself to death after New York, and running was keeping him from thinking about it now.

But he couldn't run forever.  He arrived back at the house, dripping sweat and huffing like a train engine.  He stripped off his shirt as he walked exhausted through the dead grass of the front lawn and up the single concrete step to the door.  Dudley was there waiting.

"Hope you weren't waiting long, master," Seth said wryly as he opened the door.  Dudley deigned not to respond and trotted in ahead of him, tail wagging.  Of course he'd been waiting, because he hadn't had his breakfast.  He may have lived on the streets for who knows how long, but he'd adjusted to the good life (such as it was) fairly quickly.  Seth went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and got out a carton of eggs and a pack of cheap ground beef.  He fashioned a small patty from the beef and dropped it into a heavily chewed plastic dog dish on the counter, cracked an egg into it, and dropped the shell in.  Dudley sat in front of him, watching intently, quivering slightly.  As soon as Seth set the bowl on the ground, Dudley dove in.  Unlike most dogs, though, Dudley didn't swallow this feast whole, but took dainty bites, as if savoring every last morsel.  It cracked Seth up to watch it every time.

Seth threw a couple slices of bread in the dented metal toaster that had come with the house and was miraculously still working, threw a pan on the gas stove, and started heating it up for his own breakfast of toast and eggs.  This little daily routine had distracted him briefly, but now he had some time to think, the last thing he wanted.   The morning run had given a brief reprieve, but now his mind was racing as if to catch him up on all that he'd been running from.  He hated these manic, stream-of-conscious episodes.  They were fairly infrequent these days, but when they hit, he was literally lost in his own head as his thoughts jumped from memory to memory.

He was relieved to find that he wasn't obsessing over Amber and New York just yet, though it was sure to hit shortly.  Instead, watching Dudley eat his morning meal had reminded him of an incident that happened much earlier in his life, an episode that had been indelibly marked in his mind and would rear its ugly head every time he went grocery shopping or stopped at McDonald's for a cheeseburger.

When he was eight years old, his dad had flown out to Des Moines for some big family reunion.  Both he and his mother had been secretly relieved that they couldn't afford to fly out with him, but Seth was chagrined when his father came back and told them he'd had a great time and had had a great conversation with a cousin he hadn't seen in years who happened to live on a farm outside of Des Moines and that they'd both agreed it would be great if Seth came out for the summer to see what life out in the country was really like.  His mother, traitor that she was, whole-heartedly agreed (he had a feeling that she wouldn't have been so enthusiastic had the trip involved her as well).

So that fall, Seth rode on his first airplane from New Jersey to Iowa, where he met his dad's cousin John, his wife Betty, and their thirteen-year-old son Caleb.  John and Betty were nice enough, if a bit distant, and more focused on the farmwork and housework than on showing him a good time.  But Caleb was another story.

Caleb was a tall, skinny gangle of a kid with an ugly rash of acne on his forehead and a permanent sneer on his face.  From the moment he called him "city boy" upon his arrival at the airport, Seth disliked him.  He was the kind of kid who punched you on the arm, "as a joke", but did it as hard as he could to try to get a reaction.  And god help you if you let on that it actually hurt.

If it weren't for Caleb, Seth might have actually enjoyed his visit.  He was amazed at how quiet it was out on the farm, and at night there were no lights to block out the stars.  He could actually see the Milky Way, and he was mesmerized at just how many stars there were.  He'd gone to the planetarium for a school trip, but that had nothing on the real thing.

John had Seth and Caleb out of bed at the break of dawn every morning to help him do chores, feeding cows and chickens and pigs.  Caleb had warned him that "You're gonna have to actually do some work now, city boy" with that sneering smile, but Seth was no stranger to work, already having to get up early for two paper routes (which his dad was currently grumblingly filling in on during his absence), and he enjoyed the labor.  John and Betty, who had clearly been biased about this kid from New Jersey who probably hadn't worked a day in his whole life, were quietly impressed.  But as Seth did his chores happily and competently, it only seemed to make Caleb that much meaner.  It didn't help that John was starting to point out to Caleb what a "good little worker" Seth was turning out to be.

If Caleb had just been mean to Seth, he would have passed his few weeks there just fine.  Bullies didn't bother him, and Caleb was more harmless than most.  But what he couldn't abide was how Caleb treated the animals on the farm.  He threw rocks at the cattle, kicked at the chickens, and threatened to beat the farm's resident dog, a scrawny blue heeler named Tick, if he so much as looked Caleb's way.  Since he was a guest, Seth tried to hold his tongue.  He scratched Tick behind the ears (Tick adored Seth; it was the most attention he'd probably ever received, at least of the positive variety) and basically followed Caleb around apologizing to the pigs and cows and chicks after the teenager blew through.

He'd only had one real conversation with Caleb.  It was afternoon and John had had to drive to town to get a part for the tractor, leaving the two boys to their own devices.  Seth was looking into the cow paddock, arms resting along the wooden slats of the fence, Tick panting adoringly at his feet.  He was watching a black Angus cow and her calf, their hindquarters caked with mud and shit, as they lazily chewed on the hay he'd just fed them.  Seth smiled.  For a moment, he could actually picture himself living on a farm.  And then Caleb sidled up next to him.

"What are you lookin' at, city boy?" he sneered.

Seth ignored him, his smile gone.  Tick whined.

"You in love with those cows or somethin', weirdo?"

"I was just lookin' at 'em.  They're cute."

"Cute?!?!"  Caleb guffawed, rolling his eyes.  "They're cows!  They're stupid and they're a pain in the ass.  Cute. . ."  he shook his head, disbelieving.

"Do they have names?"  Seth had been meaning to ask John.  He didn't know why he was asking Caleb now, and he instantly regretted it.

Caleb goggled at him, disbelieving.  "Names?!?  Are you shitting me?  They're going to be hamburgers and steaks, you idiot.  Why the hell would we name them?"

Seth's stomach dropped.  He hadn't really thought about it, but it's not like he didn't know that hamburgers came from cows.  It had just never dawned on him that it might be THESE cows.  To his horror, his eyes welled up.

"Are you CRYING?!?!" Caleb was gleeful.  "Jesus H.!  You're CRYING!"

Caleb was howling with laughter.  Seth wiped at his eyes, his face burning.

"Shut up," he muttered, and walked away, Tick following close at heel.

That night, they all sat down to a big meal of mashed potatoes and cooked carrots and pot roast.  Caleb, Betty, and John ate with gusto.  Seth took a few bites of his mashed potatoes, but the slice of pot roast on his plate remained uneaten.

Betty looked at him, concerned.  "Are you feeling all right, Seth?  You've hardly touched your food."

"I'm fine," Seth mumbled, eyes down on his plate.

Caleb snorted, slurping from his glass of milk.  "He's sad because he doesn't want to eat his friend."

"Shut up," Seth mumbled.

John's eyes flashed.  "We don't use that kind of language here, Seth."

Seth mumbled an apology.  But Caleb saw it was a victory and took the advantage.  He speared another slice of pot roast from the serving tray and licked his lips.  "I think I'll name you Seth," he said to the juicy slice of meat.

Seth picked up the gravy boat from the middle of the table and chucked it at Caleb's head.

That little stunt had cost Caleb three stitches, a trip back to New Jersey for Seth, and one of only three sessions he'd ever had with his dad and his dad's belt.

Seth flipped the eggs onto the toast and took a bite out of the makeshift sandwich, chewing and smiling as Dudley sat watching, hoping against hope that Seth would spill something.

"Totally worth it," Seth grinned, his mouth full, a little bit of yolk on his upper lip.  "That guy was a complete asshole."