Soria Girl

“Nah, they ain’t divorced,” Mike said, taking off his hat to itch his head, “they’re just livin’ in different houses.”

“And why do your parents live apart?” I inquired.

He snickered. “How many farms are in the dead of Santa Monica? Hm?”

I paused. He had a point.

Okay, look: I never really bothered to ask about Mike’s family. Why should I have? It’s not like I’d end up marrying the kid. But it was early in the morning when I did. Before we were allowed to go to class. I was tired, delusional, and bored. I had to make conversation somehow.

“My dad’s got himself a dairy and fruit farm,” he explained. “But he runs it way inland, since the coast don’t have much room for farmland. But me and my mom live here so I can go to school easy.”

“So you still see your dad?”

“Oh yeah, every weekend I go down. Help him with the farm. Me and my big brother,” he added.

I raised an eyebrow. “You have a big brother?”

He nodded. “Real big. He’s 23.”

“Holy crap,” I said. “Is he in college?”

“Yep, he was, but he got his degree in agriculture and came back here to help us out.”

Yes! Another (potentially) hot big brother of a friend. Call me nuts, but there was always a chance that he could look as hot as one of Brendan’s brothers.

“I’m goin’ down this weekend, actually,” he boasted.

“Hm? Oh,” I said, coming back to Earth.

“Soria?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed a little. “I mentioned that I had a brother and you just space out on me. Any reason why?”

“Wha? No,” I responded, not in the mood to explain about Brendan’s hot brothers.

“He’s a decade older’n us. Don’t get no ideas,” he chuckled.

“No! Dude!” I denied.

He snorted loudly. All of a sudden I had flashbacks of Luke snorting after all of the lame puns he liked to make.

Mike twiddled his thumbs for a while idly, ducking his head down every so often after glancing at me. I stayed quiet, unsure of what to add, if anything.

Then he sat up straight and looked me in the eye, his face red like he’d been sunburned. He grinned knowingly, and I could sense what was coming.

Damn.

But I did not want to lose my only friend.

“You doin’ much this weekend?” he smirked.

I shook my head.

His smile got even wider. “Well then. Seeing as how I got farm duty from Saturday morning to Sunday afternoon, and boy oh boy, does it get lonely down there…”

I closed my eyes, wincing a little, but I was unable to keep a smile in.

“Soria Atkinson. Would you do me the honor of coming with me.”

I laughed quietly. “Well, I dunno. I’d have to ask my dad first.”

“Alright then. If you need any help with that, holler at me and I’ll be there.”

“Okay, Michael.”

- - -

“You’re tellin’ me,” Dad spoke, “that the boy who took you to the dance…his dad owns a farm…and he goes there every weekend…and he asked you to come with him.”

I nodded. “Yep.”

He was giving me that “I can tell if you’re lying and are really going somewhere remote to lose your virginity” look only a dad could give.

“Yes, father,” I sighed.

He folded his arms and leaned against the countertop. Only he could do that – look so calm, but be freaking out about his little girl going somewhere with a boy. I saw right through it all.

“I dunno,” he said, raising his voice and cocking his eyebrows. “I’d have to meet his folks before all this.”

“No problem,” I boasted, “his mom would drive us to and from the house.”

“How about his dad?”

“He lives at the farm,” I explained.

Dad was staring me down some more. I didn’t flinch. I knew nothing was going to happen on this trip. I had nothing to be scared about.

At last he unfolded his arms and sighed, standing up straight. Putting his hands on his hips, he said, “I want you to get this boy’s phone number so I can talk to his family.”

I beamed. “No problem.”

- - -

Why Mike’s southern-rooted family with faith in God and conservatism a part of their daily life lived in California of ALL places, I didn’t know.

They were wholesome.

They were well-rounded.

Nobody cussed that I knew of.

So, Dad let me go.

Good news, eh? Sh’yeah. I’d be leaving my house at seven in the morning to drive in a foreign car with Mike and his mom for two hours – until we reached the countryside. That’s where the farm was. That’s where we’d be staying.

Right before I left – when I was sitting in the living room waiting for Mike – Dad sat with me and we shot the breeze. He had warned me not to do “anything that’ll bite ya in the butt later.” I knew he was referring to Ren and he was just reiterating all the crap I already told myself. I wouldn’t end up making out with Mike and lying about it later.

