Breaking Free

One.

I hate living on this damn farm, I mumble as I wake up to the practically screaming rooster. It's already been over a month and I'm no where close to being used to the natural alarm clock that goes off even before the sun rises. My eyes wander towards the battery-powered, practically useless, alarm clock and it reads "4:58." It feels as though I'm waking up earlier and earlier each morning.

I still have yet to understand why my mother decided to have me finish out the rest of high school living with my father. This guy never wanted to be apart of my life for most of it, now that I'm about to graduate, he has finally decided he needs to step in and be a man for me to rely on. My mother and I were just fine on our own, we were happy and we relied upon each other for whatever faced us in life. Sometimes, I hate her generosity because now she's been convinced to send me to this god-awful place. This dude is still living in 1860 or something, we're over a century and a half into the future, "catch up, man," I say as I force myself to sit up in bed and push away my thoughts.

From my bedroom I can hear the muffled voices which come from the radio down in the kitchen, my father's probably been up for a while now. My gaze refocuses itself onto the real world and peers out the window; there he is, a little way across the field, my father sits on a small stool milking his cows. It's the beginning of his routine, milking the cows is practically the first thing he does everyday. My shoulders give a small shrug and I decide to begin my day at five o'clock in the morning.

Forcing myself to get out of bed, I eventually stumble into my small bathroom that my father fixed up for me. Before anything, I take the hose that comes in through the small hole in the wall and start filling up the black bin that sits next to the drain stand. My hand interrupts the pouring water to check the temperature, freezing as always. I let the water finish filling up the bin before brushing my teeth. After brushing my teeth, I turn to the mirror. Upon looking at myself, I realize how truly miserable I appear. Of course, I don't feel happy, but I don't think I'm miserable. My life isn't bad in any way, but I miss my mom, my friends, and home. This doesn't feel like home, not even slightly.

School here starts up in a week and while I've been looking for reasons to get off of the farm, I'm still dreading having to spend the rest of my senior year without my best friends. To make matters worse, I've had very little interaction with the people in town. So now am I not only going to be a new kid going into senior year, but I'm going to know absolutely nobody. That's probably why I finally set an agenda for myself today. My first objective, get a job. My second objective, go back to school shopping and hope to god I make some fucking friends.

For the next two hours, I took my sweet time getting ready. My shower, while super cold, was still very refreshing. The one good thing about taking cold showers is that they always manage to wake me up, so, it didn't take me long to stop complaining. I definitely need to go shopping for new clothes, though. I am still wearing clothes that are too expensive to even exist in this town, I don't want people to think I am snobby in anyway. I manage to put on a simple outfit, it's just a white elbow-long sleeved shirt, khaki joggers, and my white converse. Honestly, most of my outfits are inspired by either Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp, my mom once asked me if I was a homosexual based off of how much I worshipped fashion and the two heartthrobs. The only thing I love more than my outfits is my hair, it's like my pride and joy. I always make sure to gel it just perfectly so that hangs off my face in the most appealing way. By the time I finished some small things around the house and ate breakfast, the clock on the wall read 7:03 and I knew that I could head out to town.

I probably could've left without seeing my dad, but he somehow managed to catch me as I had my foot out the door. "Edward!" he calls out, the very sound of him calling me by my middle name made me cringe. My grandfather was named Edward, I remember him being a great man and he loved me dearly, but the name was his, not mine. Before turning back to the kitchen, I sigh and walk back to the kitchen, "I already told you that I only want to be called Johnny," I said in a polite yet annoyed tone. He took a seat at the kitchen table and stirred his coffee, "where do you think you're going, son?" he asked, as though he'd been such a concerned parent his whole life. This really annoyed me, I was living in the middle of nowhere, there are very few things he has to pretend to worry about. Either way, I responded to his question, "I'm going to town, sir," I say sir mainly because I don't feel comfortable calling him dad, he knows this and hasn't tried to object yet, "I want a job and I need to make friends." As the sentence came out of my mouth, a rather shocked look appeared on his face. It took me a second, but I realized that my sentence sounded as though it'd come out wrong, usually people need jobs and want friends. However, I think working is the only thing that could keep me sane right now, "I said what I said," is the last words I say to him before walking out of the house and getting into my car.

THE JAREAU FAMILY BAKERY

My first stop upon getting into town is the Jareau Family Bakery. My father gets coffee cake and pecan pie from here, it's honestly some really good stuff. I know that my chances of getting hired are slim to none, but I have to try. So, as confidently as I can, I walk into the bakery and make my way up to the counter. I'm relieved to see that there are only a couple customers in here, they're also older people so nobody that would immaturely laugh at me. I'm only left waiting a few seconds before a young girl, probably my age, walks up to me.
"good morning, sir," she says, "how may i help you today?" She called me sir, which definitely threw me off guard, but she had a very strong southern accent. It was pretty but it also reminded me how out of place I am in this town.
"Are you hiring?" I ask, "I know it's a family bakery and all, but I love ba-" I'm cut off when a taller man appears in my view. I'm assuming that this man is the girl's daughter, and he immediately looks me up and down.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he asks me, probably taking notice to the way I dressed.
"No sir," I say, keeping my confidence stable and trying to look professional, "I just moved here a little over a month ago."
"Yes, and what is it that you desire from my bakery, then?"
"A job, I know that you're family owned, but I have a passion for baking and I would greatly appreciate it if I were able to join your staff."
As expected, the man looked at me as though I were crazy, "we don't hire, we're all set with everyone in the Jareau family."
"Please sir, if yo-" I try to plead, but I'm interrupted once again. This time it's by a petite woman, who I'm assuming is this man's wife.
"Honey, please," she says to her husband, giving me a warm smile which helped calm me down, "maybe it's time we get help on this staff."

After that, it was clear to see who really wore the pants in the family because the husband pulled her in the office to "discuss". I was unsure of what to do, so, I just checked out the pastry display. It was full of delicious foods, but the presentation looked a bit off. Of course, this probably wouldn't have been noticeable to any regular customer. However, after you take multiple dessert decoration courses, you begin to notice the small things. Even the smallest things were noticeable to me, such as something not being distributed equally or even something not being portioned/placed correctly. I probably could've continued on judging the pastries, but I was met by the original girl who'd greeted me when I walked in.

"Why would you want to work in a bakery anyway?" she asks, clearly trying to make small talk.
"I have a not so secret love for baking, it's how I made my money back home," I reply truthfully, it was easy cash and I got to do what I love.
"That's a first I've heard from a guy, where'd you move from?"
"Beverly Hills, this wasn't my ideal location."
"I see, your family's got money."
"Ah, not too much. My mom and I just made it by. I'm finishing my senior year of high school with my father, you probably know him, he's Charles Matthews."
"Mr. Matthews is your dad? Well ain't that something," as she is speaking the sentence, the girl walks away and disappears into the office.

She isn't gone for any longer than two minutes, but when she comes back, she has a huge grin on her face. In her hand, she's holding a white apron and a small white name tag. She extends her hand out for mine, "my name's Josephine Jareau," she says, "pleasure to meet you, co-worker," the way that she says coworker proves that my father has finally done one good thing for me in my life, and while I don't like to flaunt privilege, I am very happy to have it for once. In return, I extend my hand out to meet hers and shake it firmly, "Johnny Matthews, the pleasure's all mine."