SHORT STORY CONTEST: Pick Your Own

THIS IS THE THIRD DRAFT -- The previous drafts are below this one

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Every path has a beginning, even if it's indistinct or unrecognized. On a midsummer morning, my sister and I went with our father on an outing. He used to come up with delightful adventures. My favorite was a library scavenger hunt meant to encourage a love of books. He taught us how to play tennis and find sand dollars on sand bars. He even created elaborate games for us.

But things had begun to change. He was spending his days at home instead of at an office. Daddy was in charge while Mom worked at the furniture store. I overheard her warning him he was on the bottom rung of the success ladder. He had a plan, he told her. She didn't sound convinced.

The pitch for the outing happened over cinnamon toast cut into triangles. He told us we would get to try something we've never done before and that there were farm animals. The mention of pigs and ponies cinched the deal for my little sister. I was not so sure. I sensed a shift in the selling of this adventure. A tinge of urgency or obligation. I don't know that I could have put my finger on it then, but in retrospect, the change was happening right before my eyes.

We rode in daddy's little yellow truck. I tried to roll down the window, but it got stuck. The smoke from his cigarette was filling the cab. The air conditioner worked fine, but there was no coolant, so the flow was warm as it blew on my face. Crystal tried putting her nose inside her tee-shirt and scooted closer to me. The window didn't go down far enough to bring relief and the blistering summer air licked at us as if it were flames.

Pawtuck’s Farm came into view as we rounded a wooded bend. Upon entering the long drive, we spotted some farm animals in a pen on the side of a large rust-colored barn. A bright sign read PETTING ZOO $3. Crystal bounced a little on the seat. But instead of pulling up to the barn, we followed the pitted track around the corral. It led us past fields with waist-high plants to a parking area. As we pulled into a dusty space, Daddy swung a little wide and tipped over a trash barrel. The debris sprayed under the cars next to us. He got out, righted the can, and ushered us out of the truck.

Another sign stuck to a post directed PICK YOUR OWN with an arrow towards the field to our left. I could feel the weight of the humidity press against my bare legs and arms. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet. I could hear a pony whinny and smelled the strong odor of pig manure float to us on the hot wind.

"I’m going to show you how to pick tomatoes,” Daddy said.

As if picking tomatoes ranked up there with learning to ride a bike or how to bait a hook. Adventures we took for granted before this new version of Daddy arrived. The version that didn’t look us in the eyes anymore. The one with the sour breath and the rough face when he kissed us goodnight.

“Yuck!” Crystal spat out the word as if it were the offensive fruit itself.

[still working...]

THIS IS THE SECOND DRAFT -- The first (very rough) draft is below this one

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Carrie Adler started on her path to rehab before her tenth birthday. On a sunny afternoon in 2002, Carrie used the rusty hand crank to let some air into the cab of her daddy’s little yellow truck. None of her friends had to roll down a window manually.

“It’s broken, sweetie,” Mr. Adler, said. The tip of her father’s cigarette burned bright then faded as he exhaled, filling the tiny cab with smoke.

The handle wouldn’t budge past a third of the way. The latest imperfection in the family’s vehicle was low on the list of frustrations Carrie and her sister faced. At the top of the list was the outing currently underway, which sounded upon the selling like an adventure. Their dad was a dealer of dreams, making even the most mundane outing seem audacious and exciting.

Carrie scooted a little closer to the window and lifted her chin to feel the humid air blowing on her forehead. Her sister fanned herself from her perch mid-bench, breathing through her mouth.

“Daddy, can you roll down your window?” six-year-old Crystal said, fanning faster. She tucked her chin in her shirt and covered her nose with it.

“See that sign there? It says ‘Pawtuck’s Farm 1 mile’, we’re almost there.”

As they turned onto a dusty, country road, Carrie heard the boards shaking on the sides of the truck bed. Who knew plywood was a bad alternative for side rails? Certainly not her dad, for his education had prepared him for the boardroom, not the workshop. That’s what her Mama had said this morning when she didn’t know Carrie was within earshot. She also heard how this was the bottom rung of the success ladder he had been descending since he ran the family business into the ground. 

