He was a skinny boy, about 12 or 13 years old, with sandy blond hair flopping down his forehead. His overalls were faded and weathered from a combination of hard work and harder play. The big cloth sack slung over his shoulder held all his early possessions, which was nothing more than a few changes of clothes.

He stepped out of the morning sun and into the shadows of the lonely bus station, walked right up to the window and requested a ticket to Logan. Then, softly he asked if he could use the telephone. “Hello Grandma,” he said, “It’s me, Gordon. Yeah, I’m coming home to live you and Grandpa. I should be there before tonight.” There was no asking for permission, he was welcome, and he knew it.

With clinched fists he plopped down in the first empty seat he could find, it was somewhere near the back. He slid up next to the window, unslung his pack and placed it in the space next to him. It was his way of telling the world wanted to be alone. He found the gentle sway and rhythmic rumble of the bus relaxing. His fists softened a little with each sway, and the tension which had him so tightly wound seemed to drift away with every rumble. Before long, his brow rested against the glass as he watched the farmland of Cache Valley flutter past. He drifted off in thought.

I don’t need no dad anyway. I aint never had one, and I aint never needed one before. Why they think I need one now, I just don’t know. Besides, he’s no dad anyway. He don’t got no sense. He’s nothing but a drunken, half whit, wanna be gentleman farmer. He don’t have sense enough to buy one sheep, let alone a herd. Why mom married him, I don’t know. I wish things were what they were back with Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandpa gave me that cow when she was just a calf, and I raised her right from the start. She was to be mine, the first of my herd. She was still young and had just freshened up for the first time. She wasn’t producing a lot of milk, but enough for selling. The boys down at the dairy were helping me buy my own milk can by making payments over time. Each day they were taking a portion of the milk and paying off the cost of the can, and it was almost mine.

I seen ‘um coming from far off down the lane. I ran and hid out back of the side shed, they didn’t even know I was there. I watched the whole thing and seen it with my own eyes. I knew something was up, it wasn’t every day a car toting a horse trailer comes around. Old Don, he led my cow right up into that horse trailer, then he and some old man shook hands and the old man drove off with my cow. I just stayed quiet. I didn’t want to cause any stirs, he was already mean enough as it was, and I had the scars to prove it.

That night over dinner, he told mom someone had stole my cow. I didn’t say nothing. I coulda, and maybe I shoulda, but I didn’t say nothin. I just knew he was lying, and if I did say somethin he’d go all crazy again. I didn’t need any more of that. Why mom married him I’ll never know.

It was a relief when they carted him off to jail in Preston. It kept him out of my way. I didn’t have to put up with his drinkin and smokin and yellin. I just don’t like that man. He belongs in jail for steeling my cow, but they put him there for selling farm equipment that wasn’t his to sell. Now they’re letting him out. Mom’s happy for it, but I can’t stay. I’m just leaving. I’m heading back to live with Grandma, Grandpa, Vesta, and Wilford.

Grandpa’s better than any dad I coulda ever had anyways. He told me he loves me just like he would even if I was his son, and I believe him. Grandma, oh, I miss Grandma and her soft and gentle ways. She knows me and what I like.

Vesta and Wilford, they’re more like brother and sister than aunt and uncle. It’s funny, I remember when I was a little guy, I could never figure what Vesta was saying. “No Gordon, I’m not your sister, I’m your mother’s sister.” “But that means you’re my sister,” I’d say. “No that means I’m your Aunt.” I didn’t understand, she was younger than mom and went to school in town. How could she be an aunt and still go to school? I didn’t get it then, when I was just a kid, but I get it now. Even knowing, she’s more of a sister than anything. And Wilford, he calls me brother, and I’m just fine with that. I can’t wait to get back with ’em.

The bus squeaked to a stop. “Logan,” hollered the driver. Young Gordon stepped out into the heavy afternoon sun and set off walking down North Hill just as he’d done a thousand times before. He was on his way back to the only place he’d called home. Each step took him closer to Grandma and Grandpa, the life he knew, and the love he craved.

Copyright © 2020 Ward E Wilson