strangers, reno snapshots

[mat]

age sixteen; an exchange
reno and ma

"Sweetie, you don't need to work at your age. It's our job to help you, not the other way around."

"But you and Daddy aren't making enough! If you have one more source of income, maybe we can squeak by–"

"You'll have all the money in the world if you stay in school and get a better job than what you're applying for. We aren't dying, here. We can manage."

"I don't understand why you're lying to me. I'm not Whit or Henderson. I see things. Your rejected loan applications. Daddy's one-meal-a-day diet. I'm a big boy, Ma. I can start pulling my own weight."

"That's just it. You're a big boy and older now. But you are still just a boy, Reno."

"I just need you or Daddy to sign this paper. You know how Daddy is, that's why I'm begging you. Please. It'll let me quit school so I can work. I can always go back."

"It's a dangerous bet to assume there'll still be a school to go back to."

"Hmm?"

"History has its way of– never mind that. You're being shortsighted."

"The other option is I just don't go to school and you get in trouble instead."

"You know that would only make things worse for us."

"Which is why I need this. One wrong moment and things are just going to get worse and worse."

"Why you need this, that's what you said. Is it what you want?"

"..."

"Reno, if you feel obligated out of guilt–"

"That's not what I'm doing!"

"I know how you are, sweetie."

"Ma, don't hug me, please. I need this. I want this. I have to do this. Just a little more money would mean no cutting corners to get by. Ranching is where the money is right now. Let me do this."

"Only if you're sure. But you need to promise me one thing: that you won't become a stranger or an acquaintance in your home."

"..."

"Can you promise me that?"

"Of course. I promise."

---

promises made, promises not kept. i feel so lonely and lost ma. i'm sorry.

[mat]

age sixteen; an experience
reno and the ranch.

Everyone wants to shake his hand. Reno shifts down the row of smiley faces. He learns quickly that their ranch and farm are among the better-off ones left in Five that haven't been completely overtaken by the Capitol. Their faces show a level of comfort that can only be explained by wiggle room financially. The multigenerational family farm leaves his introverted soul with a long exhale at the end of the line.

The man who heads the farm is Mr. Silverfield. He's around forty years old, but he's already greying and tired. He asks Reno to head down to his office, the third door down the hall on the left. "Sure." He's compliant despite the shift in tone and demeanor of Silverfield after his family files out and back to their day. Reno sits in the chair across from his desk. The satisfaction of sitting in a chair so cushioned and soft should have been a warning that Reno was further from comfort than he thought he would be when taking the job.

Silverfield sits opposite him and reaches into his desk. Reno watches for a moment as he's grabbing something, but one stern look leaves him staring at his heels, anxiously clicking together while he waits. Did he already do something wrong? "We're happy to have you aboard, Reno. You seem like a very hard worker." Silverfield shuffles some papers in order as he speaks, scribbling comments in the margins. Reno smiles awkwardly. Considering he hasn't done an ounce of work yet, compliments feel like niceties. "I just need you to sign this here contract to make things official. Normal stuff. More simple than what most farms'll give 'ya."

Reno pulls paper off of the desk and begins reading some of the notes.

I. I agree to be paid at the end of each month. I acknowledge that the recommended time for sleep is 8 hours a day and expect to have time to eat and perform leisurely activities for about 4 hours each day. All other time will be spent at work or being reachable and "on call" to tend to any activities in the farm.

II. I will be paid at the end of the Saturday before the last Sunday of the month. I will have that last Sunday of the month off from work. This day off is guaranteed.

III. I agree that my main service is tending to livestock on the Silverfield Farm, but agree to perform routine maintenance services on the ranch, including the barn, the ranch, and fences.

IV. Three meals will be provided to me each day. I will eat in my personal space or outside unless otherwise permitted by an adult in the residence.

V. I am not allowed to be in any of the children's rooms at any point without explicit permission from Mr. Silverfield.

VI. Breaking rules in this contract or rules implied or otherwise stated will result in immediate termination. If I'm terminated, I will receive whatever proportion of the month I worked in pay.

The contract goes on with a few other things about what to wear and etiquette around Capitol inspectors. Luckily for Reno, the three changes of clothes he brought to the ranch fit the criteria and he's not reckless enough to be a risk during an inspection. He'll follow the rules to a tee so long as it gets him money.

