Fresh Ink: "A Boy’s Duty" by Sharon G. Flake

Truth is, I wasn’t suited to live on a farm. My father blamed my teachers for my discontent.

But it was my father’s binoculars and the almanac that pulled me away from the farm first. It’s how I got the notion I wanted to be a mapmaker, plotting out every planet and star in the sky.

The stolen wallet, for sure. I didn’t run off with it, but that was just happenstance. I plotted and planned and schemed along with Ezekiel, Randy, Luke, and Tennessee. But they pulled it off without me.

I’ve no time to dawdle. I’m off to seat more customers.

Situating himself at a table, he pulls out a pack of Lucky Strikes and offers me one.

Ma sits a plate of grits at his elbow.

Your duty is to hearth and home.

“Some fellows go AWOL, don’t they?”

I watch maggots squirming in water not far away.

“Later we’ll go up under the bridge. I got a pallet there. A blanket for you. Like always.”