Chigger Bites and a Pond with No Fish

The summer that Jeff and Greg’s great-aunt Margaret disappeared, the entire Tabian family was thrust into a deep panic. Things like that simply never happened to folks like them; they were quiet, unassuming people who stayed to themselves. After Margaret’s oldest son had come by the farmhouse for his weekly check-up on his aging mother and discovered the house to be completely devoid of life aside from her two old tabby cats, a flurry of activity was set into action. The nieces and nephews spearheaded what became perhaps the largest manhunt ever performed in the state of Kansas.  Despite himself, Jeff Tabian couldn’t help but view the situation as an opportunity. 

A Tabian family conference was called to discuss the situation exactly thirty days after the police had been notified. What the affair boiled down to was this: Margaret was, as far as anyone could tell, gone. No note, no sign of foul play. Despite the countless missing posters carefully placed all across the state, the newspaper article beseeching anyone who’d seen her to come forward, the numerous phone calls with the county sheriff,  and the outreach to what must have been everyone that Margaret had interacted with in the last thirty years, there was nothing. She had simply vanished, thus leaving the Tabian family farm abandoned. Margaret had been the only remaining matriarch of her generation; under her recent rule, the farm had gone from being the social hub that had glued the entire family together to the place that the family occasionally visited as part of a forced routine. With the routine now completely broken, not a single Tabian knew what to do with themselves. Aside from Jeff, that was. As the rest of the family bickered about the next move of the search, Jeff could barely contain his excitement about a burst of inspiration he’d had amongst the ruckus. 

He surveyed his Aunt Ellen’s crowded living room, which was fitting his parents, three uncles, two aunts, and eleven cousins into a space that was clearly built for ten guests on the outside. From his perch on the arm of a ratty pink couch, Jeff tried to make eye contact with Greg. Greg was crouched by the fireplace, his shaggy brown hair covering his eyes, rendering him unreadable. Jeff knew with complete certainty that Greg would support his proposal, though he doubted anyone else might. That was fine with him though; he was used to Greg being his only ally. 

“The police are useless, I don’t think we should-” 

“We have to consider what she would have-”

“But we don’t even know how she-” 

The conversation was more useless than the police, Jeff noted. No one’s voice could be heard above the others, and the opinions were bordering on hysterical nonsense. He couldn’t see himself finding a natural break, but he wasn’t able to make Greg look up and help him. 

“Hey!” he interjected gracelessly. Nineteen pairs of eyes immediately shot towards him, with varying levels of confusion and irritation. Greg was wearing a questioning look that bordered dangerously on disapproval. Jeff shifted uncomfortably, somewhat unsettled by Greg’s attitude. He turned away from his brother and began to relocate his confidence. 

“I know we’re all trying to focus on Aunt Margaret, but has anyone thought about what’s going to happen to the farm?”

There was a pause. No one seemed to understand why such a thing was being brought up.

“What do you mean, what’s going to happen? We’re going to get my mother back and she’s going to live there!” shrieked Aunt Heather, the oldest of Margaret’s daughters and a ringleader of sorts. 

“Well, yeah, of course. I know. But…it’s been a while and-” Jeff sensed he was moving into dangerous territory based on the aghast glares darkening the faces of everyone around him. His own mother looked as though she wanted to smack him. 

“I just thought that maybe someone should take it over while she’s gone,” he finished quickly. 

“Don’t we have bigger things to worry about?” accused Heather. 

“Of course we do! What I’m trying to say is that I think I could take over the farm, you know, until she comes back. Me and Greg, we can get it back on its feet.” 

The room immediately fell silent. The decline of the farm, in true midwestern family fashion, fell into the category of Things Not Spoken Of alongside Aunt Milly’s affair, cousin Jon’s jail time, and anything to do with the Democrats. 

Greg and Jeff’s mother, being an import to the family from Maine and thus not as well versed in the Things Not Spoken Of, was the first to speak.