Pawtuck’s Farm came into view as they rounded a wooded bend. Upon entering the long drive, the girls spotted some farm animals in a pen on the side of a large rust-colored barn. A bright sign read PETTING ZOO $3. But instead of pulling up to the barn, the truck followed the pitted track around the barn, past the green fields, to a parking area on the other side.

The heat shimmered in the air around the long rows of plants. The colors seemed muted as if the temperature could change the contrast of each hue. Another sign stuck to a post directed PICK YOUR OWN with an arrow towards the field to their left. As they got out of the truck, they could feel the weight of the humidity press against their bare legs and arms, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. They started down one of the rows of waist-high plants. Carrie could hear the pony whinny and smelled the strong odor of cow manure. She was certain that the proposition presented upon waking this morning would entail petting cute animals. But as the barn had receded behind them, so too did the hope that this time would be different.

Their father had been spending his days at home instead of at an office. The summer days ran longer for a man without a paycheck. After their last unsuccessful outing, they understood that keeping their mouths shut about the petting zoo was the wise option.

“What are we doin’ here, Daddy?” Crystal asked, unfazed by the warning look her sister was giving her. Carrie was three years older than her sister. Three years; the time it takes to watch your hero turn into a charlatan. Long enough to tune your radar for picking out the truth in his promises. Pie in the sky, her mother was always saying.

“You get to learn something new today!" Mr. Adler said with a little too much enthusiasm.

"I’m going to show you how to pick tomatoes,” as if picking tomatoes ranked up there with learning to ride a bike or how to bait a hook. Adventures the girls had taken for granted before this new version of their Daddy arrived. The version that didn’t really look at them in the eyes anymore. The one with the sour breath and the rough face when he kissed them goodnight.

“Yuck!” Crystal spat out the word as if it were the offensive fruit itself.

Carrie sighed and waited for further instruction. Crystal took her cue and quieted, then bent close to inspect the red orbs on the plant in front of her. Mr. Adler knelt down and started gingerly snapping ripe red tomatoes and placing them gently in a box. The girls followed suit.

A large lady with a wide-brimmed hat stepped into their row. Her name tag said “Rene,” but she introduced herself as “Ray-nee.” She told them how she’d been working at the farm since the early days and offered help if they needed anything.

“You bringin’ those home or sellin’ em?” She asked, bending over to pick a tomato.

“I’m planning to sell them at a roadside farm stand."

This was news to his daughters, and they grunted and gasped accordingly. Crystal dropped the tomato she was holding, missing the box. Rene knelt between Carrie and Crystal and turned the green fruit over in her hands.

“If you pick ‘em too ripe, by the time you get ‘em to your stand, they’ll be spoilt. But if you pick ‘em with a hint of red and put ‘em in a box with a banana, they’ll turn ripe.”

Carrie smiled widely but Crystal’s eyebrows scrunched together and she stuck her hip out with a harrumph.

“Nuh-uh,” she said. “You’re making that up. She’s making it up, right Daddy?”

“Well, cutie-patootie, I think she might be the expert here and we are thankful for the advice,” he said reaching over and picking a hard, green tomato. His eyes didn't quite reach his daughters or Rene's.

“Daddy, she said it had to have some red on it.” Carrie picked a green tomato with a blush of crimson.

Rene winked at her. “Looks like you’ve got it figured out. They should ripen after a day or two, so make sure you don’t wait too long on getting ‘em to your stand. Have fun today.” she said as she walked away.

Once their box was full to almost overflowing, the girls used the handles on either side of the box to carry it back to the truck. They only lost a few when Crystal dropped her side to swat at a fly. Their dad took it from them and put it in the back, sticking a thumb out, and pointing into the bed of the truck.

“I have to go pay, so you girls can sit back here for the ride to the barn.”

Each sat atop a wheel-well and bounced along with the box at their feet. They waved at Rene when they saw the floppy hat in a nearby row as they drove by. Carrie glanced at the small lawnmower close to the cab and said “I hope we don’t have to help him mow again tomorrow.”

