Pt 8 - In Which the Farmer is a Cryptid Sam
(pt 1)
The pleasant aftertaste of a dozen half-baked dreams faded away as reality set in for Sam one comfortable summer midmorning.
Sam found himself yawning— a jaw cracking, deep yawn. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, though he hadn’t even opened them yet. He wasn’t quite awake, but he faintly registered birds chirping, and the distant commotion of Mom making breakfast.
He stretched out, flexing his back and listening to the dull snaps and pops his joints made as he did. Ugh. He was still sleepy.
Light was coming in through the window, Sam usually woke up facing that side of the room. The summer sunshine flooded his sizable room. There were certainly perks to being the oldest. Big room, lots of baby pictures, a little brother to admire him. Not a bad set up.
Sam yawned again. He considered going back to sleep, it didn’t feel too late yet. Sam was out late playing pool down at the saloon. They didn’t usually do it on a Tuesday night, but they’d been too busy lately to do it on their usual schedule. It was fun, but boy was he tired.
He hummed to himself, eyes lightly fluttering shut. Relaxed. Chill.
…
Hold on. Sam opened his eyes again. Something felt weird.
He tossed over in bed, turning to face away from the window. He wondered if Vincent had left the house yet to play or not. He should—
“AHH—” Sam let out an embarrassingly high-pitched cry of alarm, eyes blown wide as he found himself looking directly into a silent set of large dark eyes.
Blink.
Sam found himself smiling a bit sheepishly. He scratched the side of his head, making his blonde hair stick up even more strangely. “O-oh. Ha. Hey-y-y-y-y there, farmer.”
The farmer was standing there, clad in a loose black t shirt, purple cargo pants, her ever present heavy backpack and the same purple work boots he rarely saw her without. Her dark curls floated around her freckled cheeks. A few strange rings decorated her fingers.
She’d just been … standing there. In complete silence. Unmoving. Did she breathe? She didn’t seem to. Just blinks. For her, it never seemed awkward. She comfortably sat in any silence, watching, listening.
He waited in the awkward lack of conversation for a second, only awkward to him of course. His mind was lagging. This was hardly the first time he’d awoken to an unexpected visit and a gift, but it never failed to startle him. But that was just her thing. Nearly everybody in town has had a near heart attack or two, followed by a present specific to them. It was just a fact of life at this point.
Blink. The farmer could go very long periods doing nothing but that. That was okay though. Sam figured there were worse things.
Maybe he should’ve found her kinda spooky, but Sebastain was his best friend, so maybe he was just used to spooky. And the two ended up getting hitched, a perfect spooky couple. It worked pretty well, and it was easy to be proud of them. Sebastain seemed happier, more at ease, it was nice to see. Maybe, Sam thought, he should try and get married too. Mom would probably like that.
“So, uh,” Sam sat up, maybe slightly self consciously tugging at his band themed pajama shirt, “whatchu—”
A fresh cactus was shoved into his hands, barely shy of pricking his fingers. Sam accepted it without thinking, sitting up straighter. A rush of nostalgia overtook him.
Being at the desert with his father, feeling the witheringly hot sun on his back. It would always leave a sunburn on his neck that Mom would fuss over endlessly. The humid bus ride from Pelican Town, chattering at Dad endlessly. Letting the sand run through his grubby child fingers. Picking a cactus to take home, using dad’s pocketknife to carve up a piece. He’d always end up pricking himself on a cactus needle, but Dad would help him out, praise him for being so tough. It was something he had to hold onto in the years spent waiting for him to come back from his deployment.
It was complete with a pink flower blooming atop it and clearly picked with care. A present for a special occasion. He found himself grinning.
"Hey, hey, hey! You remembered! Now that's what I'm talking about!” Sam said, looking up at her.
The farmer smiled, that thin, gentle smile of hers. She was a very understated sort of person, but so very genuine. Not a single birthday of his had gone by since she moved into that dingy plot of land that he didn’t wake up to a present. Now the land was a thriving farm and his family have had to get used to being the second to see him on each birthday morning for the last few years. Nobody is sure how she gets to any of them first to celebrate a birthday, but she does it. They know better than to wonder now.
Sam swung his feet over the side of the bed, pulling the sheets off himself. He cradled his new birthday gift.
He remembered the first time he learned how the farmer liked to show her appreciation. He woke up, dragged himself out of bed, swung open the door and nearly slammed into the farmer. At that point he’d barely met her, but she was there, bright and early, holding out a can of Joja Cola.
She said something very brief about fishing in the ocean, turned on her heel and left the house without any fanfare. And yet Sam was oddly touched. The strange farmer, who seemed to put a heck of a lot of effort into making everyone feel seen and appreciated for every occasion.
“How’s Sebastian?” Sam asked, yawning. “It was like, super late when we all left last night. Like 1:00AM at least, right?”
A small nod, and another smile. Even spooky farmers could be sappy about their husbands apparently.
“I nearly fell asleep walking home. Then I dreamt about losing at pool all night. Just like real life,” he chuckled, gently walking over to his dresser to set the cactus down.
“Happy Birthday,” she said quietly, though earnestly. Those big watchful eyes of hers never wavered. Sometimes he thought she was looking through the walls.
“Thanks, Bonnie. Tell Sebastain I’ll probably swing by later, he wanted to show me the new frogs you guys are keeping.”
The farmer nodded once.
And as silent as ever, she left.
Spooky. But good spooky.