“Well, that’s very kind of you, but why on earth would you want to? You boys are headed to college this year. You won’t have the time to manage the farm and focus on your studies,” she said, obviously humoring him in attempt to divert any additional discourse.

Jeff refrained from rolling his eyes, but just barely. “That’s the point,” he said. “I really think that I could turn the farm back into a place you can make a living from. We’d just need to buy the cows back, and maybe get some help from the rest of the family! I have some money saved up, and I  if I work all summer I can have a decent starting fund. What’s the point of community college if we already have a business going?”

The entire Tabian family was intensely scrutinizing Jeff and his brother. If Jeff hadn’t been as sure of himself in that moment, he would have wanted to grab Greg’s arm and disappear with him in tow.

“Greg, what do you think of this?” inquired their father. His voice was steady and neutral, but Jeff knew better than to think he had no feelings on the matter. His entire senior year was filled with enough pro-college rhetoric to solidify his views.

At last, Greg met Jeff’s eyes. He’d clearly inherited their father’s poker face, but Jeff was his twin brother- he was mostly immune. Greg was trying to hide it, but he was stricken. He shifted nervously, almost knocking over the fire prod that was leaning against the mantle. 

“I…” he started, appeared to change his mind, and began fresh. “I think it could work. Jeff doesn’t have to go to college if he has better things to do.” 

This was not quite the response Jeff had anticipated, but it would have to suffice despite its lack of enthusiasm.   

“So, would you at least give this a chance? I know what you’re going to say, businesses are risky, where’s the money coming from, college is a safety net. Trust me, I know. I’ve really thought this through,” Jeff said with what he hoped was enough passion to make up for the deficit

“For the love of God, that is a conversation for another day! Can we please get back to the situation at hand…the one we’re all here to discuss? I didn’t call off of work just to debate whether or not we should buy some cows!” Aunt Heather exclaimed. Her dyed blonde hair was falling out of its usual bun, and it framed her face in a way that gave her an air of insanity. No one challenged her.

“So I think we should get back in touch with Officer-”

“For sure more posters are-”

“Are we 100% certain she didn’t have any friends that-”

The symphony of useless opinions began anew, and this time Jeff didn’t bother to hold back the eyeroll. 

 

The conference didn’t end for another two hours. In that time, pie was served, drinks were offered, and absolutely nothing was achieved. Jeff, Greg, and their parents excused themselves once a third bottle of whiskey was opened, sensing the potential danger. It was hardly an hour past noon, after all. 

If the twins’ mother and father even remembered that Jeff had spoken out during the gathering, they didn’t show it. They walked out of the house in silence. Jeff supposed they had filed the brief incident away in their memories as just another one of his naive fantasies. In some distant part of himself, Jeff felt a twinge of frustration upon realizing that his parents were treating his idea in much the same way as they had his ten-year old self’s desire to break the world record for the most leapfrogs done consecutively by a team of two. Greg had supported him back then though, even when it left them with multiple bruises and no world record to show for the effort. Jeff pushed the feeling aside. 

The family had come in separate cars, as Jeff had claimed he wanted to go to the gym once they’d wrapped up. Greg, as usual, had voiced his interest in joining his brother, joking that he couldn’t let him get bigger biceps in clear conscience. The parents stepped into their sensible SUV while Greg and Jeff headed off towards their ratty, powder blue pickup truck parked down the block. Greg attempted to default to the driver’s seat; Jeff’s status as a Bad Driver was just another addition to Things Not Spoken Of. 

“Hey, I wanna drive today,” Jeff said. 

Greg raised an eyebrow. “Why? Just let me, it’s fine.”

“No really, come on! Please?” Jeff rounded his shoulders, taking a dominant stance that screamed fight me, big brother. Greg’s shoulders merely slumped in response. They’d fought over this plenty of times; he appeared unexcited to go down that road again. A fair response, as in the early days of their driving experience they’d been known to come to blows over the rights to the car keys. 

