Lindsey Lehman

“He sighs deeply and gazes at me expectantly. “What now?” “Anything you want.” I grab my plate as he picks up his and hands it to me. “Anything?” I peer down at him, one brow shifting up. “Almost anything.” “One of the kids at school said that he and his dad drove really fast down the back roads and threw heads of lettuce out the window and watched them explode on the road.” I stare at the little boy, all earnest and genuine. It’s like he doesn’t even realize what majorly hillbilly shit he just asked me to do. Goddamn, small towns are weird. “It’s day one. Are you trying to get me fired?” “You can’t get fired. We like you too much!” “Who is we?” I ask, loading the dishwasher. And I freeze momentarily when his response is, “My dad and me.” I will not burst his bubble by telling him that his dad does not, in fact, like me. He just needs my help and is stuck between a rock and a hard place. A hard place where I’m literally his last and only option. I shrug. “Okay sure, why not?” Hillbilly shit it is.”
― Elsie Silver, Heartless