A Yellow Speck

The sun glared down on the paddy field where she lay. She looked about his size and age, blonde hair and a dark green dress. Next to her floated a man in a muddied white shirt, blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a black hat.

Jimmy dropped his football pads and waved from the road. “Hello! Y’all need help?”

No answer.

He took off his shoes and socks and waded in.

The girl lay still except for her trembling lips and blinking eyes. The man lay face down in a puddle.

“It was an accident. He carried me here, then tripped. I landed on top of him. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

Sunlight glinted off the girl’s blonde hair. Jimmy rubbed his eyes. “Um… hello,” he said to the man. “I, uh, mean hello sir.”

“He hasn’t moved. It happened so fast. He splashed and splashed and then stopped splashing.”

Jimmy wiped sweat and his own hair off his forehead. “We oughta help him, right?”

“Go for it.”

He kicked the man’s boot.

Nothing.

He pulled a leg. Shook the body. The man didn’t budge.

Jimmy stepped back and gulped a pound of humid Arkansas air. He needed to protect her, but what about the man?

“We gotta talk to somebody. Mr. Parkinson’ll know what to do. He can answer anything.”

“Who is he?”

“My paw. My last name’s Parkinson.”

He stuck out his hand. “Jimmy Parkinson.”

She wiped mud off her dress and dipped her hands in the surrounding water. “Abby.”

“Pleased to meet you, Abby.”

“You call your dad Mr. Parkinson?”

“Gotta show respect. He made me, been around longer than me, and his wheelchair won’t stop him making another one of me if he wants to.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Alright… So where is he at?”

“The house.”

She frowned. “I’m not going to your house. I don’t even know you.”

“You can’t stay here. The sun’ll clean you up. I ain’t leaving you. You gotta come with me.”

He heard that on a TV show once, a cowboy talking to a lady and saying, “I ain’t leaving you.”

“We gotta go, Abby. It’s 10 o’clock and already hotter than a billy goat’s butt in a jalapeño patch.”

Whether he convinced her, or the sun did, she stood up all the same, splashing in the surrounding puddles.

He walked ahead of her. “We’re fixing to melt if we don’t get an ice bath soon.”

“We are not taking an ice bath together.”

“Naw, I ain’t mean it like that. Just, we gotta get cool soon, or this sun’ll cook us. How do you feel?”

“Sick.”

“We gotta go, or you’ll faint.”

He waved at a yellow Chevy truck by the road. “That your car?”

“Yeah.”

“Someone in there?”

“No.”

“Got any other shoes? Them things are soaked through.”

“Yeah, I’ll get them.” A second later, she jumped out wearing pink flip-flops and a golden-brown backpack.

Jimmy’s feet sank deeper into the mud. “Wish I had a second pair.”

Heatwaves rose from the ground. She glanced back at the man in the field, then walked towards the water tower. “Well? We going or what?”

“Other way.”

She turned around.

“My name’s Jimmy, by the way.”

“You already told me that.”

“Oh… Just saying it again so you don’t forget.”

He pointed to the muddy shoulder. “We’ll walk here. It’ll feel like wading through soup, but it’ll be better than burning our feet on that there concrete.”

The air buzzed with bugs. The sun stared from above. Neither of them spoke until Jimmy remembered that Mr. Parkinson wanted him to talk to girls. “So where are you from?”

She looked away. “Your stuff looks heavy.”

“Gotta carry the pads. If I put them on, I’ll pass out.”

“Why even have them?”

He smiled. “Coach Galloway forgot to tell us that practice was canceled, again. Five days straight, we show up, stretch, run a lap, and then go home.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, which looked more like a janitor’s mop by the minute. “Some of the boys reckon Coach’s going through stuff.”

She closed her eyes, swaying slightly. “How much longer till your house?”

“That’s Bell Road. We have another twenty minutes of walking from there.”

“Twenty minutes? Can we take a bus, or can you call someone to pick us up? It’s hard to breathe.”

Jimmy straightened his back. “No buses around here. I’m supposed to walk, anyway. It builds character and muscle. I need both to become a man. And I don’t got a phone. Mr. Parkinson don’t want me watching anime or weird stuff.”

“Anime?”

“Yeah, like Japanese cartoons. What do you watch?”

“Nothing.”

“Not Netflix or Disney Plus or Amazon?”

“No.”

“Do you read?”

“No.”

“Shoot. That’s rough. I like to read sci-fi, but I don’t think you’ll like it. Mr. Parkinson says girls don’t like stuff like sci-fi and anime and D&D.”

“D&D?”