“Fine, fine. Just…you know those things called mailboxes? You don’t get extra points for hitting as many as you can.”

“Shut up, man! That was one time!” 

“Whatever you say.”

Just like that, it was settled. Jeff slid into the driver’s seat and turned the keys. The old truck coughed to life and puttered down the road. They drove without speaking, letting the radio fill in for conversation. Jeff knew Greg was hoping he would stay away from the topic of his business plan from the way that he refused to look his way for too long. Greg’s gaze was fixed unseeingly into the distance, he mind clearly miles away. Jeff wasn’t surprised when it took him almost fifteen miles before he realized that they had veered entirely off course. 

“Hey, what the hell? Pay attention, you missed the turn for I-50 ages ago, dumbass!” 

“I’m not a moron, jeez. We’re taking a quick detour,” Jeff responded with a devious grin.

Greg was unamused. “Where the hell- wait a second, please tell me you aren’t going to the farm.” By that point, Greg already knew he was right. He recognized the oncoming dirt road. For only having traveled ten miles out of town, they were now surrounded on both sides with acres of brown pastures as far as the eye could see. The immense grassy fields had already turned the color of pea soup after baking in the harsh July heat, leaving the flat landscape nearly monochromatic. 

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he noticed the familiar signpost marking the turnoff for the farm and Jeff’s exuberant grin that went along with it. The Tabian barn was just visible around the bend, faded and worn but still standing. 

Jeff parked the truck next to their Great-Aunt Margaret’s abandoned Subaru. He swung himself out of the vehicle and took a deep breath.

“Gotta love that fresh air. Look, sorry to kidnap you, but I just want to get you more excited about the plan! We spent our entire summers here as kids, don’t you remember how we always used to say when we grew up we’d be farmers, just like Great-Uncle Steve? Come on, how many kids actually get a chance to follow up on their dream job?” Jeff scanned the familiar sight: the quaint farmhouse, the big red barn, the fields that just ached to be filled with seeds in the coming spring. He turned around to face Greg, whose expression had darkened. 

“Hey, lighten up, I just thought you might want to get a reminder,” Jeff explained.

Greg heaved out a deep sigh. “I did you a favor by not crushing your new obsession in front of everyone earlier, but if you’d ever taken a microsecond to actually ask me if I wanted to do this with you, I would have said no. I get it, you don’t want to do the whole college thing. That doesn’t mean that I have to want the same thing. And guess what? I don’t.” Greg’s words came out calm, but his furrowed brow and clenched fists betrayed his frustration. 

Jeff’s face crumpled for a painful moment, and Greg was very nearly tempted to seek a take back. No man, I was just joking, live your dream- our dream. But his brother was always stubborn. In the impressive span of three seconds, he seemed to go through a week’s worth of hurt over his brother’s betrayal, squash it down, and find his vigor all over again. 

“I’ll do you a favor by not kicking your face in for being a dick. You should have just told me, I can take it. And you know why? Because I know I’m right. And I know I can change your mind,” Jeff challenged. 

Greg let out a skeptical snort. “How do you plan on doing that, genius? I’m not you. I don’t want to live here, and I definitely don’t want to milk cows all day.” 

“I’m going to take you down memory lane!” Jeff said, spreading his arms wide in a dramatic flourish. “I know that ten-year-old Greg is in there somewhere, and I’m going to find him.” 

Greg couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of his brother’s spirit. Jeff joined in with his own laughter, and for a moment, Greg could almost feel his younger self resurfacing. Almost. 

“Fine, do your worst. What’s first?” 

“Okay, first, let’s go see the old tractor! Man, we used to think that thing was like a god!” Jeff laughed. 

“Yeah, well there’s your first problem. I think the only working piece of machinery in this dump is a lawnmower,” Greg replied.

