Can’t Run Away

by typehere
tough
I fastened my seat belt as the small light above us was lit. We finally landed. The 7-hour flight felt worse than a 1-hour intensive core workout.  My back hurt and cracked as I stood up after the bumpy landing.  Hours after, I found myself crashed on the couch of my Uncle Sam.I was sent here after being caught up in a brawl at the university.  My mom freaked out again, as usual, like it was the first time, but it isn’t.  My Uncle Sam lives in a quiet farm with some of his grandchildren.  They expect me to look over and help on the farm.  I don’t box to pick up manure, till the soil and plant from sunrise until sunset.  I’ll make sure that I could sneak out in the evening.

One of his grandchildren, Rita, brought cold lemonade and some sweet potatoes on the coffee table in front of me.  She looked up at me and stared at the tattoo on my arm.  “Never seen one, honey?”  She shook her head.  There wasn’t any sign of disgust.

“Mr. Browman has something like that too!”  she exclaimed.  “You should meet him.  He’s so cool!”

“Really?”  I asked as she got my interest.

“But don’t make him angry or he’ll punch you in the face.”

“How did you know about that?”

“He punches people whenever there’s a festival.”

“Brawler, huh?”  I mumbled under my breath.

My Uncle Sam came back after putting my things to my new room.  He immediately gave me a list of to-do’s for the day.  Not even giving me a time to rest.  As I expected, I’ll take a turn in cleaning up the filthy animals’ poop.  I just need to put up with everything for a month then I’ll get back at those puny seniors that caused me to get kicked out.

A week after, I already got used to the work in the farm.  I’m also starting to meet new people, including Mr. Browman who isn’t as scary as little Rita described.  His angst is getting on my nerves every time he picks up some of the crops from the farm.

I was able to sneak out with some of the producers I met around the farm.  They brought me to the local pub where I crossed paths with Mr. Browman again.  He was already drunk when we came in.  We sat across the table of his and before my behind rested on the chair; a bottle came flying to our table.

I stood up and Mr. Browman approached me with a smirk on his face.  Maybe he was thinking that I won’t fight back.  I don’t care if he is an adult;  I have moves of my own.

He gave a straight punch to the face as I slowly lifted my fists.  It hurt, I must admit.  But my check hook gave him a spin on the head.  I knew he’s going in for another straight punch so I bent backwards to dodge it and went back to him with an uppercut that found its place on his jaw.

The people in the pub have mixed reactions.  Some were booing and my new friends were cheering.  It must be something in this little town to knock someone out.

It seemed like the people really enjoyed the show.  But I didn’t like it when it came to the ears of my Uncle Sam.  He made sure that my to-do list will get doubled.

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