Chapter 3: Chapter 3 – Eli Who Accepts His fate As A beet Farmer

His specific audience was also very judgemental and vain so after cleaning up the kitchen Eli dumps his overalls and apron in the laundry basket before going into his bathroom for a quick but painful shower, as he forgot to heat up some water at the beginning so now he has to endure the biting coldness of the winter’s well.

He kind of definitely blames the voice in his head for everything.

He wouldn't have ever forgotten something so important if it hadn't started making up lies about having better rhymes and siding with dead dad over his ability to ignore him.

Yes, Eli is still on that topic. 

He hated liars, not because Mom lied to him about forgetting something in the bedroom and asked him to go get it for her but when he came out she had already left with his siblings, no,  he hated liars because lying is mean and in most cases only makes things worse than they were at the beginning and everyone involved gets hurts when the truth eventually comes out.

And the truth always comes out.

Dad was sad after learning that mom wasn’t staying with her family for a few days like she said and grandpa was even sadder because mom ran away like grandma did after specifically promising not to do the same when he was blessing their marriage at the beginning of their relationship.

Eli wasn’t sad, he was just disappointed. 

He thought he was her favorite but she chose booger-eating Timmy over him so clearly there was something fundamentally wrong with her judgment, not him. 

He was a good kid. 

A great kid even! 

He didn’t cry at night when he was a baby, he made sure to give her time when she looked tired as a toddler, and he tried to help with the house chores after he started walking. He even took care of his siblings when things became hectic during harvest season and made lunch when she didn't have time to do it.

What more did she want?

….

Probably a lot, but what more did she want from Eli that he could give her? 

So no, he’s not resentful or sad, he’s just very disappointed. And he kind of wishes he could forget them but he can’t and sometimes he finds himself making lunch for seven and has to keep it for dinner because explaining why he made surplus would just make dad and grandpa more sad and the atmosphere of the house become more dull. 

Eli brushes his hair after leaving the shower, taking it down from its usual bun into something that subtracted from his usual bumpkin-ness and made him look less like he came from an actual village than he normally did. 

And sure, Eli wasn't a natural blond. 

But he knew a neighbor who had an aunt that was blond and the corn he grew in spring had also had vaguely blond silk stings so that was probably enough association with the concept of being blond to justify dying his hair an unrealistic shade of blond and making everyone think it was natural.

The folks in town also really liked blonds and they kept buying these molasses even if they were bitter and earthy and probably not safe for long-term human consumption, for no real observable reason than they liked the way he looked, so it was definitely working.

The void in his head thinks they buy them for their pets or have extremely strange tastes but Eli likes to believe the best in people so he defends that they probably throw it away after getting home else the list of people coming to get revenge on him for giving them diarrhea would probably be a lot longer than it currently was. 

His guess was a very likely scenario too, considering his usual customers were at least a little wealthy or middle class since only people who didn’t need to worry about their daily livelihood cared about their monthly horoscopes or the phases of the moon. Except for dad. Eli wishes dad spent less time trying to feel the flow of his chakras instead of thinking of ways for them to clear their debt but that was apparently too much to ask for.

It was probably why mom left him too. He cared more about his chakras and the moon than he did her. Or she just didn't want to live in poverty for the rest of her life. She probably fell in love with him when he was still an honorable knight then he retired to be a beet farmer after they got married.

‘Or were wolves.’ 

Right. 

That too, but in this location werewolves were almost more myth than fact.

Everything exciting happened south and they were far, far north. Too far north in his humble opinion, but the chances of grandpa selling the farm and relocating upon his request were almost nonexistent so he didn't even try to ask.

Speaking of grandpa, 

“PA!” He yells at the top of his lungs because going upstairs at this point was a pain and his hands were already lathered with expensive hair product. 

Waste not waste less, as they say.

“WHAT’D YOU WANT BOY?! I’M TRYING TO SHAVE!” Grandpa yells back. He sounds angry. But grandpa always sounds angry in the morning. That was basically his default response to life; anger, sadness, and maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get resigned disappointment to really spice things up.

Eli is very lucky.

“I’m going to the market! WANT SOME DIAPERS?!” 

“Why in god’s blue earth WOULD I WANT -ow!”

“CUT YOURSELF DID YOU?”

“FUCK YOURSELF WOULD YOU?” Grandpa mocks, which is extremely rude and uncalled for, there's his thanks for caring.  

“JUST SAY YES OR NO! IT'S NOT THAT COMPLICATED!” Eli massages the product into his hair, combing it into a low ponytail before washing his hands and picking up his body lotion.

