Post by Brenna Gordon on Aug 27, 2019 20:43:07 GMT -5
~♫~
The dim, thundering sound of... some metal band's bass line made the ceiling above her head shake, but Erin Gordon (used to be Humes) paid it no mind.
So what if those stuffed suits on Fox News tried blaming heavy metal music for why kids were shooting up schools? It sure as shit hadn't been the case with Columbine bein' Marilyn Manson's fault, and if her C-average self could see it, then why couldn't those fellas with college educations? Seems having a ton of money did make people into complete and total dumbasses, replacing common sense with whatever gibberish kept the green comin' into their pockets. And then the local yokels wondered why she'd refused to sell the farm after Si died. She didn't want to risk Benson becoming like those empty-headed city slickers on TV, simple as that. So she'd let him bang his head to Meh-sugar or Children of Bo-damn or whatever those bands were called since Lord only knew she'd never be able to read their band logos for herself. Hell, she'd probably have trouble even without them lookin' like a guy stuck his finger in an electric socket while he drew them...
"No accountin' for taste." Her voice was a rough murmur, rimmed with faint amusement as she took a swig of her beer. Wasn't that the traditional refrain of any generation looking toward the ones that came after it? Trends came and went (She'd seen more'n her fair share.) but what really mattered was what endured. Family, faith... the land that they lived on and drew their living from. Her gaze slid from the ceiling to the glass sliding doors leading out to the back porch, and the hills beyond. In a couple months, same as every year, the trees would set themselves afire as their leaves turned orange and yellow and red--and then after that? Lake effect snow would put all those fires out, dropping everything, just about, into a deep sleep until spring came 'round. It was a cycle that never ended, never changed... but as she settled back into that old kitchen chair with a sigh?
Erin had to wonder just what the price'd be this year for it to stay that way.
No one talked about it, but there wasn't a single native of Blooming Valley, Pennsylvania that didn't feel that truth in their bones--that the flourishing crops and wildflowers weren't just the result of geological chance or secret ratios of manure to soil, or any of the other explanations the rich snoots that went to nearby Allegheny College claimed their research revealed. None of the sons or daughters of where Routes 77 and 198 crossed had ever been foolhardy enough to look to science for a reason, not when the danger of coming across something better left alone was all too real. For all the cute stories about a local grandfather pranking her parents by driving two old wooden boards into the mud of their swamp before adding jeans and boots to make it look like some poor schmuck got stuck in the ice, there were twice as many about Amish men suddenly snapping and killing their families, or accidents with farm equipment, or kids Benson's age dying in car accidents, or men that only wanted to provide for their wives and children getting sucked up into the machines that made the tool and die components that were the lifeblood of Crawford County's economy, though of course no one local owned any of them anymore, so they didn't think that those men's lives were worth more than a red rat's ass--
Fuck, why'd you take him from me?!
The urge to throw that beer bottle across the room damn near succeeded in making Erin do just that, but she stomped it down with the assistance of another aggressive run of bass. Even if she knew that Benson was aware of how she still grieved the loss of her husband, she wasn't gonna give him any cause for concern. She had to be his rock, the strong woman who never once even flinched as she aimed a shotgun at the last aggressive salesman that had tried to swindle her out of her land, her tone low and firm as the bedrock beneath all the soil that had given to her family for generations... though not without its price. Never without its price--but while the land wanted what it wanted in exchange for the green grass and the corn that was taller than her boy who was growing up all too fast, Erin knew that it was a matter of give and take. Blooming Valley had taken Si from her, sure... but it owed her a boon in return. And as she turned her gaze to the envelope on the table in front of her?
She swore that she wouldn't settle for anything less than her son's freedom in exchange.
