Page 46 of Homesick

I let out a deep sigh and decide to answer Emma later. I click on Blake’s name instead.

Blake: Did you know that female alpacas reject males by spitting on them?

Me: I had no clue. How do you know that?

Blake: Let’s just say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Blake: **picture

I try to contain my laughter when I look at a picture of Blake with green goo covering his face. I automatically save the picture to my phone and make it his contact picture.

Me: Hmm seems like an effective method. Maybe I’ll give it a try sometime.

Blake: I have something you can spit on.

My eyes go wide at his text. Before I can respond, my phone lights up again.

Blake: Just keeping things light, right?

Me: Asshole

Blake: See you later, Campbell ;)

* * *

I let out a big yawn and prepare myself for another night of grueling chores. The only difference between now and the beginning of summer is I now have something to look forward to afterward.

I’m happy to have a new place to relieve my stress and I can feel myself getting lighter as the day wears on. Probably not great that said stress reliever is my ex, but hey, I’m taking one thing at a time.

I head over to the main barn and get ready to clean up the stalls while the herd is still out in the pasture. My first stop is the ancient radio that sits in the corner and has a layer of dust about two inches thick. The only radio station it gets is oldies country, but I’ll take what I can get. The sound of static fills the room, but after one swift kick, the station instantly clears up and Dolly Parton fills the room.

I grab my shovel/microphone and get to work. Chris would never admit this today, but we used to put on mini concerts around the farm as we sang our hearts out to old Johnny Cash or Hank Williams.

My mom still has an old camcorder somewhere with both of us on it. I’m the only one that knows the location, though. I hid it after one Easter when my cousins found the old tapes and were as relentless as kids can be.

I start swaying my hips to the beat and get lost in the music as I disassociate from the grueling task at hand. The callouses on my hands are starting to reappear like an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. The first few days holding this shovel were brutal, but I soon became familiar with hard work again.

My ears perk up as the song changes and I hear Neon Moon by Brooks and Dunn echo across the old barn. I pull the handle of the shovel up to my mouth and begin to belt the first line of one of my favorite songs growing up. The cows are lucky they’re out in the pasture right now or they’d be forced to suffer through my tone-deaf version of a classic country song.

I take the meaning of dance like no one is watching to a whole new level and twirl my heart away in the middle of the hay-covered concrete. My boots skirt across the floor and I feel carefree for the first time in a while. I close my eyes and throw my head back as I belt out the next line of the song and wish for more days like this.

Sadly, the song ends abruptly. Outdated commercials fill up the empty space, bringing me back down to earth. I finish up the area I’m in and stop for a quick water break. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar truck parked in front of the barn and my peacefulness is replaced with sheer panic.

I search for signs of Blake, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I notice he’s nowhere in my current vicinity. I head toward his truck to see if I can find him.

His truck is empty, and I can’t find him anywhere close so I throw my hands on my hips and contemplate calling him. Just as I’m about to give up and continue my chores I hear the radio start blasting again. This time, another classic I can’t remember the name of starts playing and I spot Blake performing his own concert with my old microphone.

I slowly walk back to the barn and watch him wiggle his hips while he tries to do an Elvis-like move which doesn’t fit the vibe of the song at all. Soon enough I feel laughter bubbling up my throat and the harder his air thrusts go, the more my uncontrollable laughter takes over. Soon my hands are on my knees and I’m somewhere between having to pee and falling over onto the ground.

When the song ends, Blake takes a dramatic bow and I meet him halfway with a singular round of applause. For a few minutes, I see a glimpse the silly sixteen-year-old who would do anything to make me laugh.

I start moving closer, but my mind stops my heart at a safe distance. I bite my lip and figure out how to approach this moment next. He’s the first one to break the silence.

“I thought maybe you’d appreciate it if I was the one in an embarrassing situation for once.” He looks nervous as he rubs his hands down his pants trying to wipe away an imaginary stain.

“So, you did see me! I knew it. Also, who said I was embarrassed?”

“The tips of your ears always turn bright red, and you have this cute nervous laugh thing you do. It’s easy to tell when you get embarrassed. It’s even easier to tell when you get frustrated, which typically comes after the embarrassment.”