So before long I was in the backseat of Mike’s mom’s SUV like we were going to the dance again, a duffel back separating him and me. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to talk to him. I was just tired. Dude…7 AM on a Saturday morning? Puh-lease.

Pretty soon I couldn’t see the sea and the palm trees were replaced with lots of fields. It almost reminded me of Florida….

NO.

No Florida thoughts.

None, Soria.

“Hey, ain’t this how Florida looks?” Mike poked my forearm.

Crap.

I shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Flat. Man, I see this place so much I’m dang sure I could drive ‘round in Florida and think it’s here,” he chuckled.

“Yeah,” I sighed.

- - -

“Psst.”

I shuffled myself, mumbling and finding my voice, which was cracking. “Mmmhmmmrrrr…”

Mike shook my shoulder. “We’re here.”

I blinked awake, repositioning my hat and fixing my hair. “Yeah?”

I realized his mom was out of the car and his door was open.

“How long was I asleep?” I mumbled.

“Couple hours,” Mike smirked. “Isaac took your bag into your room ‘bout ten minutes ago.”

My duffel bag wasn’t on the seat anymore, but I didn’t have the energy to freak out about it going somewhere.

“Who’s Isaac?” I asked.

“My brother,” he answered. “Hope ya don’t mind, but he didn’t have a shirt on when he took it up.”

I shoved Mike out of my bubble, smiling and waking up fully. “Why the hell didn’t he have a shirt on?”

“He’s been workin’ out here since we left your house – it’s milkin’ time. Them cows ain’t gonna milk themselves, are they?” he smirked.

“S’what you guys do all day? How frickin’ big is your farm?”

He shrugged. “Heh. Pretty much, and it’s pretty big. It’s what he does, anyway. Now c’mon. You been sleepin’ in here 20 minutes.”

I slid out of the SUV and stumbled up straight, taking a look around. About ten acres of farmland, and in the middle of it was a small-in-comparison house. On either side of it was a ton of empty vast land, a few cows scattered around. Holy crap.

Michael was a farm boy.

No denying that.

“Michael! Okay. We’re gonna be pullin’ in soon. Looks like rain,” said a booming low voice from the distance.

Mike turned his head in that direction and yelled, “A’right! Be out in a few.”

They sky turned gray and I was caught staring at it until a deep voice said to me, “Hey.”

The voice belonged to a really huge – not fat, just big and tall – dude with long red hair. It came to his shoulders and hung in his face, long enough to be in a ponytail. And this kid was HUGE. Dang. I’d hate to get mixed up in a fight with that dude with the muscles he had.

He almost looked intimidating, being that huge. But his face was calm and youthful, like an older Mike.

“Well don’t be scared’a Isaac, he don’t bite,” Mike laughed.

“I, uh…wasn’t,” I stuttered. “Hi…um, Isaac.”

Who I presumed to be Isaac smiled. “Hey again.” And that fear dissolved.

Mike tugged me away by the arm. “C’mon, you gotta see our house.”

I almost yanked my arm back but I was too tired. I did not like being yanked. I just threw a glance back at Isaac and tried to lock him in my mind. Something about him…I dunno. You ever see somebody who looks like they’ve been to hell and back and don’t care? That was Isaac, or at least what I thought when I first saw the guy.

Before long I was in his house. It was way bigger than mine, and it almost looked like a log cabin on the inside. It was so…country, I guess, would be the word.

He led me down a hallway past open doors revealing neat bedrooms – Mike and Isaac’s, probably – until we came to a closed door. Mike opened it and let me in.

Obviously, it was a guest room; it smelled musty. The bed was neatly made, but there were only sheets and no comforter. A bedstand was present, and a window with tan curtains, but other than that, it was just a generic guest room. My duffel bag lay on the bed.

“Make yourself at home, kid,” he smiled. Then he left, adding, “I gotta get to work.”

I paused, looking around at my home for the night, and sighed. Now what?

I shuffled out of the room, casually walking around Mike’s house, not really expecting much. But when I got in the kitchen I eyed his mom fiddling around with a cookbook and she looked up, smiling at me.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead,” she teased.

I forced a laugh just as the natural light coming in through the windows died down. Mrs. McEwin took notice and gasped.

“Smells like rain,” she said, shooting me a helpless look.