“WHY WOULD I WANT DIPPERS ELI? LOOK IN YOUR EMPTY HEAD, YOU NOB! WHEN HAVE I EVER ASKED FOR DIAPERS?”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE BEING SHY!" Eli applies deodorant and walks to his closet, "YOU'RE ON BED REST OF COURSE YOU NEED DIPPERS!”

“I’M NOT ON-Carl! Come get your son!”

“Eli, stop provoking grandpa.” Disembodied voice pipes up from the living room, probably cleaning his equipment for a morning hunt.

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“DAD IS DEAD!” Eli insists, buttoning up his shirt. “I'M JUST HEARING DEAD PEOPLE’S VOICES!” 

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU BOY?!” 

All in all, a peaceful morning for the beet family. 

===========

The distance to the local market was only an hour-long walk from the manor, made infinitely more difficult by the few feet of snow accumulated on the ground and the strain of walking down the hill of their farm. 

Eli holds an umbrella to keep off the snow from his hair and dressed in three layers of large coats slowly waddles his way along the distance. 

His face mufflers are doing great in keeping his ears warm, 8/10, but his leaky gloves are doing absolutely nothing to help his hands, 0.5/10, immediately to the trash after getting home.

The voice in his head argues that it definitely deserves higher.

‘They’re doing something.’ It says. 

“Not really.” Eli disagrees, “E for effort, not A. Did you forget the alphabet again?” He asks, reasonably suspicious because precedence does unfortunately mostly likely set a pattern.

The voice argues that in another language A probably stood for effort so if Eli was a true believer of equality he wouldn’t discriminate against another ethnicity just because he didn’t understand what they were saying since that was petty, close-minded, and ignorant behavior and shouldn't be encouraged else risk doing lasting damage to their moral integrity.

Eli thinks the voice opened its mouth and decided bullshit was its chosen mode of communication so of course he vehemently denies being accused of something so serious and unrelate to their topic.

“We’re not speaking another language.” He stresses, “A does not stand for effort in our language so why are you defending this shitty glove when I know you’re also cold?” 

‘You just don’t like the color.’ The voice huffs and Eli feels a headache incoming,

“The color is fine!" He whisper-shouts, "I just think it’ll be better to get another one! Am I wrong for not wanting us to get sick?!” 

The voice calls him profligate for wanting to trash a pair of perfectly good gloves arguing that his spending habit was detrimental to their shared future dream of endless wealth.

‘You're the reason still broke!’ It accuses resentfully, ‘You waste money on useless things, and at the end, we won’t even be able to afford the cheapest building in town! I don’t think you were even that committed in the first place! You enjoy being poor!’

Eli gasps!

“How dare you?!” 

‘I’m right! It hurts because I’m right!’ 

“No you’re not!"He yell's agitatedly, "Stop saying-“ 

“Eli? Is that you, dear?” The voice of Mrs. Maisely interrupts his words. 

Eli immediately shows her a bright smile. 

“Morning Mrs. Maisley! How’re you feeling?” He asks, she came down with a cold last week but refused to see Carla the healer, preferring to wait it out instead.

“Oh, much better dear.” She smiles back, gaze searching behind him, was someone there? Eli looks back too. “I heard you yelling, who're you talking to?” She asks.

“The voice in my head," Eli responds brightly, "We had a disagreement on our goals and our gloves.” He holds the umbrella at the nape of his neck, showing her his now free right hand. 

“It’s worn down right?” He asks.

“Well yes,” She agrees dumbfoundedly, “A bit inappropriate for the weather, I’ll say.” Mrs. Masiley adds when he keeps looking expectant after the first sentence.

Eli grins, satisfied. “I’m so glad you agree, it kept calling me prodigal for wanting to replace them but I'm really cold so I know it’s just being cheap ‘cause if I’m feeling cold then it’s also feeling very cold meaning I'm right and it's wrong so it shouldn't disagree with me 'cause I'm almost always right, right?” 

“…Okay.” Mrs. Maisly smiles back, her expression encouraging and kind. “I’m sure it’s very cold and wrong Eli, just make sure to be safe out there, you hear? And don’t let the kids get to you now, you know they just like talking mean.” 

That's odd.

“What’d they say?” People were talking about him? 

“Don’t even worry about it dear, have a muffin.” Mrs. Maisly raises the napkin from her basket of muffins and offers it up.

Oh! 

Blueberry. 

“Thanks Mrs. Maisly!” These were his favorites.

“No problem Eli," She pats his arm compassionately, "Now you go have yourself a wonderful day now, you hear?” 

Eli watches her walk past him, still holding his umbrella at the nape of his neck and munching on his warm blueberry muffin.

“Weird lady.” He mutters.

‘I know right,’ The voice agrees.

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