At the end of the final page is a line for his signature. His handwriting is sloppy (cursive be damned,) but it's legible enough to leave Silverfield content. He files it away in his drawer.

The moment he stands up, Reno jumps to match him. His hands are at his side, ready to shake one final deal and then get to work. "And one last thing, Reno."

"Sure, what do you need?"

Silverfield steps toward him. There's a discrete click from below. Reno's eyes trickle down to the sound. There is a gun in Silverfield's hand, pointed just between Reno's legs.

"I know how kids like you can be. Flirty, waiting to fall in love. Don't think about screwing around my daughters, any of 'em."

Reno nods stiffly, hands rigid at either side. "I just want to work. I wouldn't do that." He wouldn't do it, really. That's the last thing on his mind.

Silverfield slips Reno on the shoulder and whispers to him "Good kid. Because if you do, I'll blow your balls off." He smiles again, half-terrified.

It won't matter at all. He'll keep his head down and not be a problem for Silverfield because he knows his family's security depends on it.

[mat]

age sixteen; an exhale
reno's first day off.

The sun clipping the furthest fence from the barn is Reno's sign to wake up. It's been a long four weeks, learning the ropes of how to handle a farm. There were more cows than he knew how to manage, yet he made do by dividing them up into four groups to bide his time better each day. It's loud at night, especially during the days when they are more restless. One thundery night, Reno found himself awake and leaning against the stables. He shushed the crying calves and their stressed mothers. He mumbled an old and peaceful tune he learned at home. It always helped him feel calm. Even if the cows can't understand him, maybe the tone of voice will at least help quell their nerves.

This morning, though (is it night still, or the break of dawn?) he's allowed to leave, as designated by his contract. One day a month, his duties are relieved for a long enough time that he can go back home. To refer to Reno as homesick would be a gross understatement. He thought with the Silverfield wealth that he may be able to live in some comfort, but the loft above the barn was constructed with a quarter of the decency in their personal home. Reno pens some comments on a sheet of paper and hammers it onto one of the wooden stands for whichever Silverfield family member is tasked with taking over for the day.

#11 has an injury on her hoof. #51 and #53 need to be bottle-fed. I will be back before tomorrow morning. Please write below with anything you'll need when I get back, and I'll do it as soon as I can. -Reno

He believes it is his job to please them, keep them happy, and maximize their profit. Mr. Silverfield loves to rant to Reno about how difficult it is to run a business like a farm after the Rebellion. Everything needs to be in great shape or the Capitol will use it as an excuse to take over the farm and consolidate it within their spheres. "And that, kid, would be bad for you. Because the first thing they'd do is cut the hangnails off the payroll." Reno developed a tolerance for Mr. Silverfield's poor taste in word choice. He wants his single employee to know exactly where he stands on the farm. Dead skin, lower and more expendable than the livestock he's tasked with caring for. Pick a hangnail and it might bleed for a little while, but eventually, it'll stop and fix itself.

The sun beams directly into his eyes as he walks back home. Reno uses his empty duffel bag as a visor for his eyes, utilizing an escape underneath the treelines as often as he can to give his lifting arms a break. He'll have to ask Mr. Silverfield for one of those cowboy hats when he gets back tomorrow morning. Wonder how much he'll charge for one and what lies he'll tell to justify hiking up its price.

He's home by mid-afternoon. Nobody's around, though. Reno presumes that they're at church or the market. Without him. It's a battle in his heart between feeling left out and knowing that their lives are, obviously, going to continue even with him gone. Reno never gave them a time that he'd come back, or even if he'd come back. That's fine, though. He has a few hours at home to kill before he has to go back. They'll be back soon. A white envelope, thick with his month of pay, sticks out of his jeans pocket. He can't leave without passing this to them, at least.

Reno wanders through the hallway. His little siblings have drawings posted up across the walls. It looks like Whitney learned how to color gently and not snap her crayons across the page. Nice. He makes his way into his room. It looks lived in, still. He was careful to tuck in every corner of his bed before he left, and now it's undone. Other than that, the room still feels untouched. He picks up the sheets and pulls them back. Henderson's pair of stuffed animals, once wrapped within the covers, fly free. He's been sleeping in here, even with his bed on the other side of the room.

