“Stick aroun’,” said Tom. “Stick aroun’ till tomorra anyways.”
The boy paused. “No. I’m a-goin’”, he said. “I got my min’ made up. I got ta do ’er.”
“You don’ even know where in the hell you’re goin’.”
“Yeah but I jes’ know”.
Tom sighed. He had felt the same way. In fact when he was seventeen an article in the Oklahoman caused him to hitch rides for twenty days to Topeka just to see that new capitol building. The thing was, he couldn’t help but see Paul as a kid, and he knew for a fact that all kids are dumb. But it wasn’t about that.
“What’s a matter with the farm? You don’ like it?” Tom asked.
“Well I like parts of it.” Paul stopped and then he started again, “I like a tractorin’ an’ a mowin’ the fields with Pete.” He paused again, “But I don’ know if this life is for me.”
The truth was, for his whole life Paul had assumed that he was just the next generation of farmer. They had the land now that, when his dad was growing up, he would have killed for.
There was silence for a few more seconds until Tom broke it.
“Ok.”
“Ok?”
“Yep, Ok. Go on and make ya mistakes. Jes’ write ever’ so ofen an let me know yer still alive.”
Paul nodded his head and only later when he was walking away did he grin.