by Noah Graham
Sandra's hair was golden Bill saw it clearly; but it was late at night, so it is possible he saw with the eyes of his heart and not his head. Her mouth tasted of barbeque ribs, and since no one ever mentions barbeque ribs in love songs that must have been reality and not hormones.
Why aren't any love songs written about barbeque ribs?
Her house held her parents, the barn held the cows, and more alarmingly to them, the farm hand.
"The corn field?" Bill suggested,
She but her lip in thought; By late summer the early spring manuring was no longer a factor in her decision, but she needed to remember the last time it had been sprayed with pesticide.
"The corn field should be safe" she replied.
"Safe from your dad?" Bill asked taking her hand and beginning to jog in a corn ward direction.
"He's in bed by 8 every like the perfect cornball redneck Christian he is. I swear to god someday he'll push me too hard with his 'my little perfect little princess' bullshit' and I'll join the democrat party. If he had his way I'd lose my virginity on my wedding night, which will happen when I'm in my sixties, because that’s how long it will take to find a man who can fall in love with a girl he can't kiss or anything." Sandra ranted.
Kissing her was both safer and more enjoyable than commenting on her feelings, and it led naturally to kissing her again, which was more enjoyable still.
Harrison got up at 2 in the morning, and stopped at the barn to wake Juan.
Juan liked money and was willing to break American laws, which made him trustworthy.
The farm was mortgaged; Sandra wanted to go to university, everyone wanted to eat. Harrison did what was necessary to support his family, and kept it secret from them. He wanted his wife not to worry, and his daughter to look up to him.
He and Juan began to work through the corn field, crouching and thinning out strategically located patches, planting marijuana in the freed up space.
“Puta!” Juan cried as he stumbled briefly.
The plants smelt golden Harrison sensed clearly, but he hated the smell when he noticed it on liberals so perhaps he was sniffing with a nose of greed. The pains in his legs he knew were real. They were never mentioned sore legs in any of the gangsta’ raps that glamorized the drug dealing lifestyle.
Why were their gangsta’ raps about the urban people who dealt the drugs but no gangsta’ country about the rural people who grew them? There was outlaw country it was true, but that just wasn’t the same thing.
Sandra was so innocent. So perfect. His little princess. It was hard to live up to what she deserved in a father. It was impossible in fact, but he couldn't let her know that.
“Did you hear that?” Bill demanded rolling temporarily out of and off Sandra.
"Probably a cow. They keep odd hours" Sandra replied, causing Bill to get back on top of her and do things that made her make noises of her own.
"¿Has oído eso?" asked Juan.
"Probably a cow, they keep odd hours" Harrison replied causing Juan to get back to work.
Bill awoke to an image of heavenly beauty, and then turned away from the sun rising through the corn to look at Sandra.
"Good morning dear."
"Oh My God! Momma will be trying to call me down for breakfast any second if she hadn't already! I need to get home!"
So Sandra stood, at the same time and for the same reason as her father did, and in the heavenly light of dawn, they saw each other dirty with corn stalks in their hair and incriminating smells on their bodies.
Noah composed this story while driving a Longjohn for his employer. He believes that to be an acceptable use of company time because the story contains a product placement for said employer.
If his employer disagrees Noah's future works will not include any product placements.
Pieces Inspired by this Image
'Russell's a Glory Seeker'