Assisting with RON'S LAWN SERVICE had been added to their long list of chores. Their dad had the girls pick up sticks and move lawn ornaments to clear the way for the mower. Their least favorite part of the job was raking up the lawn clippings.

As they came to an abrupt stop at the barn, there was the distinct sound of glass breaking. Before Carrie could stop her, Crystal got up to investigate, picking up a piece with a label on it. VODKA, it read. They could smell the familiar, stringent odor. Carrie leaped up and grabbed the shard from her sister and put her other finger to her lips. Mr. Adler was just getting out of the cab. A hot wind picked up and assaulted Carrie’s face.

As her father walked past, he stopped to pick up debris that was blowing by. When he looked into the back of the truck there was blood dripping from Carrie’s hand. For a moment he looked from her to Crystal and then to the front of the cab. Saying nothing, he handed her a crumpled napkin. Facing away from their father, Crystal could feel the tears sliding down her face, but gave her sister a grateful little nod. The glass was nowhere to be seen and their father didn’t even ask how she’d been injured. With pressure, the blood stopped. She would keep his secret.

Mama didn’t know about the bottle they found, and it wasn’t the first one they had spotted. Better to hide the evidence and take the consequences should it be discovered. This time was different. It was the first deception they uncovered outside of their home. If he were drinking during the day, it didn't seem obvious.

“Stay here,” he said.

Carrie could see the hat before she could see Rene approaching them from around the side of the barn. She walked up and gave each a banana. Crystal was about to start peeling hers when Carrie stopped her.

“That’s for the tomatoes, remember?”

Rene tousled Crystal’s hair and threw another wink at Carrie before heading into the barn.

After paying for the fruit, Mr. Adler got the girls settled into the cab and handed each girl a new napkin.

“Uh, I don’t need one, Daddy,” Crystal said. A toothy grin spread across his face as he handed each girl a honey stick. He showed them how to get to the honey by breaking the top and tipping it back into his mouth. His remedy for chronic disappointment was a tiny treat. They accepted the concession.

A drip of honey made a track down Crystal’s cheek. With her head in Carrie’s lap and her breathing even, the drive home seemed longer than the drive to get there. Crystal’s eyes kept closing. Each time they hit a pit in the road they would fly open for a second only to close again as she snuggled into Carrie’s lap. Carrie was glad her little sister would be starting school in the fall. She realized it might be easier for them both to be away during the day since Mama will be at the high school to teach Algebra.

“Tomorrow we mow,” Mr. Adler said, filling the cabin with smoke once more.

Carrie couldn’t help thinking that the broken bottle might have made the evening more bearable. Once he started drinking, he didn’t stop. She often found her dad asleep in his recliner with his highball glass sweating on the table beside him. Her mother would be in her room reading another novel. It felt like the quiet was stealing her childhood.

When she looked up, they were pulling into Red’s Package Store. 

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BELOW IS MY FIRST DRAFT -- I edited it after some wonderful critiques and created the second draft above.

Carrie used the rusty hand crank to roll down the window and let some air into the cab of her daddy’s little yellow truck. “It won’t go down all the way,” he said filling the truck with smoke, his Camel tip burning bright. The handle wouldn’t budge past a third of the way. The latest imperfection in the family’s only vehicle was low on the list of frustrations she and her sister were amassing. At the top of the list was the outing currently underway, which sounded upon the selling like an adventure, but was turning into yet another confabulation. Carrie scooted a little closer to the window and lifted her chin to feel the humid air blowing on her forehead. Crystal fanned herself from her perch mid-bench, leaning closer to her older sister and breathing through her mouth. “Daddy, will you please roll down your window?” Crystal said fanning faster.

