Let It Burn
By Eli A. Susman
My dad’s fork rubs against his plate at the breakfast table, making a screeching noise that causes the room to tense. I try to not look up from my plate of scrambled eggs and dry toast; I don’t want to look at my grandfather who sits across from me. But when he shuffles in his seat, I do. He gives my father a stern look, then stands up to take his plate to the sink. Ever since my mom left us, my grandfather has been in charge of the family, and the family farm. He speaks without turning away from the sink, his dry voice bellows through our large wooden home.
“Hayley, you’ll be home quickly after school to help with the harvest?” It’s a question, but he says it like a statement. I look at my father, thinking he may say something, but I should know by now that won’t happen.
“I actually have something after school so…”
“--no. You’ll come home as soon as school finishes. We need to work overtime if we want enough grain for the sale next week. Beaver Grain and the damn corporate farmers are pushing us out.”
“But I’m…”
“No excuses Hayley. I wish I didn’t have to put a woman to work, but either you work, or we have to sell the farm. You know this. So hurry home.”
I don’t respond, I shove my last bit of egg into my mouth.
“Okay?” He raises his voice. I wish my father would say something, but he doesn’t. I’m about to nod my head when my friend Henry knocks on our screen door. We all look over.
“Hi Mr. Johnson, hey Jacob. Ready Hayley?” He uses my dad’s first name. Henry’s smile accentuates his red cheeks and freckles.
My dad gives him a sheepish wave, then checks to see if my grandfather saw--he didn’t. My grandfather huffs and waves me out the door. Nobody says anything. I grab my backpack and leave.
-----
We bike to school together every morning. People think we are dating, but that idea horrifies my grandfather. Henry doesn’t exactly fit his stereotype of a big strong man that can take care of a woman. In fact, Henry is so far from being a big strong man that takes care of me, the weak feeble woman, that he’s gay. But I’d rather my grandfather think I’m dating a man that he doesn’t approve of, than him knowing my best friend is the kind of person he thinks should die in hell.
The never ending Kansas farmland zooms by us mile after mile. Henry’s basketball backpack hangs over his shoulder, he plays on our high school’s varsity team though we are only freshmen. Every morning I wonder how he keeps his balance with such a big bag hanging to one side.
“Your dad looked happier than usual.” He says. It upsets me that one simple wave makes my dad seem happier than usual.
“I hate my grandpa.” It would be impossible to count how many times I’ve said these words.
“So do I after what he did to your dad. The whole team is angry if I’m being honest.”
“What?” I abruptly stop my bike, leaving thin tire marks on the paved road. Henry stops as well, he looks back at me, a guilty look on his face. “Henry, what are you talking about?”
“I, Coach Havens said we weren’t supposed to tell anyone not on the team…”
“Too late for that, cut the crap, what did he tell you about my grandfather?”
“How do you know it’s about him?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
Henry let out a breath, clearly trying to calm himself down.
“Coach Havens told us that when your dad was in high school he was on the basketball team.”
“I knew he was on the team, that’s not a secret.”
“I guess he wasn’t just, on-the-team.”
“What do you mean?”
“Havens told us he was the star of the team, and...and rumor has it he got a scholarship to play at KU, but your grandpa hid it from him. He didn’t want him to go away for school. So your dad…”
“So my dad thinks he wasn’t good enough to play college ball…”
“And that’s why he stayed behind and resorted to helping his dad on the family farm.”
Henry helps me to complete the thought.
I look down, and push my hair behind my ears. I don’t know what to think.
“I’m sorry Hayles, but, come on, there’s nothing we can do about it now; we need to get to school.” Henry starts to bike again, knowing I’ll follow slowly behind him.
I spend the rest of the ride to school plotting my next move.
-----
After school is over I rush home, help my grandfather out for multiple long hours, then eat a big steak and mashed potato dinner my dad prepared. Once everyone has gone to their rooms to end the night, I sneak upstairs. I stand in front of the door to our storage room and take a deep breath, trying to stay as calm and quiet as possible. If there are any clues to what actually happened between my dad, grandfather, and college basketball, it will be in this room. It’s been nearly two hours since dinner, there is no way my grandfather is still awake. The door creaks slightly as I open it and I wince. I don’t close it behind me.
