As They Say - (Revised) - 12. Entry #18

Right, so this morning when I woke up, I tried hiding Ross's underwear— until I figure out exactly what to do with them. They are most definitely his; they are not mine. I wonder how they ended up in my bag. It wasn't as if we were rushing to get dressed and had to pack up in a hurry. No, Ross's underwear was buried quite deep down in my bag, under my towel. I think the only way it would have happened, or could have possibly gotten in there is if he put it in himself. But what does that mean? Does Ross want me to do something with them? I don't think I can go to him about this topic as a discussion.

I guess if he says nothing about the missing undies, then I can just keep hiding them, as long as my Mam doesn't go rummaging around the room. I hate when she does that; it's like a breach of my privacy. I have some stuff hidden for all my naughty times, and she has never found it, and I hope she never does in the future. So, I think it'll be safe in the very back of my wardrobe. I'll put them in with my collection of torn out newspaper clippings and memorabilia that I have ripped out of stuff for... stuff. Is that what I'm calling it these days— memorabilia? Something almost seems wrong about this. Even though I like having them around, I can only imagine the scary embarrassment if any of what I do with it airs out in the open. It almost feels shameful to have his underwear in there with it all, but if Mam can’t find it, it's the best place for it. It's in behind all the Gaelic stuff I used to have before I quit hurling last year. So, it's in with all the gear for that shit.

Come to think of it, I can’t quite comprehend why I stopped playing sports. Was it because of my growing fascination with the boys around me more so than the game? Maybe so. It's saddening to think that I can’t play some of my favourite games because boys become a distraction. It should be girls, not Ross next door, or the lads from the football team. How can I handle the act of juggling wanting to look and the fear of getting caught? I think, for now, I should just stay well away from anything sports related until I figure out what the hell is wrong with me. I don't believe a doctor can help me. I wouldn’t even know where to start. I have heard of gay people out in the world, but not so much in Ireland. It feels weird because everyone around here is either too traditional or all farmers.

Carl’s dad is a farmer; it's not uncommon to see his dad all about the town doing different bits and pieces for everyone. But I guess Carl’s dad is an exception because he’s pretty sound, actually.

Anyway, I went down for breakfast, but Mam and Dad weren’t anywhere to be seen. They left a note on the fridge. Mam ran into town, and Dad was helping a neighbour put up fencing for a pigpen. Other than that, I had the house to myself. I didn’t really think much about the opportunity. I just got prepared after my breakfast and chose to head out for Ross.

I have to say, I was a little disappointed. When I stopped by for Ross this morning, nobody was home. I knocked a couple of times, but I felt a little saddened when nobody came to the door. However, Ross did come and see me later in the day. I'll get to that in a minute; first, I want to talk about what I did without Ross.

As you can imagine, I felt a little weird not being around for Carl, and since the new kid moved in next door, I haven't spent a whole lot of time with my best friend.

I thought that the best thing I could do is to go hang out for a little bit. I chose to get on my bike and peddle over to his house. Just as I came to the gravel entrance for his driveway, I got the biggest fright of my life. A tractor almost ran me over, coming out the driveway. I, in return, did a harsh skid to the side of the road and ended up in the ditch that separated their drive from the tarmac boreen. I thought my life had come to an end, but I was reminded that I was indeed still alive because of the smack I sustained when hitting a stone at the bottom of the ditch. At least, all I escaped with was with a bruise on my forearm. I wasn’t dead or had a broken arm.

Can you imagine the conversation my Mam would have with Carl’s dad? Yeah, it was John Maher driving the tractor. John was trying to get finished ahead of time, and he didn't really think about people passing by the gate. After all, his property is the only farm out this far, so John nearly killed me.

Anyway, John got out of the tractor, and he shouted at me, "God, I thought I was going to crush you flat, lad."

I gazed up to him on the embankment and grinned while sorta grimacing. A moment later, I heard a familiar voice coming from somewhere up the driveway.

"What’s wrong, Dad?" the voice called out.

I automatically knew it was Carl, and with that, he stopped by the edge of the ditch and peered down at me like an angel in the sky. Carl glanced back at his dad and then leapt down and assisted me to my feet. Carl was dressed in his work clothes, consisting of a trashed hoodie, beat-up runners, and tracksuit bottoms. When Carl helps his dad, he always wears the same clothes.

I felt a little awkward for having come at an odd time, so I got straight down to business, and I asked, “Do you wanna hang out for a bit when you're finished?"

Carl nodded. But not before his father popped into the conversation, “Yeve’ to help me with the bales first, son,” John said.

To which Carl looked at his dad, "I know, Dad. Come on, and let’s get it done so we can head off.”

Carl’s dad crouched down and let out his hand to me. Gripping onto the hand on offer, John pulled me up out of the ditch.

"Sorry bout nearly runnin' ya over, lad," John said hoarsely.

My bike got passed back up and I took it.

In doing so, John pulled Carl up the same way, and I said, “It’s okay.”

Carl and I decided to head back down behind his father’s tractor, where another smaller tractor was— with a large shipment of haybales attached to a trailer. I wheeled my bike, then discarded it by a tree. Carl stopped outside by the cab and climbed back up into it. Glancing down at me, he asked if I wanted to come along, and since I had nothing else to do, I decided to go along with him.

“You’re not bad like your dad at driving, are ya?” I teased.

