Cal and Brent (rewrite)

CAL AND BRENT (REWRITE)

Cal approached the farmhouse where he and Brent spent summers when they were young, with a heavy heart, and heavy steps. The property had been in the family for almost a hundred years now. It was a shame how recent events had tarnished the homey charm of the place. Not even the lush ivy on the stone walls he remembered so vividly could change things now, although he wished that the beauty of those vines had the power to do so. No, it was far too late to depend on beauty to inspire change.

As he walked, Cal reflected on how guests at the place always commented on how he and Brent complimented each other in their own strange way, Cal, clean-cut, always the charmer, and Brent, the ragged troublemaker. Despite their differences, as children they were the best of friends. It was the bond of brothers, and even though they had not spoken in years, it was that bond that told Cal he had to see Brent today. That bond weighed heavily on him as he plodded through the thick, black, muddy ground towards the house. There had been a hard rain the night before, and he was dressed in his best black suit, and his good shoes. The wet dirt crept up over his shoes and trouser cuffs, and he thought how much that resembled his own conscience as he went to face Brent.

Brent took over the farmhouse when he left the family home in the city, almost a decade ago. It was sort of a parting gift from mom and dad. Nobody visited much after that.

Cal continued up the path. Brent had really let the place go. The eaves were clogged, the roof looked like it was about to collapse, and the weeds had taken over the land. The ivy was dying on the walls. Cal felt a bit queasy.

Brent was sitting on the porch with a Coors longneck, and a shotgun in his hand, which was pretty much how Cal remembered him. Cal took a deep breath before speaking.

"Hi Brent."

Brent stood up and grabbed Cal's hand. He shook it hard.

"Hey, little brother, what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Cal didn't know what to say. Their relationship had been strained for too long. .

"Brent, you can stop shaking my hand. You're hurting me."

Brent released his grip.

"Sorry, Cal. I guess I don't know my own strength. Hey, if you want a beer, grab one from the cooler. If you want something stronger, you gotta go inside. There's plenty of whiskey in the cabinet."

"Thanks Brent, I'm okay. I'm not really here on a social visit."

"Oh? What's up?"

"The family sent me over."

This wasn't true. Cal felt this visit was his duty. The family had, for a long time now, no desire to keep in touch with Brent.

"We didn't see you at dad's funeral today."

Brent took a long swig of beer.

"I'm not sure what y'all expected."

"We just thought that under the circumstances…"

Another lie. Cal thought, not the family. Brent already knew this.

"You just thought. I gotta say, that was always your strong point, Cal. You were lucky to be born with the brains, and not the looks."

"Brent…"

"What? I'm only saying that dad sure loved his liquor."

Brent chuckled.

"I sure enjoyed our late-night chats too, real heart-to-hearts."

"Enough Brent, I know", Cal said.

"Still, you never went to see him in the hospital. When he asked for you, said that he wanted to make amends, I pleaded with you to go. You don't know how he changed in those last weeks. How could you know? You were so damned stubborn you couldn't accept he might have actually been sorry. Brent, why didn't you just visit?"

"I was too busy to see him."

"You were too busy?"

Cal wondered why he even bothered making the trip. Their father was dead. Cal had forgiven him, why couldn't Brent?

"Brent, you live alone here in this shack, nobody in the family is really sure what you do to pay the bills, and quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to know. You spend most of the day drunk, so what exactly were you so busy with that you couldn't give the man a chance?"

"I was busy waiting for him to die. Like I said, I don't know what you expected. Come on little brother, all this death talk is depressing. Let's do something to cheer me up a little. Grab a cold six-pack, will ya?"

"Brent, where are we going?"

Cal had a bad feeling about this, and knew that whatever it was, it couldn't possibly turn out well.

"We're gonna shoot us a deer."

Brent whistled for his dog Hope and picked up the shotgun. Hope lumbered over, wagging his thick, shaggy black tail.

"All right folks, let's go."