“Uh oh,” I said for filler.

Mike’s mom turned and walked over to the refrigerator, asking, “You want something to drink? You were asleep in the car for half an hour.”

“Oh.” I paused. Dang. How tired was I? “Sure.”

She got me a can of juice and I sat down at the counter drinking it, unsure of what else there was to do. I wanted to ask where all the McEwin boys were, but…eh.

“Mike’s been really excited about you coming,” she smirked. Her hair, bright red and held up in a loose bun, slipped out a little bit and a strand came down in her eyes. Green eyes – Mike eyes.

“Has he?” I laughed.

She nodded.

Silence.

See…this was weird. When I went over to my best friend’s house, I was used to being attacked with hugs and smiles and having so much open niceness from a certain poofy-haired mom. Mike’s mom and Ren’s mom…God. Put ‘em in a room together and a black hole would surface.

All of a sudden, a giant sheet of rain pounded down on the house, causing an instant silence between us that was even worse. Mrs. McEwin pursed her lips and her eyes grew wide.

Within seconds, the back door swung open and an older-looking guy who was really tall came in, wiping back his graying hair. Following him was Michael, who was soaking wet and gasping, “Lord help us! We’d better make an arc!”

“Honey, are the cattle in the stables?” Mike’s mom asked the taller fella.

“Isaac’s takin’ care of them,” he responded. Then he glanced at me and smiled, disregarding the gasps and groans coming from Mike, who was repeating “Lord!” over and over simply because he was…uh…wet.

And in a tanktop…

“Oh, Dad, you ain’t met Soria yet,” Mike said, raising his voice in realization. He pointed to me, combing his hair back with his hands.

I waved a little and said, “Hi.”

“Well hello there, little lady,” Mr. McEwin smiled. I could see where Mike got his charm from. He threw a glance at his wife and told her he was going to change, leaving the room.

It was quiet; just me, Mike’s mom, and Mike. In a tight shirt. A tight wet shirt. Damn. Awkward.

“You think I should, uh…put another shirt on?” he smirked to his mom.

Mrs. McEwin sighed and closed her eyes. “Darling…”

“A’right, a’right,” he chuckled, “just be glad I didn’t sweat none.”

And he left.

More awkward.

Once again the back door swung open and Isaac burst in, soaking wet with dripping crimson hair. I looked away.

“It’s rainin’ real hard,” he gasped, brushing the hair back out of his eyes, and closed the door.

“Oh, Isaac, you probably just caught a cold,” his mom scolded, hands on her hips. “Dear…the cows won’t die if they get a little wet. I’m more concerned about you.”

“Last time we left ‘em out during a storm they got under a tree, lightning struck, and Olga died!” he said in defiance.

I snickered at the stupidity of animals, and both pairs of eyes were locked on me.

Isaac smirked. “Is that funny?”

“Little bit.” I shuffled.

He laughed some and rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his massive chest. I bit my lip. Then he walked out of the room and declared, “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

When he left, Mike came back, still wet, wearing a Pogues t-shirt. Then he looked back and asked, “That idiot’s takin’ a shower now?”

Both me and his mom nodded.

“Shoot, he’s gonna get ‘lectrocuted,” he snorted.

- - -

Later on in the day came dinner. Now, I’ll admit I was nervous about eating food from a different family, but a home-cooked meal from a farm family? Count me in.

Mike and I had been chatting in his weekend room, which was tidy and had a Flogging Molly poster-flag hanging. We both sat on his bed, which made me a little uneasy seeing as how I swore to myself to just stay his friend.

“Aw, you’re kiddin’. That’s not Tom Gabel?” he questioned. (Cue my casual reminder that it was 2008 when we had this conversation - Laura Jane Grace had not graced punk rock with her amazing announcement yet.)

“Tom Gabel isn’t in Cobra Skulls, dude,” I informed.

“Shoot. I’ll be danged. Could’a sworn he sung for them.”

“Well, he doesn’t.”

“Then who does?”

I blinked.

“You don’t know,” he said, smirking.

“I don’t go outta my way to memorize the names of my favorite band’s members! That’s what teenies -”

“Dinner!” yelled Mike’s mom from the kitchen.

He beamed at me. “C’mon,” he urged, pulling me off the bed, down the hall and into the dining room. There stood Isaac setting the table oh so politely, smiling at us slightly.

