Yesterday Barry put the stool out in the field and under the tree, so that in the evening, all he had to bring was the rope. He went to work like it was any other day, came home and cooked a steak. It was the best and most expensive piece of meat in the grocery store, but Barry scarfed it down without joy. Nothing tasted like anything, and every day was the same, when it felt overdue for something to change. It had changed in the past whenever this feeling came around, but this time it felt like this was life now and forever. There was nothing left to change, except he had the rope, and the stool was already under the tree, the tree that stood in the field and had a nice view of the sunset, the one he had sat under at other times in his life but never committed to, but today was the day for committing. Today was the day to tie the knot. And the rope was new and sturdy, and he had picked it out the week before at the hardware store in an unfeeling kind of way, like it wasn’t important at all, like something needed fixing. And Barry supposed that something did need fixing, and fixing things might have been what he was best at, but he never learned how to fix this thing, and usually when he couldn’t fix something, he could find someone who knew how and ask them, but this thing felt like he couldn’t ask about, or that there wasn’t any fix for it, or that it had to fix itself, but it wasn’t fixing itself this time, and he was tired of waiting. This was his fix: a rope, a stool, and a tree, some field a little ways from the house for something nice to look at. It was a romantic thought to look at something nice, because it wouldn’t matter what he looked at, not to him. A sun sinking below an open field, summertime daisies swaying in the wind, or the peeling wallpaper of his home. It would be just the same. But he thought it wouldn’t be so bad finding him in the field rather than in a home that was falling apart. It wouldn’t be such a depressing sight, and more than likely, it would be some stranger that would find him in the field, rather than a friend or a family member, and a stranger wouldn’t be so hurt by it. It would probably be his son to find him in the house, and that would be the worst thing that Barry could leave him with. Instead, he left him with all his money and possessions, along with a short note. He wanted to leave a long one, but Barry wasn’t good with words or expressing himself, so he left a note saying that he loved him and not to feel too down about it. This was his decision and there wasn’t anything that anybody did for him to make it, nor anybody that could have done anything to change his mind. He already woke up in paradise by now, because God knows everything and would understand, and He would have a pack of smokes waiting for him when he got there. Maybe a drink too, if He didn’t mind too much.
Barry set out from the house with the rope. Rooster, seeing Barry leaving without him, barked in the yard from his chain. He watched Barry walk across the yard and hop the Yount’s fence and begin across the pasture. Barry listened to Rooster’s bark as he walked away. He knew that old Rooster was saying that he wanted to come too. He listened as the bark turned into a low howl, heard the howl grow further and lower and fade, listened hard for it when it wasn’t there at all. He thought how old Rooster would miss him, and he’d miss Rooster too, if missing was something that he could do in the afterlife.
The cows were in the pasture mooing and eating grass, and they watched Barry pass with not a thought in their minds. Big dumb animals got the better deal after all, Barry thought. They couldn’t see death coming whenever that thing got put between their eyes, and until then, they could live their lives outside, doing the same thing every day and never getting tired of it, never asking for anything more. And I don’t feel a thing when I eat you, Barry said. Could’ve eaten a bowl of oatmeal and it been the same. So, I’m sorry for that.
He hopped the fence on the other side, crossed Carson Road and went into the woods. He saw lots of squirrels on the way through and thought how it looked like it would be a good season come October. He saw the stream running clear and peaceful, noticed the weather was already cooling off and how there were no mosquitoes buzzing in his ear. He came out of the woods and into the field, saw the tree standing at the top of the hill looking down at him, his stool underneath, thought how the walk felt shorter than usual.
The field was vivid green and spotted with yellow and white. He climbed the hill, and at the top, he was met by a breeze carrying the scent of the daisies with it. He stood under the tree looking up at it for a moment, catching his breath before he looped the knot, then he climbed the tree like he was a kid again, tied the other end of the rope tight around a strong branch and dropped it down. It was about the right height. He climbed down and sat on the stool, pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket, a cigarette that he had bummed from Alex. Who, as the last thing, would reproach Barry for smoking again, telling him at least don’t smoke it in front of him. He rolled it around in his fingers, enjoying the feel of it. Then he held it to his nose and smelt it. He put the filter into his mouth and took out the lighter but just held it. He looked down at the field and the sun on the other side, glowing orange and tired, taking its time like it was getting a last look at things before it would come back around tomorrow, looking nice after all. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and rolled it around some more. Then he thought of something else he could have put in his letter. Then he said, no, I think I’ll wait. And he broke the cigarette and threw it into the grass, where it laid there amongst the daisies.
Aston Lester is a writer from Greenwood, Louisiana, whose work has appeared in Five on the Fifth, Rejection Letters, and Academy of the Heart and Mind.
