Open Fields of Ohio

2 ••• Who Are You?

She is the girl, he is the boy. Las Vegas belongs to her, the Red Road belongs to him. Enjoy:

While I walked to my room, a mug of coffee in my hands, I sighed and sat on my bed by the window. It had been a long day of work, but, hey, the field's down work themselves, huh? I laughed, I looked out the window and saw that it was going to rain. Good thing I had begun working from the morni—

"I hate you! Bastard! You son of a b—"

"You're back so soon," I mumbled as I looked at the tree she was at. From my room, at the second floor of the house, I could see her clearly, she was dressed up for this one: she wore a black crop top, a short white skirts with, what I thought, were black Birds, a leather short-sleeved jacket and boots.

She looked like a New York modeling dancer. Her hair was brown, falling to her shoulders. She sank on the ground, crying. "I'll be on my way," I said, hurrying down stairs and out the door to her. It was funny: a total stranger, worried over another total stranger. Yet it was now a routine.

He kneeled in front of her and picked her up, craddling her in his lap; he soothed her quickly, saying her kind words. "Can you tell me what happened?" He whispered while she tried to stop shaking. "Or ... at least tell me how many guitars you have?" He chuckled, and he felt her shake harder. "I ... wait. Are you laughing at me?" She was laughing a little, too.

He heard her laugh, it was cool, not a girly giggle, not a snort. It was just perfect for her.

"I, uh," she chuckled again, but something twisted in her features. "It's none of your bussiness." She said, brushing herself off me and walking to her truck.

"No—please," I rushed to her. "Wait." I grabbed her arm and spun her to face me. Our bodies touching, our faced inches apart, if it weren't for her heals, I would be exactly eight inched taller than her. She looked up at me still, her eyes daggers, her sun-glasses were removed, so I could see she had the brightest, yet darkest eyes I've ever seen.

"What happened to you," I said, defeated. "Why do you come here and break beautiful guitars?" She jerked away from me.

"What does it matter to you, country boy?" She snapped. "You just..." She moved her hand up her head like about to throw the rope, and rode her imaginary horse, I had to smile; and she faltered, but it was a jiffy of it, she said with a cowboy accent. "Go on and milk your cows, and ride' them horses around your barn and pick up the chick's eggs for some bone-heart-healthy morning food, eh?" She glared. "Don't pretend to know me."

"I'm not," I said simply. "But ... I know enough to tell you that you have anger. And that's not very good for you." I said, wincing with a little hiss.

"Why's that, cowboy?" She challenged.

"Well," I said, I had no country accent, but I made one. "First of all, it makes you look like a mad bull, and, second, no guest for my house can come like a mad bull, we take care of those outside." She huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

"You're crazy—I'm leaving," she turned to her truck, about to hop in; but she held the door, hesitating ... "Um, did—did you invite me, to your house, with that joke of yours?" She asked. Oh. Did she want to come? "Not that I care ... But," she sighed, and suddenly held her stomach.

"Those cows you got," she questioned, and that's when I heard her stomach growling, for a moment I thought it could be her. "You make hamburgers out of them?" I gave her a look of complete horror.

"No." I ground out. "But we have lots of chiken?" She nodded, I walked her to my house.

She dug into that plate like it was a race for gold. I had never seen someone eat a piece of chiken, taking out the bone and practically swallow it. She was hungry, and I hadn't noticed. I ate silently, trying to ignore my family looking at the foreign girl like a piece of diamond in a field. While she wore glamor, my family wore country, and I wore a bit of both, but more country.

"So ... Tess says you were someone who came around a lot arouf here..." My mom began. "To, what did you say, Tess?"

"To visit a friend of hers," I lied, and I hated to; but I had a feeling she didn't want anyone else than me already to know what she did. She must've acknowledged my lie and looked up from her plate, looking straight into my eyes. Thank you, I could hear her say, but I must be mistaken. Who knows?

"Yeah, my friend," she said, still looking at me. "I'll be leaving soon, though." I looked at her, a frown on my face. So soon?

"Will you be coming back?" I whispered, she looked at me with disgust, but not towards me, it was self-disgust.

"Probably," she said. "And soon."

"Can you tell me why at least you visit your friend?" My sister scoffed, but with a laugh.

"They're frieds, Tess, what'd you mean by her explaining it to you?" I ignored her and kept my gaze on the girl, raising my eyebrows expectantly. She sighed.

"Let's just say that the girl's father just left her with her mom, who isn't really a mom, a few weeks ago, and after having such a close relationship with his daughter, he just left. All they did together? Gone. No little notes. No calls. No answers. No nothing, kid.

And I come here to have her take out her anger, because if I don't, she'll kill something—soon." I stared, did that mean...? "If you'll excuse me, I need to go. Thank you for the food," she smiled just a little. "I haven't eaten in a few days that was—" she cut off, covering her mouth, her face screwing up. "Nothing," she said in a tight voice. "Goodbye, thank you—"

She ran away. I followed her.

"At least tell me your name," I said when she kneeled on my backyard, clutching her stomach, as if holding herself together. After a few minutes, I thought she wouldn't say anything, so I was about to kneel next to her; but she got up and turned to me.

"My name's ... Dawn, okay?" I smiled, and she turned to half jog, half run to her truck and left.

"Dawn," I experimented. It sounds good on my lips, feels right. With a sigh of happiness, I got up to the house and to my room.