From Sky to Ceiling
I never imagined that I could fall in love with the sounds and smells of spring, which arrived early this year. The purr of tree frogs and the melody of birds who had been silenced by an especially icy winter awaken my eardrums. The scent of past rain and pollen tempts my nostrils. The sky seems a bit bluer today, and the grass is just starting to shift from a sleepy brownish yellow to a subtle green.
“Billy, are you gonna help me with this here plow?”
Ugh.
Spring also meant work. Nearly endless. Until the first freeze. Being a farmer—or in my case, a farmer’s apprentice—afforded little time off. Early mornings, late evenings. A season that stretched on.
I sped up my pace in answer to Jim’s question.
This was our fourth season working together. One of my favorite things about those last three years has been the progress. When I started learning from Jim, there were three fields; now there are a dozen. The farm has grown to something of a force in this region.
The best part? The animals. Those weren’t here in the beginning either. They came Year Two. Bessie was my girl. She would only let me milk her, and Jim hated it. He also joked that I’d never be able to leave. I told him as long as he didn’t transition to beef cattle, I’d stick around. The highlight of my day is seeing Bessie. Cows don’t seem to display emotion, but I know she looks for me.
When we were done in the field that morning, I headed to the barn. There she was, her tail twitching, eyes expectant—or as expectant as a cow can be. When she saw me, she let out a deep bellow. I couldn’t very well start with another cow since she’d already welcomed me back. There were only half a dozen cows, so my current chore didn’t take long.
I cleaned and tidied up the barn and headed to the equipment garage. Jim was already there grumbling about something or other. It had been a dry spring so far, so his complaints likely had something to do with lack of rain.
“You know Who you can ask if you’re not happy with the weather,” I taunted when I got within earshot.
“Keep your judgment to yourself, Billy. Geez, you always get bold after seeing that darned cow.”
I chuckled and went back to work.
When the day was done and the sun crept below the horizon, I pulled away from the plantation. My truck sputtered as I headed for home. I could embrace days just like this one forever if given the chance.
I awoke with a start, the screech of tires and the blare of car horns assaulting my ears.
I looked out my apartment window and felt my stomach drop when I realized I was no longer on the second floor. I was miles above the ground in a high-rise apartment.
I reached for my flannel and boots out of habit, only to find they had been replaced by a sports jacket and loafers. In place of my truck keys was my phone with a reminder about an upcoming sales presentation.
A deep breath didn’t help since the familiar smells of dirt and manure from my work boots were absent. All I could smell was stale air and something artificial.
What have I done?
“Alright, if I’m in this alternate reality, I might as well see it through.” The confusion settled into something steadier. Not calm. Just stubborn.
The jacket probably fit fine when it was tailored, but it felt stifling. How the taxi driver knew to bring me to another skyscraper only a few blocks away I had no idea.
My “sales presentation” was in fifteen minutes. I tried not to panic. As I exited the vehicle, exhaust and something sour I couldn’t place filled the air.
I walked into the lobby, and no one took notice. Everyone was moving fast, eyes down. No one cared, and no one offered directions.
“Mr. Johnson!” a lady who looked to have just escaped her teenage years waved and motioned me over to the elevators. “Do you have your presentation ready? I can’t wait to hear it!” She didn’t wait for an answer.
The presentation.
I opened the folder I must have grabbed from the apartment.
There it was. The title: Farm Removal in Favor of Shopping Complex.
On the next page, bullet points and an aerial view of a large plantation.
Jim’s farm.
I closed my eyes.
Jim would already be out by the shed, cap shoved back, one hand braced on his hip while he pretended that knee didn’t ache in the cold. He’d be squinting at the field like it had personally offended him, waiting for me to quit stalling and grab the other end.
And Bessie. She would be working herself into a temper, tail flicking, hooves shifting, that low warning rumble building in her chest because breakfast was late and her boy was missing.
Three years. Fence posts I’d set with my own blistered hands. Gates that only hung right if you lifted them first. Ruts in the path worn down by my boots, morning after morning.
This place, whatever it was, wanted me to forget all of it.
I opened my eyes.
No. Not today.
However I’d landed here, whatever lie waited in the rest of that folder, I couldn’t just nod along and let the wheels roll over everything I love.
“Are you ok, Mr. Johnson?”
“Better than ever,” I said as we exited the elevator on the twentieth floor.
The smell of electronics, paper, and carpet almost unnerved me, but I pressed on.
“Alright, Bill. Let’s see what you got!” the man at the head of the table motioned for me.
I smiled and nodded, making my way to the front of the room.
“I was supposed to come here today to tell you kind folk why a farm should go away in favor of shopping. I’m sure there was good reason behind it at the time. Ladies and Gentlemen, there’s not enough sky in this place. Animals need to graze. Farmers? What they do is hard, hard work. But it’s like therapy...”
“Bill?” the man looked concerned, but intrigued.
I went on. And on. And on.
I thought my heart might burst as the sports jacket tightened around my chest.
And then everything went black.
I awoke with a start. Again.
“Well, there you are, Son. My, you sure have a flair for the dramatic!” Jim chuckled as he continued mucking out the stall.
The realization hit like cold water. I jumped up, brushing hay from my jeans. “Race you to the next chore!” I called, and Jim’s bewildered look followed me out of the barn.
Outside, I paused, drawing in a long breath.
I had almost traded it all for fluorescent lights and polite applause.
And there it was.
Same dusty boots. Same manure smell. Same sky.
Bessie bellowed.