"I miss you, too." He whispers to no one but himself. Reno couldn't admit that on the farm, but here, he can. He falls into the bed, instantly falling asleep there.

He wakes up to his two youngest siblings sleeping on either side of him. Whit and Hen. Reno laughs, picking Whitney's hands awkwardly off his arms so he can get up. They know he doesn't like being touched, but he'll give them a pass considering how long it's been.

"Glad you're home, Reno." Daddy is waiting outside at his and Ma's bedroom door, pulling Reno closer with a finger requesting a conversation.

[mat]

age sixteen; an exchange
reno and dad.

"Everyone missed you."

"Seems like it."

"Glad you've come to your senses and decided to come back home, Reno."

"Daddy, I don't think you understand. I'm just here for the day. I'm leavin' later tonight."

"If that isn't the stupidest thing I've heard…"

"I'm making good money! And it's not too bad. The family I'm working for covers my job one day a month. That's means I can come here and-"

"Once a month? You didn't think to ask for once a week?"

"It's not a big deal-"

"It is a big deal! People are going to take advantage of you for every lick you lettem' take, Reno."

"Daddy, we need the money. I came back to give you my paycheck. You can have-"

"I don't need your damn money."

"The house needs some renovations for Vegas."

"Ma and I can do that with our own money. Keep the month's pay you got and come home! You look like shit and you're treating me like a shit father. You're making the two of us miserable people."

"You're not shit– and you're not making me miserable! I'm happy as can be. I'm your smiling son. See?"

"I know you, Reno. You're not happy no matter how much you lie to yourself about it. I don't want your money if it's makin' you this exhausted. I don't need money that'll kill my son."

"Why can't you just admit you're too proud for your own good and take my fucking money, Daddy?!"

"Don't cuss at me, Reno. Why can't you just admit you're too proud for your own good and stay here with us? Hmm? Get a girlfriend, eat home-cooked meals, and be a kid!"

"That's not what I want!"

"It's what you should want, and it's what you deserve."

"Did you and Ma rehearse this for the past month waiting for me to come back? Y'all plan to guilt-trip me into staying here? It's not gonna work."

"We're not– we're not dying here, Reno. It's not like that anymore."

"Why's not dying gotta be the standard for you? Isn't that embarrassing for you, Dad? As a father?"

"Heh. The first time you've ever called me Dad. So stubborn in everything you do but this is what changes. Father and son."

"Maybe."

"I don't want you to bend over backward so young. I was a lot like you way back when."

"...yeah. Everyone says that."

"Cause it's true. And look how I turned out. Tired, lousy, stuck."

"I'm gonna be okay, Dad. really. Things are gonna turn out alright."

"You'd tell me if they're treating you wrong? At the farm?"

"..."

"Reno?"

"Yeah! Of course, I would. Now I have this paycheck for you and I want you to have all of it. Vegas needs a ramp on both sides of the house for her wheelchair. And Whitney needs a pad of drawing paper before she starts drawing on the walls. You need to get Henderson a helmet for his bike because I don't want him cracking his head open. You and Ma need a mattress, right? I know that check isn't enough but it's a good start for what we're lookin' to do here."

"And is there anything you want?"

"Uh… nah. I can buy a nice hat with my next paycheck. That can wait. I'll be back next month with whatever's left over. I'll be fine, otherwise."

"I pray you're not lyin'..."

"I'm not! We gotta go sit down for dinner, anyway. I wanna get out of here before nightfall so I can get back and take a nap before work tomorrow."

"I'm still not happy about this, Reno, I don't I'll ever be."

"I know."

"But I love you, always."

"I love you too, Dad."

"Daddy."

"Right."

[mat]

tw: unwanted advances.

age seventeen; an experiment
test of good faith

The barn loft's sole lightbulb takes pity on his long days, the fuse flashing with a harmless spark before dying out for good. It's doing Reno a favor. Sleepless nights have taxed his body for months. There's always something to do on the ranch, and he keeps a list that grows more than it shrinks on a wooden beam across from his bed. As soon as he lies down, another task burns his eyes, and then another, and then another before he can turn the light off.

