Page 2 of Tangled Up In You
“There’s nothing they can teach you out there that you can’t learn right here,” Steve had said.
Gloria had nodded. “There’s influences out there that’ll poison your thinking.”
“Is this about you wanting more books?” Ren’s father had asked. “We’ll take you to the big library over in Moscow.”
The truth was that none of them had expected her to be accepted—at the age of twenty-two, Ren had never stepped foot in an actual classroom—so she hadn’t properly prepared her argument by the time the thick white envelope landed.
It sat unopened on the small dining table for a day and a half, an uninvited guest in their home. Ren finally made the only argument she had, the one she knew would appeal to their biggest fear: “We need to better prepare for this cycle of drought and flood. Our crop yields are smaller every year, and if I’m going to live here the rest of my life, I need to make sure this land can support me once you’re gone. I need to see what the world outside has learned so I can bring it home.”
Gloria and Steve had exchanged looks.
Steve had asked, “Who’s gonna pay for it?”
“They offered me full tuition and board.”
Ren’s parents sat with it overnight, then, in the morning, laid out the ground rules.
She would live in the dorms Monday through Friday. Every weekend she’d be home, where she’d still be expected to complete her weekly chores. She was not to tell people the location of the homestead or specifics about their way of life, and if she ever felt the modern influences pressing in on her, she’d tell her parents immediately. She was to avoid technology as much as possible and outside of classwork was forbidden from searching the internet. If they sensed any change in her disposition, they’d withdraw their support, and she could either come home or stay away forever.
But when it came down to it, there was no knock-down-drag-out fight, because the truth didn’t need to be said aloud: Her parents couldn’t legally keep her from leaving even if they wanted to.
And now she was right on the cusp of doing just that.
“Too late to be scared now, Rennie,” Gloria said with her trademark blend of exasperation and weariness. It was what Ren had always admired most about her mother; she didn’t waste time sugarcoating anything.
“If you’re going off to school,” Steve said, coming up to unlatch the gate of the pickup, “you’re gonna have to carry your own weight.” It was what Ren had always admired most about her father; he made sure she’d never had to rely on anyone else.
“I’m going to miss you both,” Ren told them earnestly. “I’ll write letters every day so you have something to find in the post office when you go to town on Wednesdays.”
With a quick, deep inhale, she bent at the knees and hefted the heavy wooden trunk into the bed of the pickup. Ren closed the tailgate and latched it shut with the long metal pin before turning to look back at the only place she’d ever called home. The roof of their little cabin was covered in a soft blanket of snow from the previous night, but in the warmer months a fifty-year-old oak tree gave them shade, as well as the best branches to climb. Behind the cabin, the fields stretched on as far as the eye could see. Ren said a silent and temporary goodbye to the animals huddled together there, braving the wind to soak up weak tendrils of the late-January sun.
Gloria broke through her reverie: “What are the rules?”
Ren blinked back to focus on where her mother stood holding the passenger door open. “I can leave the dorms for meals, class, or the library,” she said, and adrenaline pricked beneath her skin just thinking about it.
“No boys, no booze,” Gloria said. “No restaurants.”
“No internet, no makeup,” Steve added from behind the wheel, and Ren coughed out a laugh as she slid to the middle of the bench seat.
“Makeup! Me?”
“You just wait,” Gloria said. She hauled the heavy truck door closed behind her. “College coeds will try to get you to do all kinds of frivolous things. You want to learn, so go learn. Leave the nonsense to everyone else.”
“I have a solid foundation about what matters,” Ren recited confidently. “Boys and booze and makeup don’t.”
“That’s right.” Steve turned the key, starting the gruff, rumbling engine.
Ren knew better than to let any hesitation about this adventure leak free, but with the sound of the truck’s engine turning over, nervous excitement bubbled up in her chest, dislodging the tiny worry floating right at the top: “Do you think it’ll be okay that I’m starting late?” The beat of silence that followed made her lungs immediately constrict with regret. “I only mean—”
“What’s this ‘starting late’?” Steve asked sharply. Starting late was the worry Ren tried to keep in this whole time—well, one of a thousand about what this experience might really be like—that starting college four years later than everyone else and coming in halfway through the school year because of the fall harvest was going to make her stand out when all she wanted was to blend in.
“That’s some cyborg programming hogwash right there,” he continued, shifting the truck into gear with a clunking thud. “Who says you have to start school at a certain time? Who says you need school at all?”
“You read every damn book in the libraries all across Latah County,” Gloria murmured. “You probably know more than those brainwashed teachers anyway.”
“I know that’s right.” Steve eased the truck down the long driveway. “And if I hear one speck outta you about five-year plans or summer enrollment or study abroad, I’m yanking you outta that place so fast your head’ll spin. This is gonna be hard on your mother and me, what with you not here pulling your weight. We’re already moving everything around this season so you can take care of your chores when you’re home on weekends.”
Ren nodded, feeling immediately chastened. “Yes, sir. I’m very grateful, I hope you know that.”