“Oh, now there’s where you’re wrong! Come out back with me,” Jeff had already taken off for the barn before he finished his sentence, and Greg had to jog to keep up with his brother’s energetic strides. When Jeff reached the decrepit barn door, he eased it open with a practiced grace. He knew the perfect way to strong arm the door enough for it to actually move while still avoiding the very real possibility of ripping the fragile old thing off its rusted hinges. The barn’s interior reflected its disuse; the stalls were filled with dusty, shriveled hay instead of animals and a single chain hung from the rafters with no clear purpose. Jeff ignored these detracting features and instead steered his brother towards a shadowy object in the corner.    

“Behold- the Tabian tractor!” Jeff exclaimed upon their arrival in front of what was in fact the old tractor that their Uncle Steve had used in his prime. Greg couldn’t help but marvel that the old thing seemed almost untouched since the days of the Tabian twin’s boyhood. Its green paint glistened majestically in the sunlight that crept through the opened barn door. 

“Don’t you remember the time that dad let us drive that thing? We must have only been five but we were the ones steering!” Jeff reminisced. 

“But you’ve got to finish the story,” Greg pointed out. “Dad steered the tractor over a lawn chair and Great-Aunt Margaret screamed at him for it. She made him pay to get a new one. Look, you can still see the dent.” 

Jeff peered around to where Greg was looking and spotted the sizable welt. “Huh. Well, that was kinda funny when you think about it,” he remarked. 

“Was it? She embarrassed Dad in front of all his brothers. She was always so cranky.” 

A silence fell in which Jeff had no counterargument. She had, inarguably, been quite an old hag, particularly after the loss of Uncle Steve five years prior. 

“Fine, so the tractor doesn’t do it for you. That’s not all that’s here,” Jeff argued. With that, he turned around and marched out of the barn. “Come on!” he threw over his shoulder. 

Greg huffed, but followed along nonetheless as Jeff took off over the crest of a small hill to the left of the farmhouse. Once Greg caught up, he looked out over the modest patch of empty pasture that had once held a fairly prosperous cornfield and a decent fleet of milk cows. 

“What about the hay bails over there?” Jeff gestured towards the enormous bundles of hay lined up in neat stacks off by where the cows used to be. When they had been boys, the bales had seemed like mountains ready to be conquered. “Remember when we used to jump all over them like a jungle gym? We’d go for hours on those things!” Jeff looked upon the view with fondness. 

“Yeah, and I also remember when we got chigger bites so bad that we couldn’t pee right for a week,” Greg cut in, shamelessly breaking his brother’s reverie. 

Both boys winced at the memory. 

“Oh god, I thought we’d promised never to speak of that again,” moaned Jeff. The image of the glorious hail bale explorations was immediately overcome by the images of angry red welts and misery. 

“Hey, you started this. I’m just finishing it,” Greg shrugged. 

Jeff shivered visibly at the intrusion of unpleasantries, but he then performed another one of his three second disposals of all negativity. Greg found himself wondering vaguely when he had perfected up this skill, and how he hadn’t noticed it before now. With his composure once again in place, Jeff wordlessly took off towards the farmhouse, leaving Greg following in his wake for a third time. 

“Hold up, what are you up to now?” Greg panted, his exasperation mounting.  

“I’m getting out the big guns,” Jeff answered as he reached the threshold of Aunt Margaret’s home. He opened the door to the screened in porch and held it open, gesturing for Greg to enter. 

The porch was what could only be described as a cross between a junk yard and an antique store. It had been like this for as long as the twins could recall, and each time they visited the farm the mess seemed to have morphed into something new and intriguing. One of Aunt Margaret’s tabby cats were sleeping on a dusty card table in the corner. A bowl of food was placed below it, most likely by Aunt Heather during her daily trip to the house to insure that her mother hadn’t returned. The old BB gun that all the cousins had learned to shoot with lay on the floor, a box of ammo spilling onto the floor next to it. 

