Page 33 of The Sixth Spring

The man wasn’t someone who prepared food or cleaned. He considered that ‘women's work’ and even after Will’s mom had left, refused to do it on principle.

If Will didn’t do it, no one would.

So he had to.

Once upon a time, the mere idea of going against his father would’ve gotten Will an ass whooping. Eugene Payton had suffered a fall off a roof a little over five years ago though. It had fucked up his leg and his back, and after he’d refused to go to a doctor, he’d been left permanently disabled.

Despite his shrunken appearance and cane, Eugene still cast a long, ominous shadow over Will’s life. Defying him, leaving him to his own mess, wasn’t something he was strong enough to do.

It was tempting though.

Will’s days off had always been empty, so he hadn’t seen a reason to not go to his father’s. Now, something had shifted. Now, he thought about using the time to sleep, so that when he went to the spring, he could spend more time there.

The idea was exciting. Energizing.

Except, if he didn’t go to his father’s and bring him food, the man would starve.

Will paused on the front step of his trailer.

It felt suddenly unfair that the responsibility had been leveled on him. His father hadn’t lifted a finger in raising him except to pay the lot rent. Even then, he’d still made that feel like a monumental gift he’d bestowed on Will.

He stared up at his own trailer. It looked a lot like his father’s trailer. Small, old. Three years ago when Will had put the money down for this place, he’d been proud of what he’d accomplished. It had felt monumental to have it. Like he was clawing himself out of the coffin of father’s place.

But had he?

He thought, unbidden then, about sitting in Itori’s lap. About being held so carefully that he’d been able to let himself go. Be himself, truly, for the first time maybe ever.

That had felt more comforting and been more real somehow, than what he had before him.

He looked down one side of the trailer, then the other. Remembered what one of the suits had said about the local trailer park. His trailer park.

Real depressing shit.

The front siding of his trailer had rust stains on the corners of the windows, and green algae grime up near the gutters. The lattice that prevented animals from getting up under the trailer had been damaged on one side, and it looked like something had made a burrow there. The sun had killed all the grass and left the lot around the whole thing barren.

His steps creaked as he walked up to the lock. The door had hand and shoe prints from him going in and out. It was a flimsy thing that had seen better days.

Everything looked old, worn. The trailer itself was sagging in the middle like it was just as exhausted as he was from the efforts of existing.

Had he always been living like this?

Will jimmied his key in the rusted lock and opened the door. The inside mat was muddy where he toed off his shoes before.

He looked around the cramped space. Everything was dated fixtures, cheap linoleum, and bare comforts. He hadn’t cluttered the space like his father’s trailer, but it still held a kind of thoughtless ugliness that reminded him of where he’d grown up.

Will frowned, walking toward where his bedroom was. He had a lumpy futon, a single itchy blanket, a dresser he’d found for free, and little else. There was no art on the walls, no homey fixtures.

It wasn’t just that it was an old trailer, it was that there was nothing here that looked like him. It was the place he slept, but not a home. He’d lived here for three years, and it looked abandoned.

What was a home? Did he even know?

He thought about Itori again.

No, that was–no. He barely knew Itori.

He took a deep, shaky breath. Then he turned and walked into the kitchen. He opened the empty fridge and then closed it.

The whole trailer was empty and ugly and hollow. Like his life. Like his father’s life.