Langston

I didn’t know what it felt like to lose something. I was surrounded by family my entire life. On a farm where we raised livestock. I had three older brothers and two older sisters. All my brothers had gone off to college or started families of their own, and both my sisters were getting ready to graduate from high school. Unfortunately, that meant more work for me. I had two years left until I could fly out of the nest.

Summer of 89, my sisters got jobs before they went off to university. So, besides the farm animals, I had nobody to talk to. My ma was busy running a book club and investing lots of time with my sisters. She wanted them to have a pleasant experience in college. My pops never talked. Only growled commands. Me and him had nothing in common. So, I spent most of my time with the livestock.

Especially Langston, the Gunnsons’ family goat. He was fifteen, an old boy with majestic, curved horns, and a beard like a wise wizard.

I visited him every day after school, and each time the orange hue of the sun shined into his ancient eyes, I realized he was dying. The brown spots speckled through his fur were growing dimmer, and he wasn’t eating as much. And when the younger bucks tried him for dominance, flashing their horns, grunting, and stomping, he would turn away. Although I knew his time was coming, I didn’t realize what it would do to me.

Langston listened to my woes. His ears were open to me complaining about my school life, lack of friends, and irritable pops, who sometimes punched me when he was angry. Langston blinked and bleated as if he understood.

So that night when the sky dropped all its stars as low as it could and the crickets sang their requiem, Langston licked me one last time, struggled to his bed of hay, and lied still.

I waited an hour.

I called his name.

I shook his favorite treats.

But he didn’t move. And that’s when it hit me. Langston was gone. Tears spread down my face for my only friend. Who would I share my sorrows with? Who would be there for me when nobody else was? I cried and cried and cried until I didn’t have any tears left.

A couple of days later, my pops laughed across the dinner table at my face when I figured out we were eating goat. Langston, to be exact. First time I ever saw my pops laugh that hard.

“Fix your face, boy,” he said. “Ole Langston lived a good life. Now he’ll always be a part of you.”

I never stood up to my pops. Not once. I respected him. He was a war veteran. He had seen some shit, so I always gave him the benefit of the doubt, but that evening something in me wanted to be free. I had been holding back so much. And for my pops to joke about Langston’s death like he was nothing was my breaking point. Langston was family, and I was going to defend his name.

“We could have buried him,” I said.

“What?”

“We should have buried him.”

My pops set his fork down. “Look me in the eye when speaking, boy.”

“Langston was family.”

“He was a goat.”

I pushed my plate away. “Yeah, sure. But to laugh about me being bummed out about it is—is a shit thing to do!”

My pops shot out of his chair and so did I. He got in my face.

“Boys. We are at dinner. Please,” my ma pleaded.  

My pops held up a finger. “Martha.” Then his gaze seared into mine. “You got a mouth on you tonight, don’t you? Why don’t you say that again?”

“Go on. Hit me. But imma hit you back for insulting Langston.”

My pop’s palm stung across my cheek, and my fists curled. I remembered Langston eating from my hands. I remembered him chasing me through green fields. I remembered taking naps with him in the barn.

And then I swung back, and my pops stumbled away, clutching his face.

“Tom!” My ma ran to my pops.

And I, to my room.

I waited on my bed for my pops to come with a belt or switch, but he never did. The next morning, my pops was out back setting rocks onto the ground. I knew he was gonna catch me eventually, so I went out there. He didn’t deserve an apology, but I was gonna do it, anyway. When I got to him, I saw the mound of dirt.

A name was spelled out with broken pieces of wood.

Langston.

My pops stood, turning. His eye was black, but he smiled. Big and wide. “That was a solid punch….”

Tears welled in my eyes.

“Don’t go soft on me now.” My pops spread his arms for a hug, and I crashed into his embrace.