Last of the Summer Tomatoes (2 page)

“Yeah, they threatened juvie to me too. When I heard ‘assault’ I was sure they had the wrong case file. I tried to tell them we didn’t mean it, but the judge didn’t give me much of a chance to talk. He also made Hank pay $500 bail.”

“Ouch. I can see him really losing it over that kind of dough.” Billy turned to look at Kyle closer. “He really did a number on ya. Damn.”

Kyle moved his hair so it covered more of his eye. “Yeah, but until I turn eighteen in August and head to art school, I have to deal. Damn it, Billy, why’d you let your curiosity get the better of you? We were just gonna boost some candy, but no, you wanted to see if Mr. Powell had gotten that special glass after the car hit his store.”

“Ricky swore his mom told him Mr. Powell was going to get that new pexiglass whatever-it’s-called stuff. You know, the stuff that can hold like a hundred elephants? I didn’t think I threw the brick that hard, it was like the glass was made out of sugar or something. Even real glass, it should’ve just bounced, made a nick or something.” Billy looked dejected, rapidly trying to explain.

Kyle put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s your curiosity that makes you who you are. The chemistry lab will never be the same, will it?”

“Yeah, well, if they didn’t want us to experiment, they shouldn’t leave all those chemicals around, right?”

Kyle laughed, really laughed for the first time in what seemed like years. “You’re absolutely right.” The first bell rang. Kyle dug out his cell phone, entered his code and stowed the cell. “Ready to greet the day?”

“Sure. Another wonderful day at Eisenhower High. Yippee.” Billy’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Kyle.

Two

T
HE
fluorescent lights were giving Kyle a headache. He and his attorney had been sitting in the hallway for over an hour.

Mr. Castile looked at his watch. “Sorry it’s taking so long. They’re backed up today.”

Kyle shrugged. “It got me out of my morning classes. No biggie.”

“You do realize if you agree to what the prosecutor says, you can avoid a trial?”

“But I’d have to plead guilty, right?”

“Not necessarily. I put a petition in to reduce the charges to simple vandalism. Mr. Powell has agreed to the reduction, as long as you and your friend pay for the window. If the prosecutor agrees, we can avoid a trial and jail time. Is that something you want?”

“Will it go on my record?”

“I’m going to ask that it go on your juvenile record, which will be sealed when you hit eighteen.”

“I know I fuck… screwed up. But I want to go to art school this coming fall, and I’ve got a scholarship. I don’t want this to affect my plans.”

“I will try my best, but there are no guarantees until we go before the judge.”

“Thanks, man, uh, Mr. Castile.”

“It’s my job. I try to do my best, even with my workload.”

A booming voice echoed down the hall. “Jackowski, Kyle. Next.”

“That’s us. Come on, let’s see if I can work some charm on Ms. Jones. I think she fancies me.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, not wanting to think about whom or even what the prosecutor “fancied.”

K
YLE
was seated at a long wooden table, next to his attorney. The prosecutor sat across from them, the judge at the head.

“Son, these are serious charges. Why should I allow you to plead down to simple vandalism?” The same judge that had sentenced him to house arrest was presiding over his case.

“I… I didn’t mean to, I mean, we… Billy and I….”

“Take a deep breath and gather your thoughts.”

Kyle let out a breath. “Billy and I, um, that’s William Stecker and I, we knew Mr. Powell had replaced the glass in his storefront after a car ran into it. We were just curious, you know, to see if he had gotten this special glass that’s supposed to be really strong.”

The judge tried to suppress a smile. “Ah, I see. Curiosity got the better of you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you see now that sometimes you have to suppress your curiosity, lest others get hurt?”

“Yes, sir.”

The prosecutor spoke up. “These are still serious charges, Your Honor. And he has a record.”

The judge held up his hand. “I’m very aware of that, Ms. Jones. And punishment is required, but I think if Mr. Jackowski is as smart as I think he is, he’ll agree to a new work release program just implemented this year.”

“The farmers’ facilitation act?”

Kyle leaned over to whisper to his attorney. “Work release?”

“Listen to the judge. This may be the best way out of this situation.”

“Would you agree, Ms. Jones, that this might qualify for that program? He would be helping out a community in need, earning some money to pay for the window.” The judge pushed his glasses down on his nose, looking over them to Kyle. “This is a program where you agree to work on a farm for a number of months. You would earn some money, not much, but you would be helping out a community in need instead of being locked up at a detention center. I will agree to the reduction of charges as well.”

“Does this mean it goes away when I turn eighteen?”

“Well, not exactly. It will always be part of your juvenile record, but as long as you stay on the straight and narrow as an adult, no one will ever know. I will seal the record.”

Kyle let out a breath. “And all I have to do is work on a farm?”

“That is the program. Farmers have been hurt tremendously in this economy, so they pushed this bill through. Nonviolent juvenile offenders such as yourself can become productive members of society and learn a few things along the way.”

Kyle looked at Mr. Castile. “Is this a good thing?”

“This is about as good as you’re going to get.”

Kyle nodded. “Okay, I agree.”