Mike’s mom had a pot of noodles and sauce in her hands, setting it on the table. Spaghetti? Hey, I thought that was Italian, not Irish.

I stood at the side of the table, waiting for a cue to do something. Nobody was getting their food yet, despite the table being set nicely and everybody was ready. I looked up at Mike – he was busy getting a plate.

Something brushed against my arm and I turned around to see Isaac in a white t-shirt. He handed me a plate without a word, averting eye contact.

“Let’s eat!” Mike declared, a huge smile on his face.

- - -

Pretty soon it was getting late, around 10:30 PM. Mike’s folks were already in bed. They told us we could stay up later and watch TV, but we just couldn’t get too loud.

So we did. Mike, Isaac, and I sat on the living room couch, channel surfing without success. Nothing good was on. Eventually we settled for an infomercial on some magic toaster thingy.

About five minutes passed.

This dude with an obviously fake British accent was barking about pesto sauce.

Isaac, who was sitting in a nearby recliner, had his head in his hands and he was staring real hard at the TV.

Mike shook his head. “I can’t take this guy no more.”

“Then why don’t we -” I started.

You know what cut me off?

Yep. Power outage.

This huge crash of thunder sounded and about two seconds later we were all tensed up, and – bang! – the lights went out. The TV went off. We had no way to see.

And then Mike said flatly, “Well, shoot.”

Isaac sighed.

“Now what?” I questioned.

Mike shuffled next to me and stood up. Then he banged his shin against the coffee table and spat, “Dangit!” I swallowed a laugh as he wandered off somewhere, sliding his hands against the walls to keep his balance.

“I’m a’scared,” Isaac mumbled, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.

I laughed airily, brushing the hair out of my eyes – which didn’t help my vision at all. “Me too.”

More shuffling. Isaac silently made his way next to me and sat down wordlessly. Then we heard a switch come on and light flooded the room, Mike holding the source in his hand. It was a lantern.

“And then there was light!” he joked.

I almost gagged at the lameness of that remark.

Mike sat down between me and Isaac, smirking at both of us. Out of all of us he seemed the most chipper.

“You happy or something?” I asked him.

He shrugged, the smile screwing with the lighting on his face. It almost appeared creepy. He squeezed me in a hug around the shoulder but I wrestled out of his grip. “Aw, don’t resist!”

“No means no,” Isaac muttered.

Mike looked at his brother funny. “Huh?”

“What?”

I gulped down another laugh and yawned instead.

“Is it bedtime yet?” Isaac asked, stretching his huge arms way above all of our heads.

“Shoot, we can’t go to bed,” Mike said, “it ain’t even ten yet.”

“Well, we gotta wake up in the morning and feed the animals, man,” Isaac informed. “Don’t think just ‘cause you brought a girl here, you got less work.”

“Hah,” he snorted.

I yawned again, leaning my head on Mike’s shoulder, genuinely tired. He smiled and tried putting his arm around my neck, but I pushed him off. I just needed a pillow, ‘cause I was tired.

- - -

Minutes later when I was on the brink of falling into slumber, I heard the cracked door to my guest room slip open, creaking loudly. Somebody sucked in a breath through their teeth in regret and I smirked.

Still, no lights.

I shuffled under the flimsy sheets that offered no comfort, squinting to try to figure out who was invading. No luck. It was all black, and the rain pounding against the house relentlessly didn’t help me focus.

“Shh,” they whispered. “It’s just me. Isaac.”

I laid back and tried to think why he’d be in my room this late at night, but was awakened by a weight plopping down all over my body – a blanket. I turned over and examined it for a second, but Isaac shushed me.

“Dude,” I said, rubbing my eyes and laying back.

He leaned over and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Go back to sleep, Soria.”

I probably should’ve smacked him for that, but…he was twice my size.

- - -

“A’right, now I wanna see you ‘round here again. We don’t get many nice people in this area,” Isaac called in the car window as we prepared to pull out of the driveway.

My day here at the McEwin farm was over, but it kind of tugged at my heartstrings. I mean…it was something different than just sitting back home with Dad.

Anyways, as we drove past all the fields and fences of the suburbs, my SkyPod rolling song into song, I sighed and rested my head against the window, glad that a change of pace had come – if only for a minute.

It was something different.

Different…heh…few months back, I was dreading different.