Stanford

Life is. There are components that bring us to a point where we are. I doubt if I can express the impact of all such trivial encounters.
Work has always given me substance within those I come upon. In my teenage years, horse farms gave me gas money for hard work well done. Whatever you do there is always someone older and wiser. That encompassed most everyone in my youth in varying degrees of magnitude. At fifteen or sixteen I did not give much outward credence to the older set but held such thoughts close to my chest. At Brown Valley Farms, Stanford was much older than his years, all of which encompassed the menial tasks I was performing without deliberation. Mucking stalls and hauling hay posed no social redemption or redeeming value. Stanford was steadfast and diligent. He was always there and dealt with each task in a serious manner. My teenage frivolity gave him many moments to peer over his glasses and shake his head in distaste. My cigarette smoking was a concern for him but then I had never witnessed a barn fire, but everything around you had a low flashpoint. Stanford always had a pouch of Red Man to chew. Though the spitting was gross he assured me that his accuracy would squelch the spark of my cigarette in the haymow. Good sense told me I should listen so he rolled me a chew and I slid it in-between my lower lip and gum. Wow, the burning lasted two days after a few seconds of the test. After that, he chuckled each time he rolled a cud, motioned an offer to me, and I shuddered. He probably cracked a grin when he was alone with a chew.
One point of distinction was a medical problem with his left eye and a flesh-colored patch that covered the better part of his face. I did not question the cause, as that is just the way he was. One hot summer day we were working to clear bales of hay from the field. I was shocked to see blood coming from under his patch. It was probably the first time I touched him but I grabbed his shoulder and jabbed at that area of my face. He pulled out his red handkerchief, held it to his face, and walked back to the barn. Later we acted like nothing happened but it had. The next day I asked about his family. He had a sister in Ohio but he had not seen her since -- well he didn’t remember the last time. A few weeks later his old car wouldn’t start so I drove him home after the jump didn’t work. It was a one-room shack on a dirt road outside of Lakeville. The summer was winding down and in a few weeks, I was going to begin my junior year of high school. The hay was high in the barn and I told Stanford I was thinking about playing football so with practice and games I would only be around on weekends to help with the chores. With his grin and a nod, I knew it was okay. Most of what I said gave him exhilaration to either his past or things that should have been for him. That week, it may have been a Wednesday but Stanford was not at work. On Friday the boss asked if I had seen him. This was scary as Stanford was always there. I finished our work and left early, drove to that shack, and pounded desperately on the door. Forever passed but he opened the door to say he should be back on Monday.