Carl jokingly added, “Only when a Sunday driver is out prowling."

I laughed, climbed in, then shut the door. Resting my weight down on the ledge beside the door, Carl turned the key, and the tractor rumbled and chortled to life. Glancing out the windowpane, John's tractor tore out of the driveway a little slower, leaving Carl room to ease forward with the tractor towards the gate.

Not long after, we were out on the road driving about 15 miles per hour, trailing behind his father to one of the fields the family owns. For the most part, I enjoyed riding in the cab with Carl. I haven’t actually done it in a while, and it seemed weird at first watching my childhood friend drive a tractor, but it isn’t uncommon where I live. Secondly, Carl has been driving most of his life.

Carl told me a couple times that his dad asked him to help with some stuff on the farm. Though John only lets Carl drive the tractor when he’s around. John won’t let him out of his sight with a large machine like this, yet. After a little bit, we came to a green with a lot of sheep in it, and Carl’s dad got out and opened the gate for the field ahead of us. Just like that, John got back in the cab and preceded into the swampy kraal. Once inside, I got out and and shut the gate to stop sheep from roaming off.

We pursued, slow-moving, cautious, observing what John was doing. The edge of the pasture was a dreadful sludgefest. Carl's father even lost traction going through the mud. Huge impressions of the tires were left embedded in the grassy and muddy terrain. Next, it was our turn; as Carl snailed into the field, he tried to keep to the left of the pulpy grass. At least he'd have some traction there, whereas John just went straight across the mud and into the plot. We felt the slippery surface underneath the tractor tire, and we both started laughing, even though Carl was struggling.

The tractor wheels spun out every so often before catching friction until we came to a complete stop. Carl ceased wedging his foot down on the accelerator pedal so that we wouldn’t get stuck. John had the back shutter of his tractor open and was shouting out at us. Carl directed me to crack the door beside me. Doing so, I just opened it to hear what John wanted to say to us.

Vaguely, we could overhear his dad shouting, "Lock the back diff!"

I had no idea what that was or what John was asking for us to do.

Turning to Carl, I asked, “What’s a diff?”

Carl just said, "The differential lock,” with a grin.

Carl then pressed a grey looking switch alongside four others, and suddenly the tractor started to curve to the left automatically. Before we knew what was what, we were turning back on ourselves slightly. Carl rang out the wheel so that the axel was parallel, and we were on with our journey.

Afterwards, we drove back across the same problem, but we didn't have as much hassle that time, and when Carl got back to his house, we just elected to stay for the afternoon. His mam made lunch for us, which was really kind of her. We sat around talking about what we could do over the next couple of days.

I take back what I said. I do like being with Carl; he’s my best friend after all, but I don’t like to include everyone in the same outing all the time. I know everyone was not present earlier, but just having a one-on-one conversation with him really made my day. We talked about how we could head over to Murphy’s farm after dark one night and chase the cows about for the craic. As appealing as that sounded, I think I can fantom much more idyllic things to do with my time.

So, we settled on having a possible sleepover, out under the stars. All the lads, because it would be warm enough. Of course, our parents will not let us go too far, so it will have to be near one of our houses. And since Carl’s house smells like horse and pig shit most of the year, I thought that my yard would be an ideal place to plop a couple of tents down. You know, sleep outside under the stars, have some marshmallows on sticks, tell ghost stories. It seems like it could be a good evening now that I think about it.

The only thing I’m worried about is how I’m going to include Ross in this equation. I sorta forgot to mention it to Ross. Maybe another time before it actually happens, right?

Agh…

After I got home, my mam told me that Ross had knocked. So, I quickly scarfed down my dinner and then went over to Ross’s house. When approaching the front door, I was about to knock when Ross called out from behind me. I spun around to him, and everything was all smiles and happiness. It was comforting to know that Ross had missed me somewhat today because I sure did miss him.

When I asked Ross where he went off to, he said, "My grandma wanted me to help with a couple of things in the village. I didn't think you'd wake up till later, but you must have. So, I'm sorry.”

Ah, how sweet, I thought; Ross said sorry for abandoning me. Okay, that seemed a lot more horrible than it echoed in my head. Seriously, I’m not angry or anything; it was genuine.

By the time we actually got to do anything, it was almost 7 PM, so we just played a little bit of football in his garden, and then we called it an evening. Ross didn't mention anything about what I have in my possession. I don't think I'll bother to mention it either. Maybe Ross forgot he put them there. And speaking of other things, I didn't invite him to the sleepover yet either. I'm trying to keep everything hush-hush for the time being.

Does that make me a bad person?

I hope not.

I just want to wait till I have everything sorted out. I want everyone to be included in what I'm doing; believe me when I write this. It's just that Carl is a hard person to talk around when he’s not in the mood. I should have mentioned something of the sort about inviting Ross along so that everyone knows he is coming to the sleepover. It would be wrong not to include him. After all, he hasn't got any friends other than me. Though I think the boys will be okay with him turning up, Carl too, I just know. But if they start treating him like shit on the second time he meets them, I'm going to hate them forever.

Anyway, I better get ready for bed. I have a couple of things to do, and Dad still hasn't put up the shelves in the garage. Maybe I can just ask him, so he can get them done and out of the way. Because knowing my Dad, he will come and find me at an awkward time, wanting to do them, and I will be too busy. Yet, I'll still fold and do them because he is, after all, my old man.

Well, night,

Adam