“Dungeons and Dragons. I play it with my fruit loop friends. You ain’t allowed to watch nothing?”

“Fruit loops?”

“Mr. Parkinson calls them fruit loops since girls don’t talk to them. Not all my friends are fruit loops though. Teddy’s not. He’s got a beautiful smile, curly hair, and blue eyes. So where are you from?”

A breeze rustled her hair, but the sun still pressed her dress to her skin. She kicked a rock half-sunk in the dirt. “New York.”

“What’re you doing in Arkansas?”

She picked at a scab on her finger. “You like playing football?”

“The boys are alright. Practice’s rough as all get-out. I get hit a lot, but Mr. Parkinson says, ‘Keep those hits coming.’ It  builds character. Why’d you stop walking?”

Abby stared at the truck behind them, which looked like a speck of yellow paint on the horizon. “Hits?”

“Tackles. I’m a backup receiver, but Coach says backups get hit just like starters. Come on, we gotta keep moving.”

She stood still. “I don’t want to go.”

“No shade here, just dirt and rice. We gotta get out of this sun.”

She looked at the paddy fields, then back at him. “Fine,” she said, wiping her muddy flip-flops on the concrete.

“What about your folks? They a bother, too? All folks are now and then, I reckon.”

She scraped the last piece of mud off her shoe and stepped beside him. “Why play football if you don’t like it?”

Jimmy dug his nails into his palm. “Ain’t got no choice.”

He’d heard it a hundred different ways since he was little.

I ain’t raising no momma’s boy. I dated the prom queen in high school. Married her, too. Now how’s this little man pulling that off while playing with cubes, cards, and finger puppets? Only girls he’ll get are them Japanese cartoon schoolgirls he likes watching.

Jimmy turned to Abby. “What about you? Your folks make you do things you don’t wanna?”

She flinched like something bit her.

“Abby, you okay?”

“How far are we from your house?”

“Why don’t you talk about your friends or folks?”

“None of your business.”

“Farmer Jed’s gonna throw a fit when he sees footprints out in his field.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s real particular about his rice.”

“Shut. Up.”

“You shut up.”

She crossed her arms. “I am not taking another step.”

“Fine by me. Stand there till the sun boils you from the inside out.”

His sweat was everywhere—neck, back, even behind his knees—as he walked down Bell Street. He hoped she’d change her mind. He didn’t know what he’d tell Mr. Parkinson if he couldn’t protect her. When he heard a patter of steps behind him, he smiled. “Thought so.”

She stumbled in front of him. “Shut up.”

“We gotta get home fast. Is the heat like this in New York?”

“No.”

“How do you cool down?”

“AC.”

“Mr. Parkinson says AC’s too expensive to fix, and it won’t do no good for our shack anyway, so we have ice baths instead. Who was that man, by the way?”

She adjusted the straps of her backpack. “A lot of rice grows here?”

“Lots. Who was back there in the field?”

“No one.”

“I’m taking you to safety and protecting you and—”

“My uncle.”

“Uncle? Where’s your paw?”

She bit her lip. “Don’t know. Left before I was born. Will you shut up now?”

Mr. Parkinson had told him about kids like this. You be thankful you got a daddy, Jimmy. Lotta kids don’t.

“Abby, it’s awful sad you ain’t got a paw. Mr. Parkinson’s great. Just wants me to grow up right. He ain’t a man anymore, so he wants me to be one.”

“Not a man anymore?”

Jimmy had heard Mr. Parkinson say it once or twice. Wasn’t supposed to, but he heard. I could throw a football farther than anybody in this damn town. Was the head of the union. Now I can’t even raise my arm without crying. I ain’t no man no more.

Jimmy gulped and looked down. “He just wants me to stand up for myself and make him proud. One time this kid calls me a loser, so I pop him one. Got suspended for it, but Mr. Parkinson said I done right.”

“What if you hit a girl?”

“Can’t hit no girls unless they deserve it.”

Abby spun around. “Deserve it?”

The sun weighed heavily on Jimmy’s shoulders. He looked down. “Like if they mouth off, but that’s only if it’s your woman. That’s what Mr. Parkinson says.”

“What does he say about your friends and the stuff you do for fun?”

“Well, sci-fi I read on Fridays cause that’s when Mr. Parkinson’s off at poker night. Anime I only watch on birthdays, and D&D’s what we play at lunch.”

“So you listen to what he says about girls but not to what he says about anime and sci-fi and D&D?”

Jimmy’s eyebrows twitched. “He don’t get it, is all.”

“Well, maybe your dad doesn’t get girls just like he doesn’t get anime. Maybe you should listen to someone who understands girls better than he does.”

