I was about 13.
The sun was out.
My family had no money.
I sought jobs to make money for myself.
A friend of my mother’s,
A real bitch,
Needed a lot of things done.
She offered me twenty dollars.
I accepted.
I mowed the lawn, uphill, both ways, truly.
Who builds a lawn on a hill?
But they had.
My hands, when finished, had blisters the size of silver dollars.
She brought out an axe.
“I also need you to tear down those, hon.”
She pointed to the pigeon coops.
A dollar’s a dollar.
I walked in.
The smell was fetid.
I took the sledge, reared back, and fired off a really good shot.
A piece of the wall’s sheeting flew off.
I was pleased.
I drew back the large hammer and struck the wall’s sticks.
The building shuddered, nothing moved, and a rain of shit dust flew about.
Some went in my lungs.
“Fuck.” I said, and stepped outside.
I began hammering on the outside from then on, unless absolutely necessary.
An hour passed. I took pieces of the coop to the back and laid them down.
The pile among the untended blackberry bush was harsh.
I wanted to pick a few berries, but I had shit on my hand.
The woman wouldn’t let me in.
I would wash up when I went home.
No berries for me.
I smashed out windows.
I knocked out doors.
I scrapped shit onto the floor with the hammer before it could get me.
A few girls of about 16 came out, two houses down, and lay down on the hill.
The sun was hot.
They looked as though I could split them in two, even at 13.
Beautiful.
I raised the hammer and began hammering harder.
I began showing off.
Within a half hour, the first coop fell.
I stood over it in victory, screaming at it for attention.
I stepped on a nail and began screaming at it for the hell of it.
They took notice.
I started hauling the pieces in large chunks to the back yard, with the rest.
One of them stood up.
“Hi!” She said.
“Hi.” I said, walking over to the fence.
“Hard work?” She asked.
“Yeah.” I said.
I was sweating.
“Take off your shirt. We want to watch you work with your shirt off.”
The other one giggled from the ground.
“You’ll poke fun at me.” I said.
“No we won’t. Promise.” They said.
“I’ll think about it.” I said, and started hauling more stuff away.
I got to the pile and realized there was shit all over my shirt.
Hell, why not?
At least I wouldn’t have to bathe in filth.
“Okay.” I said.
“I’m taking it off.”
I did, and started swinging on the second coop.
I worked my way around, smashing, and finally came into view.
I swung hard, so they could see my muscles.
They saw my gut fat.
They laughed and pointed.
I put the hammer to the ground.
They laughed and pointed.
“Put it back on!” One screamed.
“Please!” The other said.
I flipped them off.
Then I put my shirt on.
I looked at the second coop.
I realized I’d been working about six hours for twenty bucks.
I had about five hours to go.
“Fuck this.” I said.
I put the hammer on the pile.
“And
FUCK YOU!” I screamed.
I looked at the girls.
“Fuck you both! You’re both a couple of bitches!”
They dropped their stuff and ran in to tell their mother.
I grabbed my bike and took off.
I looked down.
The blisters on my hand had burst.