Simple People

My big brother, Adam, and I walked through the middle of the barren road toward the esteemed--by us-- “Pecan Forest, a few blocks from our home. 

“Do you think Joe will let us play outside later this evening?” I asked Adam in hopes that he’ll say yes.

“Maggie, you know how he is.”

I did know how our father was, all business and disapproving of anyone unlike him. Joe--our father is an up-and-coming journalist for our town’s newspaper; we call him Joe because he wants to only be seen as a serious businessman.

“Maybe Big Bob can convince him,” Adam said after a moment filled with the sound of dry wind rustling the trees in the yards of the passing houses. Big Bob is Joe’s brother--our uncle--but they are almost nothing alike. Big Bob is the free one of the pair; we call him Big Bob instead of “Uncle Bob” because he’s the opposite of our father. He hates formalities or, rather, endearments. 

We don’t usually see Big Bob until the end of the day when our father is just getting home after peeling himself away from his perpetual work. While Joe works, Big Bob roams the town talking to any and everybody about who knows what.

“. . . Maybe, D-Joe won’t even be home.”

“Possibly,” Adam concluded as we got to the field of pecans, even though we both knew that our father always came home no matter how much he worked.

While our town was small and empty, the Pecan Forest was unending and filled. It wasn’t only filled with pecans, but also joy. . . well, at least for Adam and me.

We’ve loved this place for as long as we’ve known each other, which for me is a measly nine years, and for Adam only three years longer. Well, realistically, we’ve loved it since we started to come with Big Bob when Adam was six and I was three. The only thing that has changed is that Big Bob doesn’t come with us as much anymore. Big Bob hasn’t told us why he isn’t around as much, but we’ve heard our father and him speaking in angry hushed tones about our “impressionable young minds.”

Adam and I don’t know much about pecans, but we know all about TAG.

I raced around and between the trees as Adam began to close in on me when the voice of my school friend, Autumn, rang out.

“Can I play?”

Her name suits her because autumn--fall, the beginning of the school year--is usually when we first see her, not in the middle of the summer. It was surprising to see her at the Pecan Forest but not to hear her ask to play.

“Sure,” Adam said. We played TAG and other outside games for hours and hours until it was beginning to get dark. It was time to go home. We all got on our bikes, and it was good that Autumn was going the same way as us because we wanted to play one more game. 

We raced through the streets and whipped around the light poles and mailboxes. We were all so determined to win that we didn’t even notice it when we passed our house and had gotten to the front yard of Steve Bentley’s home. The only way that we knew we were in front of Steve’s house was because it was the darkest part of the neighborhood. There were no lights on outside or even inside.

“This is the Ostrich’s house?” Autumn loudly whispered as we came to a slow stop.

“Steve?” Adam asked after I shared a bemused look with him.

“Mhm. My momma and granny call him that because he’s. . .ostracized,” her voice raised at the end of her sentence as if she didn’t know the word.

I wouldn’t call him “the Ostrich” because Joe would say it make me like “all the other gormless folks.” Adam wouldn’t like it either, neither would Big Bob. But anyone in the town would describe Steve as ostracized. All I would ever hear when anyone would deign to speak about him were things about his past--a past I wasn’t here for. I’ve heard things about how he used to be extremely outgoing and how he loved to be out all day and almost all night. I could never imagine that. Now he’s always cooped up in this dark house with the unkempt lawn and bushes that covered the front windows halfway. There is an old, bulky red truck in the driveway, but in my nine years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it move.

Adam began to tell us that we better head on home, but before he could, we saw our father walking towards us, briefcase in hand, on the cracked sidewalk where the light posts were beginning to crackle.

“Why’re you young ones still out? It’s getting dark out,” Joe tiredly asked the three of us.

Autumn perked up at the sound of a new person in the vicinity before saying, “Oh, hi, Mr. Cappel!” She gripped her handlebars nervously before continuing with a hopeful voice, “I was just wondering if I could stay with y’all for dinner.”

I didn’t expect our father to be so blunt, but he plainly said, “No,” before walking closer and ushering us away from the Ostr- Steve’s house. 

Autumn’s face fell, but she continued following us to our house--the house right beside Steve’s. She looked a little surprised that we lived right beside Ostrich, but she carried on.

“Could I, please?” She begged before she tacked on, “My momma wouldn’t mind.”

I could tell that Joe was beginning to reply with a firm no, but we heard a loud voice behind us.

“Oh, Joey! Let her stay.”

