Meditation Techniques for the Quibbled

“Quite the storm isn’t it, Tom?”

“Must be good for farmers,” said John.

“Got your wood pallet?”

“Yeah.”

They both pulled needles out of their shins and as much as blood would hope to be there, the skin was too calloused. Much as our minds would be disdained at the prospect of a needle storm, this was an act of normalcy for Tom and John. With their wood pallets as their shield, they prepared for battle. The brother’s father was afraid that it was his actions that made his two sons work in such conditions, but life strayed on.

John leaned at the edge of the open-door barn staring at the horizon. Nothing more, nothing less could make this day refreshing. He took a long breath of the smell in the air. If it rained the other way, with water, John would hate both of those smells mixing. Tom got up from his makeshift chair and patted the horse for a moment, then did the same to his brother, except a little hurtful, almost pushing him into the storm but mischievously not allowing it.

“There’s an illness in your eye, is Anora begging you to marry her again, you should because you know, you’re you. Let me tell you if you don’t invite me to the wedding, I’m hunting you.”

“I already have the ring I’m just waiting for the right time,” said John.

“Right time! That’s long past you Johnny, please stop. That was a couple years ago. If anything, it’s the wrong time to do it now. At this point you’re just lucky.”

“Come on we got work to do.”

“I’m not letting this go, but yeah let’s get going.”

As soon as they went outside, the storm got worse, which they already weren’t expecting because only their shoes were thick enough to stomp on the needles. Had they been prepared they would have all their gear. They had both their wood pallets above their head perfectly aligning them with the angle of the metal rain, waving bye to those who let them stay in the barn.

Of course, the people in the house had a worry behind their smiles so as to say we don’t think you’ll make it, but good luck.

First, they checked the main roads, to see if there were any travelers, yet none were to be found, then they veered off course, checking the long grass and shouting to see if anyone was around. Tom got his whistle out to yell even louder. And because John’s ears were sharper than his brother’s, he heard a faint sound of shouting and crying, it was the newsboy, Fredrickson, blanketed by his own newspapers. Tom ran behind John and as they saw the little boy, Tom picked up one of the papers from his sack.

“Can you believe this, says not to drink the water from the Gilded River. I could have told those bums at the paper that. No one believes the yelling man. Johnny, look they got a chicken race coming up next week. We should go maybe you could propose there.”

“Tommy please, a have a little compassion,” John pleaded.

“Right.”

“Fredrickson are you alright? Your mom is probably worried about you, we’re going to get you home, look at me,” John said, lifting the young boy’s head.

“John is that you, I thought if I went up early for deliveries, they’d let me play”

“Fredrickson have you been drinking from the Gilded River, don’t lie to me, don’t tell me you play there like most kids?”

“No, why?”

“Nothing, good, don’t play there you here. Anyway, how’s the business, do they pay you well, I know you’re a kid, but work is work?

“Business is good Tom, I bought a ball last week, then a wooden plane model.”

“That’s good to here, you ever been on one John, a plane, man has no right being that high up, I bet birds were scared when they figured out, they could do that.”

“Yes, I’m sure they all thought the same as you.” John still cradled Fredrickson’s head and pulled out all the needles as quickly as possible.

“Leave the one in his ear and forehead that is probably what is making him so calm.”

“Move the pallet a bit over his head would you, I don’t want to bring him back with anymore in his hair.”

Tom moved more to the head of Fredrickson still asking questions that may have made him more unconscious because of their content lacking any real creativity. While John sat him up and gave him some water, and with one hand, Tom held the pallet like a tent catching all the needles like a bad dart player. With the other he tried his best to reach all the newspapers and collect them back in the bag. There were a few that were muddled with the dirt, so he left those aside and put them in his own bag.

The thunder rumbled again, one that stood both the men on their feet. The combination of water and metal sought the temperament of a stranger entering a town, and the new mud made both the men exhausted while they ran. Fredrickson soon had mistaken John for his father picking him up. He never passed up a free ride to be put to sleep without walking, but it was so cold this time. The blanket that was wrapped around him wasn’t for comfort but protection from the needles. Some got stuck on John as an occupational hazard that was only noticed by the few people who saw them working. The poor boy wasn’t even wearing the right shoes at the time because he put them out to dry from another expedition of his, with such a thin sole it was hard to imagine a kid in this type of pain even for Tom and John. It so heavily weighed on them without an ounce of awareness to the world. Something as strong and formidable, there was no beauty of the weather when it struck its chord with humanity’s solemness. The needles bathe with their imminent glow as reflected by the sun. It was not as serious as they thought and by the time all of them got halfway to the house, they began to see that Fredrickson did have a slight smile despite his painful body and that he indeed pretended to be asleep because that was the only way his father would take him to his room and put him to bed.

Fredrickson’s parents saw all of them. It was like receiving the gift of their son again and it was the perfect time before grief set in. They even looked for Fredrickson themselves earlier, but didn’t have the endurance for so much pain. Much of their adrenaline took them farther than the average person. As much as John wanted to give them their son back, he walked straight to the house instead and lay him on the bed. It immediately induced slumber. While John talked to his parents Tom readjusted the two pins on his ear and forehead to have better acupuncture, tucked him in from the sides so he wouldn’t roll over, bandaged the bottom of his feet, and returned to his brother, who was just about saying goodbye to the both of them. They were offered some food, which was forced upon them to take home. Once they reached outside a familiar picture was born again with John leaning on the porches supports and Tom made himself comfortable in a home, he was mildly a part of. Now the sun shines and reflects all the needles to resemble a glitter, had there been a sound, it would resemble a crystal chime.

Only silence followed the walk home and the shoving of shoulders to make each other fall over in the mud. When they got home their father and Anora were playing cards at the dinner table. So it ends with a boy saved and a harvest of needle for the farmer. So the storm rumbles further away with a tremble instead of a bellow.