The boys both couldn’t resist a quick glance through the door leading into the farmhouse’s tiny kitchen. The table that had once managed to bear the Tabian family’s famously extravagant Thanksgiving dinners stood in view, and beyond it the corner of their Aunt Margaret’s old blue armchair could just barely be seen. The chair had been positioned for optimal viewing of Margaret’s old, clunky television; no other family member was permitted to sit in the chair. In the past three years Jeff and Greg had never seen her leave its comfort. She had no reason to. 

Jeff and Greg both averted their eyes from the house’s interior quickly. They didn’t need to say anything, but they both could feel it. There was a chance that Aunt Margaret may not have been dead, but her ghost still managed to haunt the place. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Greg pleaded, pulling on his brother’s arm with a barely contained urgency. 

“Just a second,” Jeff replied, his eyes scanning the contents of the porch in attempt to navigate the chaos. Without excessive effort, he located a golf bag that was filled with fishing rods in the place of clubs. 

“We’re going fishing? That’s the big guns?” Greg scoffed. “Sure, we had some good times as kids dicking around, but we never caught anything.” 

“Who knows, though? Come on, the pond is beautiful this time of year.” 

The trek to the pond was done in silence; this was what Greg could only presume to be a highly calculated maneuver on Jeff’s part. Without the distraction, he had no choice but to take in the scenery that brought his brother such joy. He had to admit, parts of the land were charming enough, like the old oak trees with birds’ nests curled up in their arms, or the muddy brook that he’d once lost a shoe in. 

The pond however, was just a pond. In damp heat of the summer, the buzz of insects that lay siege on the area reached a suffocating force, and the murky, still water was tinged green in a way it hadn’t been in the days of their youth. Greg looked towards his brother, trying to gauge his reaction, but this time it was Jeff’s turn to be unreadable. 

“Did you even bring any bait?” Greg asked. “No wait, let me guess. We’re gonna do this the old fashioned way.” 

Jeff beamed. “Of course!” he said, already on his knees, searching. “I think we could find some good worms underneath that rock.”

Greg nealt down next to Jeff and watched as he lifted the rock and began rooting around through the damp muck underneath. “Hey, remember that time we used crickets? That might work better; I think we almost caught something that time,” Greg recalled helpfully.  

Jeff’s face lit up like that of a five year old on Christmas morning. “You’re right! Now you’re getting into it!” 

“Aw, shut up and find some worms,” Greg replied with a sly smile. 

Moments later, armed with two worms and a handful of partially squished crickets, the boys cast their lines into the water. As they sat side by side on a large, mossy rock, they let themselves be entrapped by that glimmer of hope that always seems to come at the beginning of even the most unlikely of fishing trips. 

As the shadows grew longer, the only sound the filled the air was that of the occasional recasting of a line with fresh bait. Not a word could be spoken, so as not to disturb the potential fish. Despite this, it became cruelly apparent that their fishless tradition would continue. They had questioned as children whether or not the water truly held any fish at all, and the skepticism had only grown deeper with age. In the dimming light, the ponds water began to take on a new darkness, and the isolation created by of the miles of unpopulated farmlands became harshly apparent. The swell of the insects reached a crescendo, and at last, Greg spoke.

“I really think that Aunt Marge just left on purpose. She hated it here, and I see why. It’s lonely.”

He looked over towards his brother, whose eyes were fixated on some imaginary fish off in the center of the pond. He knew Jeff could feel the weight of his gaze, but he refused to meet it. 

“If you want to stay here, that’s great. I won’t lecture you like Mom and Dad. I just…can’t.” 

Jeff looked at his twin with tired eyes before standing and turned back in the direction of the barn. In the afternoon light, it looked as though it was sagging under the weight of its own shadow. 

“I understand,” he said with a smile. 

The boys walked back to the farmhouse side by side. The sun was quickly descending behind a distant hill, but they were in no rush. Greg took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, and he took in the view of the empty land for what he knew would be his last time. When they at last reached their truck, Jeff paused for a moment, looking into the still pastures in the distance that had once been full of life. Greg opened the door to the driver’s side and called to him. 

“Aren’t you coming?”