I knew it was Big Bob from the easygoing yet booming voice. Joe turned around with a worn-out expression and simply told him that it was getting late.

Big Bob replied just as simply with, “It’s summertime.”

Joe was clearly too tired to continue going back and forth, so he allowed Autumn to come and eat dinner with us.

I know our father didn’t ever mean to be rude, but I knew he wouldn’t like Autumn’s cheeriness--or rather the effect it would have on Adam and me. And anytime he came from writing about our small town, he would be like this. But it mostly intensifies his regular personality. There was a time when our father was less stern and more like Big Bob (to an extent), but he's been this way for most of my and Adam’s life. Maybe he has a good reason, but I wouldn’t know.

As we passed the still-warm pan of meatloaf around the table, Autumn said, “I didn’t know y’all lived next to Ostrich.”

Adam cast a weary look around the table because he knows that it’s not a good topic at our dinner table. When Steve becomes a topic in the conversation, Joe would tell us not to speak about things that are “irrelevant” now, and Big Bob would have some kind of sad look like he was thinking about the past. If Big Bob had a past that included Steve, I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t ever expect Joe to have ever known Steve when everyone talks about him like he’s “untouchable.”

“Don’t call Steve 'Ostrich'. It’s rude,” Adam said in true Adam fashion when no one even attempted to say anything.

“Why do you call him Ostrich?” Joe asked quietly.

Autumn was clearly excited for someone to finally speak again as she replied, “My momma says it’s cuz he’s ostracized.”

“He is ostracized,” Joe said surprisingly, almost sadly.

Finally, Big Bob spoke up after being uncharacteristically quiet, “It’s this town’s fault that he’s left out.”

No one knew what to say to that.

“Steve was one of the most involved citizens in this puny town,” Big Bob added scornfully.

Joe pointed a look at Big Bob that said, “stop talking.” When Big Bob wouldn’t meet his eyes, he said, “Let’s not talk about this during dinner. Or around such young ears.”

Big Bob looked like he wanted to say something incredibly horrible, but it seemed like he settled for something better when he said, “It’s what the young ears need to hear,” and then he walked away.

“What do we need to hear?” I asked.

“Not now, Margeret,” Joe said, still looking down the hallway where Big Bob walked away.

He looked horribly exhausted, and I wish I could know why.

Our father told Autumn to call her mother from our house phone and then stalked off to his office.

When Autumn’s mother go to our house, Joe came with Adam and me to walk her out.

“Oh, what a mess that Ostrich’s home is,” Autumn’s mother, Susan, said. 

Susan said home in a way that made it clear that she thought it looked more like a dump than a home. I could see our father’s eyebrows scrunch up before he quickly smoothed them and walked back inside without a word. As Adam and I walked inside, I heard Autumn’s mother mumble something to herself that sounded like, “He’s really let himself away.”

I wouldn’t know if she was speaking about Steve or our father because they’ve been the same all my life.

The next morning Joe was hurriedly getting ready to go to the printing press.

“Pick at least seventy-five good-looking pecans today,” he said right as he closed the front door.

We’d never picked pecans from the Pecan Forest, and out of nowhere, our father wanted us to pick seventy-five! I couldn’t wait to find out what for.

I went to wake up Adam and waited for him to get ready, so we could go. 

When he was finally ready, I said, “Joe wants us to pick pecans!”

This was the most excited I had been in a while because it was one of the most non-business things I’d ever heard from him. . .even if he said it in the most nonchalant way.

Adam and I raced down to the Pecan Forest as usual. We immediately began to scour and scout the area for the best-looking pecans we could find once we got there. Adam didn’t really show it, but the pep in his step showed that he was eager for whenever Joe would get back to tell us what the pecans were for.

We had over sixty before the sun could even begin to go down. 

About three hours before the dark, Autumn joined us with a cheerful, “Hi!”

One hour later, after constantly pausing to TAG each other, we had over a hundred pecans, so the three of us decided to race each other home.

About a quarter ways home, I noticed a furry form darting after our bikes. It was a dog! And it looked set on getting to us. I didn’t want to know what it planned to do.

“A DOG!” I yelled as loud as I could.

Adam and Autumn didn’t even hesitate to speed up along with me.

The three of us barreled down the road. We were only trying to get away from the dog, so when our house began to come into view, we didn’t even come close to slowing down. I kept glancing back at the dog, and when I finally chanced a look ahead of me, there was a rock. The rock was too close, and I was going too fast to avoid it.