“See that sign there, it says ‘Pawtuck’s Farm 1 mile’, we’re almost there”. He stubbed out his cigarette carefully with a good inch and a half left and put it behind his ear. As they turned into the dusty road, all attempts at conversation were stifled under the sound of boards shaking on the sides of the truck bed. Who knew plywood was a bad alternative for legitimate side rails? Certainly not Ron Adler, for his education had prepared him for the boardroom, not the workshop. The whisper of the promised adventure revealed itself again when the girls viewed the penned animals to the side of the large barn. A bright sign read “Petting Zoo $3”. But instead of pulling up to the barn, they followed the pitted track around the barn to the fields and drove to a parking area on the other side.

Their father had been spending his days at home instead of the office. They understood that keeping their mouths shut about the petting zoo was expected. As they got out of the car, they could feel the weight of the humidity press against their bare legs and arms, and it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. They started down one of the rows of waist-high plants. “What are we doing here Daddy?” Crystal asked, unfazed by the warning look her sister was giving her. Mr. Adler had grabbed a few cardboard boxes out of the back of his truck and handed one to each girl. “I’m going to show you how to pick tomatoes”.

“Yuck!” Crystal spit out. Carrie stopped and looked up at her father waiting for further instruction. He knelt down and started gingerly snapping ripe red tomatoes and placing them gently in his box. A friendly looking lady with a wide-brimmed hat stepped into their row and offered each girl a banana. Just as Crystal was about to start peeling it, the stranger held up a hand to stop her. Her name tag said “Rene”, but she introduced herself as “Ray-nee”. “Welcome to the farm. You bringin those home, or sellin em?” She bent over and picked a green tomato with a hint of red.

“I’m planning to sell them at a roadside farm stand”. This was news to his daughters, and they grunted and gasped accordingly. Rene knelt between Carrie and Crystal and turned the tomato over in her hands. “If you pick them too ripe, by the time you get them to your stand, they’ll be spoilt. But if you pick em with a hint of red and put em in a box with a banana, they’ll turn ripe.” Both girls looked at their bananas in unison. Carrie smiled widely but Crystal’s eyebrows scrunched together and she stuck her hip out with a harrumph. “Nuh uh” she said. “You’re making that up. She’s making it up, right Daddy?”

“Well, Petunia, I think she might be the expert here and we are thankful for the advice,” he said reaching over and picking a hard, green tomato. “Daddy, she said it had to have some red on it, like this.” Carrie picked a green tomato with a blush of crimson. Rene winked at her. “Good luck to you,” she said as she walked away.

On the drive out of the field, the girls both waved at Rene from the back of the truck. Each took a wheel well to sit atop and bounced along with a box at their feet. Carrie glanced at the small lawnmower close to the cab and said “I hope we don’t have to help him mow again tomorrow.” She noticed something glinting in the sunlight and as they abruptly came to a stop there was the distinct sound of glass breaking. Crystal got up to investigate and was assaulted by a strong, stringent smell. She knew that smell. She picked up a piece of glass with the label on it and proffered it to her sister. She hadn’t been reading for long, but she knew what that word said; Vodka.

When she looked up she saw her father walking past. He stopped momentarily and bent over to pick up something on the ground. When he looked into the back of the truck he saw the blood dripping from Carrie’s hand. He handed her a crumpled napkin. Crystal could feel the tears sliding down her face, but gave her sister a grateful little nod. The glass was nowhere to be seen and their father didn’t even ask how she’d been injured. After paying for the fruit, he hurried the girls back to the cab and handed each girl a napkin. “Uh, I don’t need one, Daddy,” Crystal said. A toothy grin spread across his face as he handed each girl a honey stick. With confusion growing on each face he explained that you should break the top and tip it back into your mouth.

A drip of honey was making a track down Crystal’s cheek. Her head in Carrie’s lap and her breathing even, the drive home seemed longer than the drive to get there. Crystal’s eyes kept closing and each time they hit a pit in the road they would fly open for a second only to close again as she snuggled into Carrie’s lap. She was glad her little sister would be starting school in the fall. With her dad home full time, she knew it would be easier for them both to be away during the day. “Tomorrow we mow”, Mr. Adler said filling the cabin with smoke once more. Carrie couldn’t help thinking that the broken bottle might make tomorrow more bearable. But when she looked up, they were pulling into Red’s Package Store.