I look around, reading the names on all the overly-organized storage boxes. Finally, on the 7th box I see the words “Murray’s Stuff DO NOT TOUCH”. Murray, my grandfather's name. It’s on the top shelf, so I grab a chair to stand on. I pull the box off the shelf slightly, just enough to be able to look inside it and rummage around. The box is mainly full of old photos. One is of a five year old Murray Johnson and his father, Arthur Johnson, standing in front of the house after he built it in 1946. Another photo is of my grandfather holding my dad when he was born in 1966. My grandmother is in the photo, but she died before my dad was old enough to remember her.
Then I see a large envelope dated 1984, the year my dad graduated from high school. Also the year I was born...and the year my mom left us. Inside the large envelope is a regular sized one addressed to Jacob Johnson, my father. It was sent from Kansas University. My hands start to shake as I hold the already opened envelope in my hands. I pull the paper from inside it and can barely believe what I’m reading. A letter of acceptance to play basketball at Kansas University with a full scholarship for Jacob Johnson. Tears well up in my eyes. A drop falls onto the letter.
“You should put that back where you found it and go to your room.”
My grandfather appears in the doorway behind me. His voice is quiet but harsh, weak yet strong, rude and intimidating. He startles me, and I fall from the chair, dropping the box along with all its contents onto the floor. I look up at my grandfather, a large and daunting man. There is a moment of silence before I turn around and begin frantically searching for the letter in the mess of papers on the floor.
“Hayley stop.” But I don’t stop. The tears in my eyes make it difficult to see. “Hayley stop this.”
I find the letter and stand up. I head for the door. “My dad deserves to see this.” I say, holding up the dated letter to my grandfather. He grabs my skinny arm firmly in his large and rough hand, stopping me from going by.
“He can’t see it. He never has, and he isn’t going to tonight.”
“But, he deserves to know! He deserves to know what you withheld from him! What you withheld from my mother!”
He throws me back a little bit and shushes me. He takes a step forward and bends down to be in my face. “He will not know of this. If he knew that he got in and didn’t go...He thought he never got in.”
“And that’s your fault!” I yell back, ignoring his shush.
“Quiet!”
“No! I’m not gonna be quiet, Murray! This is your fault, what my dad’s life has become is all your fault!”
My grandfather doesn’t say anything in return.
“Oh, so now you aren’t gonna respond?”
Still silent.
“This is all your fault but you still can’t own up to it?”
“I know!” He screams, his old voice cracking. He lets out a quick cough, then quiets down. “I know.” He looks down at the floor that’s cracked just slightly.
I stop crying. I don’t know how to respond.
“I know it’s my fault Hayley, I don’t need you to tell me that.” He is still looking down.
10 seconds pass.
“But if I had let your dad go away to college, I wouldn’t have been able to maintain the farm on my own. Looking back, I should have let him go, or at least have given him the choice. But I didn’t. I did what I did, but now, your father cannot know. He’s already a shell of his former self, hearing this would crush him.”
I can’t take my eyes off my grandfather. His slightly bent back, his drooping skin, his weak legs. He looks tired, he looks old. He grabs the acceptance letter from my hand and I let him. He turns to leave. But he stops in the doorway, and turns his head so I can see his profile.
“He can’t know Hayley. I hope you understand.” Then he turns and I hear his footsteps fade as he goes down the stairs.
I fall to my knees, and let out a loud cry. I try my best to contain it, but the emotions flood me. I roll over and lie on my side, letting the tears roll down the side of my face and drip onto the floor.
-----
Minutes later, having only barely processed what has just happened, I force myself to wipe the remnants of tears from my face and go to bed downstairs.
On the way to my room, I walk by the living room. My grandfather sits on his knees in front of our fireplace, watching the letter burn to ashes in front of him. Again, I begin to cry.