The front tire of my bike collided with the rock, and suddenly, I was soaring through the air.

When I hit the ground after what felt like an eternity, my whole body hurt from the force. I had scrapes on the right side of my body. Adam and Autumn dropped their bikes and scurried over to me. Apparently, we had all slowed down because even the dog came to a slow trot. The dog ambled over to me and. . .licked me. The dog licked me and started to jump around playfully. It only wanted to play.

I looked up to see if they were as surprised by the dog’s true intentions as I was. They weren’t even looking my way; they were looking towards Steve Bentley’s house.

Ostrich was standing at his front door with rocks piled in his arms with one rock ready to be thrown in his hand. Ostrich had been throwing rocks. He had been trying to save us from the dog.

Ostrich hesitated and then walked into his dark house, but he came out with what looked like a wet hand towel one moment later. He jogged towards the three of us with the towel and handed it to me.

Adam and Autumn continued to ask if I was okay over and over again while Ostrich stood just stood and watched us interact. 

Soon our father came hurdling down the sidewalk with his briefcase as if a rabid dog had been chasing after him. 

“What happened?” Joe asked, frantically, looking around the four of us, pausing on the dog whose tail was still going a million miles per hour, confusedly.

Adam and Autumn’s voices mixed together in a crazed rush as they tried and failed to explain. Their arms were flying as they attempted to demonstrate the events with their hands and arms; Autumn even used her legs.

“The dog was runnin’ after ‘em, and this young one hit a rock that I threw,” an unfamiliar voice said. It was Ostrich! I’d never in my life heard his voice. I’ve only ever seen him speak briefly to people when it was needed--and that wasn’t a lot. It also wasn’t like I’d seen Ostrich a whole bunch. 

After Steve explained that he’s been trying to scare the dog away, Joe surprisingly invited him in for dinner! This whole day had been the definition of surprise. I didn’t expect a seemingly mad dog to be harmless, for Ostrich to attempt to save us, or for Joe to invite Ostrich inside of our house!

When we got inside, our father went to the kitchen to call Big Bob over on the house phone.

Big Bob arrived shortly with an amazed expression. When he got to the living room and saw the five of us sitting there, his face broke into the greatest smile I’d ever witnessed.

“Steve! What- What are you doing here?” Big Bob asked in awe. 

I couldn’t begin to understand why Big Bob was so happy to see Ostrich sitting at our table. Or why Steve looked equally happy to see Big Bob.

“Long story, short. I threw rocks,” Steve joked.

Steve joked! Ostracized Steve was in our house smiling and joking! 

Soon we all sat around the table sorting out the pecans. We eliminated some of them and divvied up the ones that remained.

Out of nowhere, our father pulled a newspaper out of his briefcase and passed it to Adam.

“Read it so we can all hear,” Joe said to Adam.

Adam read:

This small town has been judgmental and close-minded for years. We--me included-- have cast out those of us who are different. We’ve been living in our own ways and by our own standards, and that is okay, but our ways are not. My brother Bob “Big Bob” Cappel has brought me to the realization that we are controlling the people in this town; we are suppressing those of us who could’ve been and could be the role models for our children. I, for example, have been “teaching” my children discipline, never enjoyment. I am overly grateful that Big Bob has always been there to teach my children the good of life. I am also glad that I was able to see the devastation that we have created by excluding a fun-loving man who was simply living his life.

When Adam finished stumbling over our father’s written words, I looked around the table. Steve had tears in his eyes. Joe had an unfamiliar hopeful gleam in his eyes. And Big Bob was looking at Joe like he couldn’t believe my father couldn’t even think to write any of the words that were just read aloud.

“Joe, that was just what the young ears needed to hear,” Big Bob said.

Our father just smiled at him and said to Steve, “So, Steve, will you take back your rightful place in this obdurate town?”

Steve looked around the table, at each of us, and finally to Joe’s article with admiration before he replied, “I guess it is about time I was welcomed back into this town.”

“Well, with you back, it will no longer be ‘this’ town. It will be ‘our’ town,” Big Bob beamed. 

Later that night, I took my father’s newspaper to bed with me. As I read over it again, I understood the people in my town better. Steve had been outgoing and light-hearted, but he was surrounded by judgmental people--judgemental people who filled the town. Steve and people like him were judged for living their lives how they wanted. The judgemental people are the way they are because they are afraid to be like the ones they judge. That’s not okay. They have to realize like my father did, that we are all simply living. Steve is simply living. Even the “mad-dog” is simply living.