Climbing up onto the truck bed, I didn't know what to expect, wasn't even sure what detasseling corn meant, but it paid $1.25 per hour, and the workers already in the truck looked like old people and women. If they could do it, I could too. The tail gate banged into place behind me, the engine started, and I looked around. The others were seated on bales of straw facing me, but not one bale had room for me to sit on.
"Hey, Teddy Bear! What you doing here? You lost?"
It was a big guy seated with his back against the cab. I frowned and looked away.
"Hey, Teddy Bear. I'm talking to you."
My hair was long and curly, prompting his "Teddy Bear." I hated it, especially with all these people listening. The idiot said, "Hey, what's your name?"
An older man on a bale pointed to a space between his bale and another. I went over, sat on the metal floor with my back against the side boards, and put my elbows up on each bale.
"Hey, I asked what your name was. I'm just being friendly."
Every eye was watching me. I said "Bill!" hoping it would stop the comments.
He clapped his hands and laughed. "Perfect. Billy Beaver!"
My face reddened. He was referring to my two prominent upper front teeth, a flaw I was most conscious of. I made fists and shifted forward to stand.
The old man pulled my shoulders back so I sat again just as the truck started forward, flinging everyone off balance, making us brace ourselves. When our positions settled, the old man leaned over next to my ear. "That's Drexel. He just got out of prison."
I looked up at the old man.
He said, "Leave him alone."
Drexel was lighting a cigarette. He looked mean in a Marlon Brando-rebel way, with black, slicked down hair, tight Levi's, black boots, and dark long sleeve shirt. I closed my eyes and let the big mouth puff away on his fag.
The truck shot out of town into the country so the wind whipped around us and the ape had to bend forward to protect his cigarette. I bounced with every bump, and the side boards vibrated painfully against my spine. I cushioned myself as best I could, even sat on my hands palms down for a while, leaning forward away from the boards. The trip seemed a lot longer than seven miles.
The driver unloaded us in a barnyard, said the owner would be there shortly with instructions, and walked away.
"What do you think, Teddy Bear?"
The jerk with his arms crossed was talking real loud so everybody heard. I looked away at a nice thick woods beyond the big cornfields.
"Hey, Billy Beaver, you know any good jokes."
The other people watched us like an audience at a play.
The big guy grinned. "Hey, I bet your girlfriend likes to run her fingers through your pretty hair."
Insults in front of all these people? I yelled, "Shut up!"
He laughed. "Billy Beaver don't like me. He must think his little wiener and his girlfriend's buns are a secret." Such language in front of these older people and women shocked me. I barreled into him so fast and hard we both went down. He cursed while I squeezed his waist from behind.
"You little shithead!" He wrestled me around and stood, slapped my face, pulled his right fist back to hit me hard, then looked away, his fist suspended like a snake about to strike. People in the crew were yelling at him to leave the kid alone.
He released me so I fell on my butt.
Then a man in a straw hat appeared. "What the hell's wrong with you two? Any more trouble and you can both hitchhike back to town. You hear?"
Drexel lifted both hands palms open. "It's over."
The farmer looked at me. When I nodded, the farmer said, "Go clean up over there," and pointed to a water pump by the house.
Then I realized a goopy mixture of mucous, saliva and tears was covering my face. I whimpered, started that way, and told myself that if that stupid bully said another word to me, I'd insult him and get him to chase me around until the farmer saw us and fired him. I didn't care what happened to me.
The old man from the truck grabbed my arm. "You ain't got no sense, have you? Come on and rinse off."
He pumped the metal handle until a clear, thick stream spilled out. I shoved my cupped hands into the flow and brought them to my face. Coldness from under the earth washed away the grime and the shame, even my anger. I rinsed again and felt cleansed, the way I felt after confessing to a priest.
"Stand still now." The old man brushed off my back and sides with his open hands. "There you go. The dirt's all gone. You okay?"
I nodded. "Thanks. You know I don't even have a girlfriend." Was it the principle of the thing? Or .... I didn't know what made me fight like that.