The Way of Life

Coffee, black, followed by a reminder to kill himself after the chores were done.

That was how every day began for Orv. Grey skies or crisp blue, it didn't change anything. He woke with the same lacking feeling inside. He poured one cup of coffee, and shuffled over to the kitchen table where he drank it silently. He didn't read anything, or even put the radio on. He stared at nothing in particular, while the bitter hot liquid found its way to his empty stomach.

The days had all melded into one long stretch of the same relentless thing. How many black coffees had he consumed since Rosemarie...? He couldn't bring himself to even think the word...died. How many times had he rolled out of the right side of the bed, purposely avoiding her perfectly-made half, leaving his fetal-shaped indent to disappear over the course of the day. He wanted to do the same.

The cows followed Orv throughout the pasture, trusting him as the food bearer. His coveralls were soiled with grease stains, manure and God knows what else lay under that first layer of filth. Farm work was hard work, and Orv knew better than to dirty one pair of coveralls. "You wear 'em till they're more dirt than cloth. Then, and only then, do you get a new pair." His Father's words echoed in his brain, which came through many times throughout his day; not just in his thoughts, but his mannerisms, and his workmanship too. His whole life had been spent on this land, learning from his Pa. He had so badly wanted to please him, to do everything just so, so that Pa wouldn't have to yell, or worse. Orv learned to move around the barn like the animals to not draw attention to himself. He dirtied his coveralls the way the pigs rolled in the mud, he took swift soft steps the way the ducks shuffled about. He lingered in the furthest outskirts of the fields like the cows until it was time to come in for supper. He'd learned to survive this way on the farm, and thus, had outlived them all.

After the animals were fed, Orv checked the crops for pests, tested the soil for nutrients and then adjusted with fertilizer where it was needed. Then turned the water on and shuffled back to the house for lunch. His gout was flaring up again, making each excruciating step a further reminder he was done with this body, this life.

Orv scanned the near-empty fridge for lunch options, even though he ate the same thing every day. He rarely went to the store and the thought that it would have been filled with anything but his regular items seemed ridiculous. But still, just once he'd like to open it and see a bowl of Rosemarie's potato salad, a tray of her deviled eggs, perhaps he'd eye a pitcher of her famous honey-sweetened lavender lemonade. But those days were long gone. Now he pulled a container of shaved chicken and some store-bought white bread he'd been keeping in the fridge so it would last a little longer. He plucked the mayonnaise jar and began mechanically constructing his sandwich in the silence of the house.

As Orv was finishing his last bite of chicken sandwich there was the sound of a car door shutting. He put his plate in the sink to wash later, but remembering his plan to not be alive later, decided to quickly wash it while ignoring the knock on the door. Whoever it was would eventually go away. "Hello there?" A man's voice called out into the open porch space. "Mr. Austin?" Orv lumbered reluctantly to the front door and peeked through the screen, his tall frame looking down on the man in the suit.

"Oh, good. You're home."

Orv opened the screened door and eyed the man suspiciously. He had never been one to have manners (that was Rosemarie's job), and his awkwardness had magnified in the years since her death.

"Mr. Austin, my name's Chuck Peterson." He held out a meaty salesman's hand, but Orv kept still, so Chuck continued.

"I'm a local realtor, and Orv, can I call you that? Mr. Austin, your farm has been of interest to a young family in the area. I wanted to see if you'd ever consider, ah, cashing in your cash cow if you know what I'm saying?" Chuck winked, and Orv looked past him onto the expansive front lawn and to the dirt road beyond. There had been a time when a sheepdog named Buddy would've greeted Chuck Peterson at the edge of the driveway, and run alongside his car up to house. Had Chuck come to the house a few years prior, he would've been welcomed by an apron-donning Rosemarie who would've ushered him in for some herbal tea and pumpkin loaf. There was a time when Orv's own children would've shown Chuck around the property, invited him to stay for supper, and asked him about his own life.

Orv pushed the business card that Chuck was holding aside and walked past him to ponder the idea. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad idea. He'd wanted to end his life anyhow, so what would it matter. At least if he sold it, his kids would benefit from the sale, wherever the hell they are these days. But would the buyers want it if they knew someone had killed themselves in the barn?

