the farmer's daughter

the farmer's daughter: 7

But now there's nowhere to hide
Since you pushed my love aside
I'm out of my head
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you
My head is sayin', "Fool, forget him"
My heart is sayin', "Don't let go
Hold on to the end", that's what I intend to do
I'm hopelessly devoted to you

By Oliva Newton John

"It was so nice of Johnny to help you with the shopping," your mother sings as she puts away a stack of cans in the pantry.

"Yeah," you agree, "it was. Especially 'cause he can carry more bags than me."

She chuckles, "he is rather strong. And big..." she's quiet as she takes out a few more things from a paper bag, "handsome."

"Ma," you gasp and look at the doorway, your father in the next room, still in the recliner.

"Mmm," you put the sugar in the cabinet and turn back as she stares at you, "Wait... you mean for me?"

"Well..." her smile falls, "he is so helpful. And nice. And..." she shrugs and shakes her head, "I shouldn't say. Maybe I'm just being ridiculous."

"You are," you insist, "he's... a lot older. Besides, he wouldn't be interested."

"Hon," she chides, "he looks at you." She tilts her head coyly, "he watches you, you don't notice?"

"Ma," you snort again, "stop. You're going to make it awkward."

"I'm just saying. It wouldn't be entirely crazy, would it?"

"Wouldn't it?" You ask.

She's quiet again. She goes into the pantry again as you try to focus on unpacking. She's just trying to distract herself, you're sure. How can you blame her with all that's going on?

Johnny is too old, and he's standoffish. He's just doing your dad a favor, nothing more than that. You wouldn't blame him for wiping his hands of it all at Shane's next catastrophe.

A sudden clatter makes you jump and has your mother scrambling out of the pantry. She grasps her chest as you hear Lily's shrill cry, "George!" You rush out ahead of your mom and watch Lily hold him under his arms, placing him back in his chair.

"What's happened?" Your mom shoulders past you.

"He's alright, we were just working on our exercises," the nurse assures as she pulls back, "isn't that right, George?"

Your father doesn't speak clearly. Your mother scrunches up her fingers anxiously and hovers behind the recliner, "Did he fall?"

"No, no, it was just the table," Lily points to the TV tray overturned on the other side of the chair. "He's doing very good."

"Oh, oh," your mother touches her forehead and heaves, "I was just... scared."

"Ma, why don't you lay down?" You suggest.

"I can't, I got the groceries--"

"I can get the rest," you promise, "please, I know you're not sleeping."

"Hon," she sighs.

"Ma, please, we don't need you getting sick too," you plead.

"Alright, but you come get me in an hour," she demands.

"I will."

Reluctantly, she backs away, finally turning at the door. You listen to her creaky ascension and leave Lily with your father. You tremble as you set away the last of the groceries and fold up the paper bags. You tuck them beneath the sink and try to shake off your nerves.

You need a breath of fresh air. Your heady is fuzzy, and your eyes glossy. You go out the back door and sit on the back steps. You shudder out a breath and hold your head. The tears trickle out before you can stop them.

Last week, you've outpaced the emotions. Keeping busy with your chores, watching after your mom as she does the same for your father. It's like a snake with its own tail. You can't run anymore. Your shoulders rack as you let yourself cry, heaving into your hand as you hiccup loudly.

You just want your dad back. You want the man who used to tell you cheesy jokes about his tractor and pretend to get his finger caught in the machinery. You want everything to be like it used to be. You want to wake up from this nightmare.

You still as you run out of tears. You stay as you are, hunched over and quivering. The buzzing of insects and gentle sway of the grass hums in the air.

A sudden pounding in the grass brings your head up. Johnny jogs towards you, wiping away sweat from his brow as he slows. He wears only a ribbed white take, dampened around his chest and sides. Concern ripples in his forehead as he approaches.

"Everything alright?" He puffs as he kneels before you.

"I... yeah, I'm sorry," you mop your face with your knuckles, "I was just... it's nothing."

You try to smile, and your cheeks pinch and your mouth downturns. The strain in your lips tugs at your heart again, and you sniff back another wave of tears, another droplet slipping free.

"Sweetheart," he rasps and surprises you as he moves to sit beside you on the step, crowding you against the short railing.

He drapes his arm around you and pulls you to him, pushing your head on his shoulder. He rocks you and hushes you. Even trapped in grief, you can't help but be stunned by his gentleness.

"You shouldn't hold it in," he says as he brings his hand up to pet your head, "your father's a good man--"

Before he can finish, you sob again. You shake your head and bury your face against him. You can't stop. You throw your arm around his neck and pull yourself close. He welcomes you in as his arm snakes snugger around you.

"I'm sorry," you babble, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." you chant the apology over and over as he hushes you. You can't stop. It's all spilling out and there's no way to stem the deluge.