Three

T
HE
bus was hot; dust poured in from the open windows. This particular spring had been too hot and too dry, summer advancing way too quickly. Kyle shifted in his seat, hoping the end of his journey was near. He had listened to most of his favorite artists on his iPod: The Fray, OneRepublic, Jimmy Eat World, Weezer, each song hitting his heart, his brain, the music channeling his feelings. They had passed vast acreages of farmland, stopping in each little town to let off one or two of the passengers. Most were younger than Kyle, looking just as apprehensive as he. He still thanked whoever might be listening “up there” that he hadn’t been sent to jail for their little prank, but a summer on a farm wasn’t his idea of fun. He’d rather be at the park, drawing, sketching, maybe making a few bucks here and there running errands for the local neighborhood folk. He knew his art school scholarship wouldn’t cover everything. He was going to have to work pretty hard to stay in school come the fall. He knew Hank wasn’t going to help out, which was fine by him. He hated the thought of leaving his mother, but he had no choice if he was going to save his own sanity.

Finally the bus stopped at Schuylerville, a small farming community near the center of the state. He had been assigned to a dairy farm, Walt’s Dairy, owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Walter Johnson. He tried to envision what it was going to be like, scouring web pages for pictures and information before he left. He kind of liked the thought of learning about nature. It could inspire some cool artwork, that is, if he was given any time for himself. He even started sketching out some pictures of cows and horses, hoping he’d have time to draw what he saw around him.

The bus driver stood up, his clipboard in hand. “Kyle Jackowski, this is your stop.” He opened the door and got off the bus first.

Kyle hugged his sketchpad to himself as he hiked up his backpack. When he exited the bus, he had to blink a few times as the bright sunshine hit his face. The driver pulled his luggage out from the stow area of the bus. Kyle looked around, wondering where he should go and about to start out for the nearest restaurant when an old Buick sedan pulled up. A thin, blonde, middle-aged woman in jeans and a t-shirt stepped out.

“Kyle Jackowski?”

Kyle swallowed and nodded, trying to make himself smaller. “Yes, ma’am.” She was just a tad bit shorter than he was.

The bus driver stepped up. “Mrs. Johnson? Please sign here.” He held the clipboard out to her for her to sign and he headed back to the bus.

“Well, Kyle, sorry I cut it close. Got a little hectic on the farm this morning.” She reached down and grabbed one of his bags before he could stop her. “I’m Glenda Johnson.”

“I… I can get those, ma’am.”

She snorted. “Don’t you worry, young man. If it ever comes a day I can’t lift a bag of luggage, well then just put me six feet under.” She tossed first one bag, then the other into the trunk, giving it a good shove closed. “There. Ready to go? You need anything before we head out of town?”

“Need anything?”

“Did you forget anything? Toothbrush, underwear, shampoo….” She looked over at his chest and noticed the sketchpad. “Sketch pencils?”

Kyle looked up at her with wide eyes. “It’s… it’s okay I brought this, right?”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Perfectly all right. I promise, we aren’t going to work you day in and day out. Now, did you forget anything? It’s a hike back to town; we usually only make one trip a week.”

Kyle wasn’t used to much of any physical contact that didn’t hurt. He kind of liked the warmth she exuded. “No, ma’am, I think I have everything.”

“That’s good. And call me Glenda. Or Mom… whatever you prefer. My son, Sam, his friends have called me Mom or Momma Glenda since they were young.” She opened the driver’s side door while Kyle went around to the passenger’s side. Once he was buckled up, she hit the accelerator and boogied out of town.

“I don’t know what all they told you before you left the city; we’re a dairy farm, about a hundred head of cattle being milked at any one time. We also have our own personal stock of chickens, goats, a couple of horses. You ever been on a horse?”

Kyle shook his head. “No, ma… Glenda. The only animals I’ve been around are cats and dogs.”

Glenda laughed. “Oh, we have those as well. Mostly barn cats and herding dogs. We’ll ease you into the other animals. They can be intimidating.”

Kyle started to relax. Her voice was even, happy, not a hint of regret, sadness, or pain like his mother’s. “I read about dairy farms on some websites. Before I was sentenced… before I got into this program, I never thought about where food comes from. It just came from the grocery store.”

She laughed. It was a wonderful sound to Kyle’s ears, reminding him of “BH”—Before Hank. Back when his father was still alive, his father had made them laugh all the time. Now he couldn’t remember the last time any of them had laughed. Probably the lack of laughter was what made him relate to the emo music and lifestyle.

“A lot of city folk are like you, never realizing what goes into the food you eat. I hope you’ll gain a better appreciation of farm life once the summer’s over.”

“I promise to work hard. I just… I don’t know what exactly is expected of me.”

“Just do your best, that’s all we ask. My husband, Walt, will show you most of what to do. Once my son Sam comes home from college, he’ll also be around for you to ask questions. Might relate better to him; he’s about your age, just turned nineteen.”

Kyle gave a little smile. It would be nice to make a friend while he was here. Although he highly doubted he and this Sam would be friends. The way he looked, the way he acted surely isn’t going to fit in with the farm look. But he would try his best, just as he promised.

About twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a sprawling ranch. Two barns near the front entrance and he could just make out a third near the horizon. Cows seemed to be everywhere, all passively chewing grass and swishing their tails. A creek meandered parallel to the drive for a few hundred yards, then turned the bend toward the west. Two dogs ran up to the car and chased it down the drive, right up to a large two-story ranch house. The dust kicked up, and she slammed to a stop. A middle-aged man with thin gray hair, pale blue eyes, and wearing blue coveralls and baseball cap came out of the barn.