Harold Robbins and the Cucumber Patch

The sun was not yet up when he was awakened by his mother, and the house was so cold that he pulled on his coat when he sat up in bed. She had told him to hurry, for she had prepared a small breakfast for him, his sister and his two brothers. This had been going on for a month now and he knew that it would be over soon. However, after this came blueberry season and then tobacco season and he would have at least one full day off the whole summer, not including Sundays when his family would be inside of the church for half of the day.

He walked into the living room where his mother had built a fire in the stove so that they could warm themselves before going out to the cucumber patch to pick the day’s earnings. Last year he had been pissed. It was his first time at being a farm boy after they moved from the big city, but, now, he was used to it. They would finish sometimes before noon and drive the baskets of freshly picked cucumbers over to the pickling station where the foreman would pay his mother and she would give each of them a dollar. He always saved his money until there was a book he’d wanted to read or to purchase a new notebook to write his stories in.

When the sun had come up, the food in his belly had already settled and the hot tea he’d drank no longer warmed him. He picked with caution, careful not to grab one that was not yet ripe. The socks he wore on his hands were damp from the morning dew, keeping him a little chilled; a little miserable. He thought of something...a memory from not too long ago before this year’s seeds were planted. He got an erection and because he was on his knees, no one would notice. It was something to think of while he earned his dollar for the day, and something to think of later when he was alone...

I lay in bed for a moment or two before I have to take a piss. The dream lingers in my head for a moment while I sculpt a story. I look over at the body next to me. He doesn’t stir. Good. I need a little quiet for another hour or so.

I go to the dining table and turn on my computer. While it is booting up, I pour myself a glass of orange juice to sip while I write. I always get my best ideas in the morning when the day is just starting and I hear other people down on the street rushing off to work.

I don’t notice how much time has passed while I write. I’m too involved in the story to worry about much.

“Do you always write when you’re naked?” I hear behind me.

“You’re disturbing my concentration,” I tell him.

“Sorry. Um, should I leave then?”

“That would probably be a good idea.”

I hear him sigh. “They’re right about you: you are a jerk.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I say, still typing.

He leaves after telling me that he wrote his phone number down. I get up to lock the door, and return to my laptop to finish the story.

I feel empty now that I’m finished. It’s sometime after noon. I feel hungry, but I don’t feel like cooking. I should probably go out and get one of those breakfast specials at a restaurant or an egg mcmuffin.

After a quick shower, I put on the jeans I had worn last night when I went to the bar for a couple of beers. Outside, the sun is shining; the day is warm. I take my jacket back to my apartment and start off in search of a restaurant. I end up at a trendy little place I’d eaten at before. The waitress is nice. I order eggs and potatoes and wolf them down before she has a chance to refill my water glass. I leave a four dollar tip and spend the rest of the day browsing through bookstores and a porn shop.

I still feel empty. I don’t want to go back home and listen to sappy pop songs or to watch early evening television or to try to conjure up another idea for a story. I take out my cellphone to call my friend Dennis. I ask if he and Lorie are interested in having a beer after work.

“Sure, man, see you around five,” he tells me.

I walk back to one of the bookstores to purchase an erotic novel to read before Dennis and Lorie show up.

When I get to the bar, there are only four people and the bartender inside. I sattle up to a table, suddenly pissed that I decided to quit smoking. The bartender comes over to greet me by placing a beer in front of me. He asks if Dennis and Lorie are coming and I nod. He sits and we chat for a few minutes until two more patrons enter. I start to read the book I bought, finding the novel interesting in its tale of uncontrollable lust and unrequited love.

It was getting dark. The front door was open. His brothers and sister sat in the living room watching a sitcom on television while his parents sat on the front porch talking about canning the fruit that had begun to grow on the trees out back. He had to work in someone’s tobacco filed in the morning, pulling the sticky leaves from the tall stalks in the hot sun until the barn was full of fresh leaves ready to be cooked and dried for the next auction.

He got up and stepped outside. His mother asked if he was going somewhere. He told her that he felt restless and would take a walk.

It was quiet, except for the crickets singing their song. He thought he remembered someone stating that the sound crickets made were mating calls and he remembered thinking that crickets were horny creatures.

He stopped at the cucumber patch. The season was over and the ground was tilled; the dirt smelled fresh. The memory came back in his head. He looked up at the stars blanketing the sky. It was a full moon that particular night, right before school ended. The ground was cold, but neither one of them cared. He had told his parents that he had tripped and fallen into the dirt later on that night after they parted for the last time. He had gotten into bed and felt empty, yet there was a pain that seemed almost unbearable. He cried himself to sleep and had dreams of confusion and loss.

He almost felt like crying right then and there.

It all started with a book, he thought. One book, one moment of serendipity and he was suddenly fucking the captain of the high school football team. In cars and bathrooms and the captain’s bedroom and the garage and the locker room and under the stands of the football field and...here in the fresh dirt ready to be seeded with cucumber. It was before graduation; before the captain of the football team would impregnate the cheerleader he’d been dating...

And after he had learned about love.

The bar is crowded. Everyone inside is yelling instead of talking to each other. The music is too loud.

“You two are out pretty late,” I say to Dennis.

“It’s Friday, man. No work tomorrow.”

I forgot what day it is.

Lorie had went to the jukebox to play some music. One of the bartenders brings over another pitcher of beer. I look around, scanning guys playing pool and video games while others are talking; picking each other up for a night of carnal encounters.

“Any prospects for tonight?” Dennis asks.

“Nope,” I tell him.

Lorie comes back to the table and asks me how the writing is going. I shrug and mutter that it’s going okay. She tells me that there is too much sex in my work. I tell her that at least my characters do it right.

“Yeah, baby!” Dennis yells and we high-five each other.

Lorie gives Dennis an angry stare. He moves in closer to her and they kiss each other tenderly.

Lorie mentions that there are some cute guys out tonight. I look around. She’s right. However, I don’t give it much thought. They will all be lonely again in the morning.

We drink two more pitchers of beer before deciding to leave. Lorie asks if I want to come over and smoke a joint. I decline the offer, telling her that I’m going to spend a quiet night with pizza and a movie. I watch them walk down the street holding hands and smooching. I think about the story I wrote earlier and that empty feeling returns for a moment.

I take a deep breath. The night air is getting a little chilly. I start to walk home, trying to push that empty feeling somewhere else so that I won’t feel its familiar rush.

Suddenly, I remember that I have a couple of joints at home. I make a turn to walk back to the porn store I’d browsed through earlier.