He was a simple boy, hardworking and strong for his age, without much education but with a big heart. His name was Jack. He grew up on a big plot of land close to a small town, where he would get all his errands done and work full-time at the grocery store, stacking shelves and cleaning the aisles during the night shifts.
Jack didn’t remember his mother and had never met his father. He lived with his grandpa; he called him Pa. They had a dynamic relationship, built on tough love and understanding. In the mornings, they would feed the cattle, irrigate the earth and work the crops. They worked around the clock to maintain the property. The days were long and saturated with hard labour, but it was a good living.
Pa was a Vietnam War veteran; he had a set demeanor and firm expectations of Jack. Each time Jack used a shovel, a wrench or a hammer to fix the fence, Pa would make him clean off the dirt and debris, apply a light coat of oil and store it in the proper spot.
Pa always said, “You always need to take care of your steel, Boy!”
That rule applied to every tool and piece of equipment they owned.
They would go fishing on slower days. Pa taught Jack everything there was to know about fishing. He learned the hard way how to untangle fishing lines, but at times, when all hell broke loose, he could cut them off with his prized possession—his generational gift, a pocket knife.
It had been passed down from grandpa to grandpa, eventually making its way to him. A drop-point blade, around three inches long, with a wooden handle.
It was a sacred tool for Jack.
In town, only a fifteen-minute walk from the farm and about five minutes from the grocery store, lived a girl named Bethany. It was a cool spring morning when Jack laid eyes on her for the first time. It was Sunday. She was walking with a hand-woven basket full of flowers toward the market.
Bethany was the most beautiful girl Jack had ever seen.
From that moment, he knew she was the girl he wanted to marry. Jack told Pa about Bethany and all his plans to build a house for the two of them at the ranch.
Pa grinned and went on with his day.
After a gentleman’s agreement with the store manager, Jack began sorting rotten fruits and vegetables from the disposal bin after his shifts. He brought them home to help Pa feed the cattle and to save some money for a dress shirt and, importantly, dinner at the bar right next to the grocery store.
On Saturdays, they had a live band playing and the chef always made something special. Jack wanted to impress Bethany and take her on a night out to listen to music and have something appropriate to eat.
He had been doing this for quite some time.
There wasn’t much work available around town.
Growing up with only Pa, Jack learned how to be a gentleman, to work hard, respect his surroundings, stand up for himself and others, and be kind but firm.
One thing Pa always said, and he said it again:
“Don’t let anyone push you in the dirt, Son!”
Pa had learned those principles from his own dad and later in the army. Jack was getting a better version, but not necessarily an easier one.
In the summer, on a hot Saturday evening, Jack walked hand in hand with Bethany, wearing his new pearl-white dress shirt and a huge smile.
Past the main door, after paying the cover to the security guard, they found their table for two in the centre of the bar, next to the dance floor. They watched the band play while waiting for their meal to arrive.
The security guard was named Seth. He was a mountain of a human, with a huge gut hanging over his belt, his mouth always open, a bald head and bad breath that stunk of alcohol. He casually walked around the bar enforcing the peace.
It was a slow dance, and Jack was gently holding Bethany while trying not to step on her red shoes. They were laughing and enjoying each other’s company, connecting and exchanging personal touches on their shoulders and wrists.
It was a shove and a splash of beer that carelessly ended their moment.
Some local guy, overly served and carrying a pint of beer, was trying to get through the dance floor. Accidentally, without any intention of harm, he tripped and stained Jack’s new dress shirt. Without hesitation, he started to apologize while trying to rub the beer off the pearl-white shirt. Bethany, standing beside him and seeing all this, jumped in to help with the stain.
Through the drunken eyes of Seth, all of it looked like a bar fight waiting to happen.
He rushed toward the dance floor, pushing people away. He grabbed Jack by his shirt and dragged him off, ripping the dress shirt before pushing Jack onto the pavement, kicking him out of the bar and yelling that he had puked all over himself.
Jack hopelessly tried to get up from the pavement and reason with him, to explain what had happened, but Seth kept shoving him back to the ground while calling him a puke.
Tears started to roll from Jack’s eyes.
Thoughts of Bethany ran through his mind. He had no control over the situation.
Some locals and the same drunken guy helped Jack back onto his feet. With his ripped shirt and shattered dreams, he still managed to walk Bethany home that evening.
The next day was agony for Jack.
Despite how much Jack tried, things were never the same with Bethany after that. Multiple attempts at explaining and replaying what had happened didn’t make things any better between the two of them. She couldn’t stand the thought of being with a man she had seen so defenceless and pathetic.
Even Pa became sad hearing the story.
Then he said, “Jack, it’s all water under the bridge. Move on, Son!”
They never spoke about the incident again, and Jack stopped seeing Bethany too.
He only saw her once, on a hot summer day. She was wearing a bright orange dress just above the knees, with her hair all done up.
She was still perfect.
On a cold autumn Friday night, Jack, with his hands nearly frozen, was sorting rotten fruits and vegetables after his shift. Soaked from the rain, he neatly placed them into a box. With little light and rain pouring down his back, he heard a familiar voice beside the disposal bin.
It was Seth, taking a piss between the two buildings.
He yelled, “Hey, Puke, is that you?”
He looked drunker than ever, slurring his words and barely holding on to the wall.
Jack ignored him, finished filling the box and picked it up. Shivering from the cold, he started walking past Seth.
Suddenly, Seth turned around and, with one motion of his hand, slapped the box to the ground, scattering its contents all over the pavement.
The old feeling came back, the same feeling of regret and defeat.
But he was better than Seth.
A thought of Bethany crossed his mind.
Not again, he thought to himself.
He bent over and started picking up the fruits and vegetables from the ground, trying to maintain his composure.
He felt the push, then the fall.
Seth pushed Jack so hard that his whole body slapped against the pavement. Jack lay in the puddle, still holding rotten fruit in his hands.
Trying to get up, he felt a kick.
And another one.
In the end, this was not what made Jack snap.
He saw his sacred tool, his only pride, lying in the puddle beside him.
With a slight motion of his thumb, Jack pushed the blade until he heard a click.
With one fast movement of his hand, he ran the blade horizontally along the beltline, underneath Seth’s huge gut.
He heard a loud exhale.
Then he saw the contents of Seth’s stomach spilling onto the pavement.
His stomach became flat.
Seth stood motionless, his eyes wide and his mouth open. He reminded Jack of the fish they used to catch with Pa.
Jack promptly wiped the blade clean.
The voice of Pa came into his head:
“You always need to take care of your steel, Boy!”
Seth’s body dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes with a dull thump.
The voice came again:
“Don’t let anyone push you in the dirt, Son!”
He didn’t this time.
Jack picked up the remaining fruits and vegetables and neatly placed them back into the box. Then he calmly started walking toward the farm.
He thought about Bethany again, and about the house he wanted to build for the two of them at the ranch.
And the way Pa grinned.
He just kept walking on.