Chuck interrupted Orv's thoughts by suggesting he mull it over and call him with any questions. He set the business card down on the porch swing and backed away slowly making sure to flash his salesman's smile once more before getting into his car. In truth, the place (and Orv) gave Chuck the heebie-jeebies. It felt as if his entire interaction had been with a ghost. But he hoped he'd planted a seed, and that after a few more visits, he could secure this deal.

The afternoon's sun was beating down on Orv as he worked to repair the tractor behind the barn. His thoughts turned to his conversation earlier with the realtor. A new family with fresh energy could work the land, and he'd finally be free of this lifelong sentence to keep everyone and everything alive around here. He had failed when it came to the most important person, so why did he continue to provide for the animals and the plants. "All this be damned!" Orv yelled aloud and threw his wrench at the barn which shuddered and creaked in response. It had been a long time since the animals had heard a human's voice and they, too, looked up in alarm. He looked up at the blue sky allowing the tears to stream down his cheeks, and continued to yell, safe in the knowledge that he was miles from anyone to hear. "Tell me what to do! Pa? Rosemarie! Give me a sign!" He yelled his frustrations out until his voice quivered at the end. Instantly embarrassed of his outburst of emotion he quickly wiped the tears from his leathered cheeks thinking of what his Pa would've said had he been there. Cryin's for sissy's.

As the evening crept in, Orv's mind wasn't settled enough to contemplate ending his life that day. All of a sudden things felt urgent as if a decision needed to be made quickly. Damn that Chuck Peterson interrupting my plan, thought Orv as he took out his microwavable dinner from the freezer. Even though he had succumbed to eating these tasteless meals every night, he could still hear Rosemarie's gasp as he reached for one every evening. In truth, he had tried to cook a few meals in the weeks after she had passed, but he was never any good at it. She had always been the kitchen connoisseur in the house, and before that, it was his own mother. He could kill, strip and prepare a chicken into portions, but once it crossed the threshold from butchering to cooking, Orv was lost.

He contemplated calling his daughter Carole to get her thoughts on selling the farm, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd pushed his children away by needing them to be like he was to his Pa, when in reality they were the opposite. He'd perfected the art of helping by staying out of the way as a boy on the farm. His daughter Carole, and his son Len, had done nothing right. They were always in the way, and Orv found they were the perfect targets for a lifetime of anger to unload on. Selling the farm could be a way to redeem himself, but then again, they hadn't been here to help with any of it, so why should they reap what he's sown all these years? He looked down at a flyer sitting on top of the newspaper that had Chuck Peterson on it. It was for a newly developed senior's neighborhood. The flyer raved about the community pool and library, and the treelined sidewalks with perfect lamp posts and beautifully manicured lawns. He set it down and tried to picture himself in a neighborhood. What would he do with his days? He thought these days were boring, and yet, they were still full. He let the thought slide around his brain for awhile, trying to imagine what a completely different life would look like at his age. Perhaps this was the sign from Rosemarie that he'd asked for. He tucked himself into bed in the very same fetal position from the morning, with thoughts of selling and buying and a burden lifting as he drifted off to sleep.

Chuck Peterson knew how people's brains worked when dangling an opportunity in front of them. He didn't wait for Orv to call him, he had already planned to stop by again around the same time as the previous day. He figured Orv to be a man of regimented schedule, and knew he'd be having his lunch in the house at the very same time. Just like clockwork, Orv finished his sandwich to the car door shutting the following afternoon. He limped over to the front porch to meet Chuck outside.

"Hello there Orv, Mr. Austin, sir."

Orv nodded towards him, and Chuck could detect a slight smile on him if he searched hard enough. He had become an expert at reading people's energy. In real estate people tended to give their true answers in their body language and mannerisms.

Orv cleared his throat, organizing his thoughts before speaking. "I've thought about your offer." He stepped back to sit on the porch swing to get some relief on his swollen foot. He scanned the dirt road as he spoke.

"It's time. You were right. A new family should be doing this work. I'll sell. But they have to take the animals too. I want that in the paperwork. And they have to treat them good..." His voice trailed off.

Chuck smiled hesitantly, he wanted to come across as genuine. It was hard to read a man like Orv. He could cancel the deal at any time if Chuck wasn't careful. "That sounds like a plan, sir. I will draw up the paperwork and we'll get started right away."

Orv looked at Chuck, hesitant to ask but something propelled him to anyhow.

"What can you tell me about those new homes in that flyer of yours?"