what makes things high class and low class. You know in his day Shakespeare was not celebrated as a literary genius. He was considered the worst sort of hack.
I heard the generator start up and Billy came walking out of the hall that went to the shop. I handed him the milk and shook my head toward the kitchen. He took it and went without a question. He could tell I was mad. I started to fill the rabbits’ hay feeders; I had pellets for them, but I was already rationing those and that meant they’d need more hay.
“What makes someone who’s a professional—like say yourself—better than someone who's working class like myself? Money? Hell, I had more money than I could spend, more money than you, that’s for sure. Smart clothes, a house that’s too big, and a car that burns more gas than a semi? People like you who thought being green meant you changed the four-hundred bulbs in your energy-eating home from iridescent bulbs to compact fluorescents, who were willing to conserve only as long as it didn’t get into your comfort zone—what makes you better? What makes anyone better than other people? Really better. Is it how much money they have, what they think is entertaining, what education they have, what job, how they dress, whether they are respected by other people who only respect such things as money or power? Maybe what makes someone better than someone else is that they live within their means, that they are entertained by the things around them, what they actually know, whether their job pays the bills and they are proud of what they do, that they dress for comfort not to impress, and that they respect everyone until they prove they don’t deserve anyone’s respect.”
I had finished haying the rabbits, and I turned to face her. She looked startled, so I’m guessing she was starting to understand that I really was crazy, and I had one of those moments where I wanted to quit screaming at her. Where I knew that the things I was saying were just mean and irrelevant at the time, but I just couldn’t keep words from pouring out of my mouth.
“Maybe, Lucy Powers, the thing that makes some people better than other people is that some people actually care about something besides themselves and their stupid-assed shit!” I was screaming then, and Lucy seemed to be on edge like maybe she could see that I was capable of violence. Which I am, and… Well I don’t know why I was so mad right then. Maybe because I had just caught myself starting to have feelings for her and then she once again as much as called me an idiot or… Well she wasn’t calling me an idiot but she was saying that she was surprised that I wasn’t one, and now I think about it what pissed me off was that I was starting to have feelings for her and she represented everything that I hated about people.
“You judged me before you ever met me. Well, do I look like such a crack-pot now, do I?” I demanded.
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you are way over-reacting. Do you think maybe you could stop yelling before you start a stamped?”
“No! Because I told you… I’m fucking crazy! And goats don’t stampede especially not in the barn when there are only six of them.” I turned on my heel, walked to the hall that went from the barn to the shop, and opened the door. I tried to slam it but Lucy was in my way. “God dammit! I’m trying to get away from you so that I can go somewhere and calm the fuck down. You want me to stop screaming, don’t you?”
“Yes… but I don’t want to be alone.”
“Then go help Billy in the kitchen or go crawl in bed with Jimmy.”
“But… I don’t know them.”
“You don’t know me!” I thundered in disbelief. If she had looked around at the animals right then, she would have known I was prone to such fits over seemingly nothing at all because the animals didn’t even take notice of my bad temper. Normally animals will run in terror when idiots start yelling, but mine were so used
I heard the generator start up and Billy came walking out of the hall that went to the shop. I handed him the milk and shook my head toward the kitchen. He took it and went without a question. He could tell I was mad. I started to fill the rabbits’ hay feeders; I had pellets for them, but I was already rationing those and that meant they’d need more hay.
“What makes someone who’s a professional—like say yourself—better than someone who's working class like myself? Money? Hell, I had more money than I could spend, more money than you, that’s for sure. Smart clothes, a house that’s too big, and a car that burns more gas than a semi? People like you who thought being green meant you changed the four-hundred bulbs in your energy-eating home from iridescent bulbs to compact fluorescents, who were willing to conserve only as long as it didn’t get into your comfort zone—what makes you better? What makes anyone better than other people? Really better. Is it how much money they have, what they think is entertaining, what education they have, what job, how they dress, whether they are respected by other people who only respect such things as money or power? Maybe what makes someone better than someone else is that they live within their means, that they are entertained by the things around them, what they actually know, whether their job pays the bills and they are proud of what they do, that they dress for comfort not to impress, and that they respect everyone until they prove they don’t deserve anyone’s respect.”
I had finished haying the rabbits, and I turned to face her. She looked startled, so I’m guessing she was starting to understand that I really was crazy, and I had one of those moments where I wanted to quit screaming at her. Where I knew that the things I was saying were just mean and irrelevant at the time, but I just couldn’t keep words from pouring out of my mouth.
“Maybe, Lucy Powers, the thing that makes some people better than other people is that some people actually care about something besides themselves and their stupid-assed shit!” I was screaming then, and Lucy seemed to be on edge like maybe she could see that I was capable of violence. Which I am, and… Well I don’t know why I was so mad right then. Maybe because I had just caught myself starting to have feelings for her and then she once again as much as called me an idiot or… Well she wasn’t calling me an idiot but she was saying that she was surprised that I wasn’t one, and now I think about it what pissed me off was that I was starting to have feelings for her and she represented everything that I hated about people.
“You judged me before you ever met me. Well, do I look like such a crack-pot now, do I?” I demanded.
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you are way over-reacting. Do you think maybe you could stop yelling before you start a stamped?”
“No! Because I told you… I’m fucking crazy! And goats don’t stampede especially not in the barn when there are only six of them.” I turned on my heel, walked to the hall that went from the barn to the shop, and opened the door. I tried to slam it but Lucy was in my way. “God dammit! I’m trying to get away from you so that I can go somewhere and calm the fuck down. You want me to stop screaming, don’t you?”
“Yes… but I don’t want to be alone.”
“Then go help Billy in the kitchen or go crawl in bed with Jimmy.”
“But… I don’t know them.”
“You don’t know me!” I thundered in disbelief. If she had looked around at the animals right then, she would have known I was prone to such fits over seemingly nothing at all because the animals didn’t even take notice of my bad temper. Normally animals will run in terror when idiots start yelling, but mine were so used
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