“Like who?”

“Like a girl.”

Jimmy scratched his head. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Did I get what I deserved, Jimmy?”

She remembered his name. He smiled until she lifted her blonde hair and pointed to some purple and green marks.

“My mom drops me off at my uncle’s every summer. The second summer it happened, I cried and begged. She beat me with a belt and said, ‘Stop lying about my brother, you bitch.’ She beat me until I said, ‘I’m lying.’ I got quiet about it after that.”

Jimmy kicked at the dirt, which was drier than anything near Farmer Jed’s paddy fields. He swallowed hard. “Ground’s sunburned here. My folks’ place is just up ahead. These’re our fields. Ain’t nothing in them now, but grandpapa used to grow crops back then. And Abby?”

She rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Don’t you be afraid. I’ll protect you.”

She sighed and put her hands on her knees. “I am done.”

“Come on, we’re almost home. You’ll be safe from the sun. Ma’ll fix you something to eat, and Mr. Parkinson’ll say what to do about your uncle.”

Her eyes were halfway open. “I am not going back. Let the sun take me.”

She turned and ran.

“Wait—”

She flung her backpack.

“Stop!”

Her flip-flops flew in the air.

He dropped his pads and ran.

His home got bigger with each step. The air smothered him. His eyes blurred. He was drowning in sweat.

Mr. Parkinson sipped bourbon in his wheelchair in the front yard. “Jimmy! Where the hell’re your pads?”

Jimmy gasped and pointed toward the fields. “Yellow… Green… Pink…”

“The hell?”

Ma stepped onto the porch. “Jimmy, baby, what’s wrong?”

He fell. He tried to get up and fell again.

“Bath, now.”

“It ain’t budging, woman.”

“He ain’t budging.”

“I can’t move it.”

“Call an ambulance.”

His body floated in the air and dropped into ice-cold water.

Then a white room with cold sheets, fluorescent lights, and loud beeps.

“Saved his life, ma’am. Good thing the ice bath was near.”

He was covered in tubes and wet compresses. Mr. Parkinson and Ma sat next to him.

“Jimmy, sweetheart, how you doing?”

“Gave us a hell of a scare, son, but you did good.”

“I’m feeling fine. Didn’t mean to make y’all worry.”

Mr. Parkinson smiled. “Son, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Learned something after all, didn’t I, sir?”

Mr. Parkinson’s lips pressed together as he patted Jimmy’s head. “Sure did.”

That felt good.

They brought him supper: buttery grits, a slice of lemon-peppered chicken, and gooey mac and cheese.

“Lord, it’s good to see them sweet dimples again.”

He dug a fork into the mac and cheese. “I don’t like it when you say that, Ma.”

“Them dimples come straight from your mama.”

“Wish I got more from Mr. Parkinson.”

Mr. Parkinson’s hand gently rubbed Jimmy’s head. “Son, we share aplenty.”

“Jimmy, baby, on your walk to practice, you see anything peculiar?”

He stopped chewing. His chest tightened. “What do you mean, Ma?”

“Farmer Jed found a man and a little girl out in his rice fields, miles apart from each other. Both of them dead. Folks’re saying that the man drowned, and that poor little girl died from the heat.”

He couldn’t protect her. Good for nothing skinny ass failure. “I ain’t seen nothing, Ma.”

Mr. Parkinson sighed. “What a week: two dead bodies, IRS looking for Coach Galloway, and you in the hospital. Your mother’ll drive you to practice from now on.”

“Jimmy, you were running and hollering about colors before you passed out. What was that about?”

He pushed the grits around his plate, making little mountains. “Felt real sick. Just tried to get home fast.”

Mr. Parkinson smiled and grabbed Jimmy’s hand. “Good job, son.”

Jimmy’s eyes watered. “Was I a real man, Mr. Parkinson? I tried real hard to make you proud.”

Mr. Parkinson shifted his jaw and cleared his throat. “Jimmy, this whole Mr. Parkinson business… That was a little foolishness on my part. Just call me Dad from here on.”

Dad gripped Jimmy’s hand tighter. “And you’re a real man, one who makes me proud every day, today and always.”

That felt even better.

Outside, the rice fields glistened in the sun, stretching to the horizon.

Jimmy squinted. Was that a yellow speck in the distance or just the heat?

Let the sun take me.

Tears slid down his cheeks. Forgive me, Abby, he thought.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

He sniffled and nodded, holding Dad’s hand close to his chest.

Dad kept smiling. The tears kept coming.

But real men can’t cry, can they?