Butcherboy

It ain’t much, but it’s honest work. That’s all I can say for my lousy job, and it’s all Daddy could say for it when he was still walking the earth. In my eyes, there ain’t much honesty in skinning the hides off cattle, tearing out the gruesome bits and wrangling steaks from the remains, but if my job ain’t honest, it sure ain’t anything else. I gotta feel like I’m not the lowest of the low. At least I’m no crackhead, not like half the people in this damned town. Been clean all my life. Well, if you can call these blood-striped overalls clean.

The locals don’t take to me. Everybody wants their meat, organic, GMO free, locally fuckin’ sourced flesh, but nobody wants the butcher. It’s lonely without Daddy around. Just me and the ranch, my sunny dustbowl that stretches on forever. But it ain’t me that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t wanna kick it with the trailer trash, the lazy farmhands and the braindead junkies. I’ve got what I need.

There’s a young man who lives across the way from me, one of those stout, rustic fellas who could’ve been boxers if they weren’t born in this dump. We’ve been swapping little favours since last July. It was a sweltering night, sticky with midges and the smoke we were puffing. The two of us crouched on his front porch, sharing a brew and a bit of company, just something to tide us both over. Poor kid lost his wife a few years back. He needed a pal as much as I did.

Joey’s already got pals, though. Birds. I ain’t talking tree sparrows; I got a flock of those in my barn, cheeping and flapping when I sweep the floor. Joey’s a falconer, owner of a few hawks and an eagle. I’ve taken to paying him for his friendship in entrails, gory gifts for his feathery pals.

“She loves you, Mark,” Joey says one night, toking on a joint as I toss bloody chunks to his pride and joy. “If I go near her, she squawks somethin’ fierce.”

“What can I say? I’ve got a knack with animals,” I give him a sly wink, making him belt out a rusty laugh. That deep chuckle is like music to me. He’s built like an Adonis, chiselled into hungry muscles and broad shoulders, but there’s something soft in his features. His golden eyes are always glowing like twin suns, glittering like light shimmering on a swamp. I reckon he’s a fallen angel.

“You’re a natural with old Tinkerbelle,” he grins broadly.

“You call this bloodthirsty thing Tinkerbelle?” I splutter. “She’d have my fingers off.”

He leans back against the tan brickwork of his house, blowing out curls of smoke. “She’s a softie. Never caught anything decent, save for a half-dead gopher.”

“You’re a clever girl, ain’t you?” I tilt my head at Tinkerbelle, giving her a fond smile as she rips that deadly beak through a piece of meat. “Why’d you call her Tinkerbelle, then? Did your wife fancy it?”

The only response I get is the humming crickets, buzzing through the thick evening air. Feeling unsettled, I look back at Joey, but he ain’t meeting my eyes. With the porch light behind him, singeing the edges of his hair, his face is darker than a rainstorm.

“I didn’t have no wife. That’s just what I tell folks,” he shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s easier, having people think I’m a widow, rather than some lonely old coot. I should’ve told you, but I didn’t think we’d keep talking after the day we met. I’m no good at keeping pals.”

“If anyone’s the old coot, it’s me,” I scoff. “You really never got married?”

“Never. I don’t take to the ladies,” he says, his face shrouded in smoke. I don’t speak until it clears, until I can see those pretty eyes. Gotta make sure we’re talking in the same code.

“Me neither. Never have done,” I murmur. He pitches his cigarette into the undergrowth and I chuck my cow guts to Tinkerbelle, leaving us empty handed as we step into the light. It feels like bathing in the sunrise for the first time. When the gold hue catches his face, I see the halo he’s been keeping under his corduroy jacket, hiding away from this wretched town. Mutual understanding. We’re one and the same, Joey and me.

My heart’s gone all tender. I ain’t gonna hide my wings no more, either. Joey is just the angel I was waiting for.