Brent was a good tracker. Years of living on the property, and hunting the local game had honed his knowledge of the land. There were some deep woods just beyond the boundaries of the property where he had spent a lot of time with Hope, searching for prey. It didn't take them long to find a deer.

"Check him out Cal. Not a twelve-pointer, but a fine animal indeed."

Brent readied the gun and felled it in one clean shot.

"Let's go take a look, little brother."

They approached the buck. It was a handsome animal. The way the afternoon sun shone on its hide made it seem like it was glowing. Brent examined the kill. The beasts dark eyes were closed now, and the dead animal resembled a creature of angelic innocence, sidetracked, by his gun. He took a minute to admire its beauty in death, and noticed that the antlers weren't perfect. They looked like they had taken a few good ruts in their day though.

Hope sat, thumping his tail against the wet ground, awaiting Brent's command.

"Okay boy, go for it."

Hope leapt up and hungrily sank his yellowed teeth into the carcass.

"Look at that Cal, interesting how the beast always goes for the genitals first."

Cal watched Hope gorge on the deer. His muzzle was now a thick patchwork of blood and gore, and something in the dog's eyes looked uncomfortably familiar. It was the fury of the attack. The dog's jaws snapped at the carcass, ripping fur, pulling out tendon and organs, and then Cal heard the distinct sound of crunching bone.

"Brent, I think I need to throw up."

"Find a bush, don't mess up the animal."

Cal ran as best he could, dizzy from his nausea, and started retching.

"Cal, you never had the stomach to look a wounded animal in the face. Never even brought home hurt little birds. Nose buried in your books, nature just seemed dirty to you. God help you if you had to touch an animal in need, you might get germs."

"Shut the **** up Brent."

"Well Cal, today I'm gonna show you something. Check out this buck. This thing isn't wounded, it's dead. Look at Hope enjoying himself down there. Do you really think this piece of meat suffers? Look at its face. It's kinda peaceful, isn't it?"

Cal was still sick, but forced a quick look.

"Yes, I suppose it is," he murmured, through the vomiting.

Brent leaned on his gun and stared at Hope and the mutilated deer for what seemed like an eternity to Cal. Cal looked at Brent and noticed that a strange pallor had come over his face. It was something he had never seen before in his brother, but Cal just couldn't put his finger on what it was in his ill state. He was still reeling.

Brent called off his dog.

"Okay Hope, enough. Come on Cal, let's go. Help me drag this thing back home. There's still some useable meat on it."

Cal struggled dragging the carcass back to the farmhouse. Blood covered his hands, and his shirt. Despite the slow going, and the feeling he was going to throw up again, something made him want to prove that he could be strong for his brother, so he endured. The journey back to the farmhouse seemed as endless as Hope's gorging of the deer.

"Cal, drag this down to the basement freezer for me, will ya?"

Cal swallowed his disgust and dragged the thing down to the cellar. He thought about how that was Brent's word for this formally living animal, ?'thing', and how much that bothered him. When he got back upstairs, Brent was sitting on the porch. He looked pensive. Was that what Cal saw in his brother's eyes back in the woods? To Cal, it seemed impossible. Brent was never pensive, he was always prone to act without thinking, but at this point, Cal was open to suggestions.

"Cal, is there some beer left?"

"Yeah, want one?"

"Yeah, you should have one, you probably need it. Grab me a little whiskey from inside too, will ya, a large one?"

"Sure."

Cal came back with the whiskey, and opened a beer. It was getting late. He sat down on the porch with Brent and enjoyed a welcome swig from the bottle. As it always was with Brent, the day had been strange for Cal. Brent finished his beer and started on the whiskey.

"Cal…"

"Yes, Brent?"

There was a long pause.

"Why did he do it?"

"I don't know, Brent."

Hope was chasing squirrels in the backyard, completely oblivious to the concept that they are often too elusive to be caught.

The two brothers sipped their drinks and watched the sun set in silence.