Tonight, the barn blinds him. Commanding. It can wait until tomorrow. Rest. After another month of pay, Ma and Dad should be able to afford to commission a renovation for Vegas. It's good. Necessary. Moving around is a challenge for her, so that marks one less issue regarding accessibility. There are a million different tasks stacked up on that wooden beam, but each goal he has for his family is etched within his eyelids.

/

Selflessness makes the soreness of his arms and legs feel a notch lighter, but Reno still lies about the stress. Natasha, one of Silverfield's daughters, tells him that he's invited to her bedroom whenever he needs to take a break. "Maybe sometime, if I can." He lets her down easily with a maybe that will never actually happen. It's against her father's rules for him to go into her room without permission, especially with her present. "If only," Natasha sighs before wandering back onto the porch with her book. Certainly, she's not flirting with him. He hopes that she knows better than to suggest something that will get him in trouble.

Reno turns around, flushed, chopping logs into lumber for the Silverfield's annual bonfire this weekend. The boss tasked him with preparing for the event, offering twenty bucks for each job completed. Chop wood, set up their performance stage, and mow the grass that hasn't been tended to in almost a year. As an added bonus? He'll get the afternoon and evening off to "hang out." Whether that's actually what Silverfield intends or if he's on standby in case something goes wrong, Reno's unsure, but a day to relax seems worth it. He even told Reno to ask his family next time he's home if they'd like to come as well– a rare glimpse of kindness from the boss. Reno said he would, but lied upon returning. The last thing he wants his family to see is how he's treated. Whether they'll admit it or not, they need him to have this job. And Reno can't risk his father's prideful temper putting that in jeopardy.

\

He finds himself at the center of the gathering. The friends and extended family of the Silverfields manage to treat him with more kindness and respect in the first two hours of the bonfire than the boss has in months. They tell him all the things he needs to hear: you look strong, you're so kind. The compliments after he shares his story make him blush: selfless, brave, aspirational, determined, humble, good-hearted. Reno craves validation but won't seek it out or ask for it. These people who hardly know him are the best people to receive it from. Willing enough to do it without a pitiful tone.

The boss pressures him to drink and take a break from the furrow in his brow. The sun sets without a single job requested of Reno, lulling him into agreeing. One drink turns into two into three. It takes a considerable amount of alcohol to phase him, but what he drinks tonight is enough to relax him at the firepit. One of the guests catches him with a joke so hilarious that even he starts to laugh, the mouthful of beer dripping through his lips. For the first time in months, Reno does not feel like the help.

Late into the night, an arm interlocks with him. It's Natasha, who has hidden herself away for most of the evening with her friends. She whispers into his ear: "There's mice all over my room! Please please please get rid of them!" She tugs Reno out of his lawn chair and stumbles toward the house. "Okay! Okay– you can let go, I'm coming."

He shouldn't have been surprised to find out that there were no rats in her room. Reno double-checks beneath her bed and dresser to be sure. Nothing. He turns to face her again and the look of concern has turned to a smirk.

"That's not very funny," Reno tucks the chair back into her desk.

"I thought it was."

"Are you twelve?"

"No. I'm seventeen, you know that. But I'm glad you finally took me up on my offer to visit my room." That's the one thing Silverfield warned him not to do. But Natasha shoots him a knowing look. "Kiss me. No one's gonna find out, Reno."

Reno doesn't believe her. Things don't work out in his family or in his life. Natasha pushes him onto the bed. Rigid, he sits straight on the bed. If he says no, she could easily just say he did and get him in trouble.

He concedes to her. "You can't tell anyone. Got it?"

"Got it."

Reno's hesitant at first, but they spend the night together until the bonfire's glow dies. Then, he slips away and offers to help Silverfield clean up tonight so it's not a mess in the morning. The boss doesn't look him in the eye as they fill bags of trash together.

Reno feels as though he knows somehow. Like he wants to bash his head in for making out with his daughter.

"Did you enjoy the party, Reno?" He asks as Reno takes a step into the barn for the night.

"I did."

"Good." The stiffness in his voice pauses Reno, the tone uprooting the earth around him with spikes. Trailing off, Silverfield speaks further in the distance. "Good. Good."

Reno climbs up the loft's ladder and prepares for bed. Through the window, he sees Natasha waiting at hers. When he catches her glance, she shoots a wave and a wink before turning off her light.

His stomach turns. What did he just do?

The one person who knows they can't screw up always seems to.