Dumbstruck by Peace Olaluwoye

Kath had always been different. Raised on a sprawling ranch in the heart of the countryside, she was more comfortable in boots caked with mud than in the polished shoes her peers wore. 

Life after high school was a whirlwind for most of her friends, who were eager to escape their small town and dive into college or the workforce. But for Kath, the future was more about freedom on four wheels than the usual paths. Driving was her next big step toward independence, but as she'd soon find out, the driving school experience would be far from mundane. 

In a small, stuffy classroom filled with students from different walks of life, Kath found herself thrust into a world where her rugged upbringing clashed with the luxury others took for granted. 

The break room, a humble space meant for a quick snack and a breather, became the unlikely stage for a story she’d recount for years to come. 

Kath leaned against the worn-out vending machine in the driving school's break room, her calloused fingers wrapped around a cold bottle of water. She watched the other students mill about, their polished appearances a stark contrast to her weathered jeans and faded plaid shirt. 

As she sipped her water, her eyes landed on one student in particular-a young man who looked like he'd never worked a day in his life. His designer shirt was pristine, the kind of fabric that would probably scream if it got dirty. 

But life has a funny way of disrupting perfection.

The moment came when a plastic salad container, fresh from the nearby deli, tipped slightly in his hands, spilling a glob of dressing onto his spotless shirt. Kath instinctively reached into her bag and pulled out a baby wipe, ready to save the day. 

“Here, you don’t want that to stain,” she offered with a friendly smile, extending the wipe toward him. 

The young man looked at her, confused, and then laughed as if she had told him the funniest joke in the world. “What? The maid will get it out,” he said, waving her off dismissively.

Kath froze for a second, her hand still outstretched. The wipe felt heavy in her fingers, suddenly out of place in this environment where money could erase any mess. She slowly retracted her hand, tucking the wipe back into her bag. 

The boy noticed her hesitation and, tilting his head, asked, “Why would you even bother? I could just buy a new shirt.”

Kath’s expression shifted, and a wry smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Bud," she began, her tone even and measured, "I shovel alpaca poop and tend a ranch for 12-14 hours a day for minimum wage."

His face scrunched up in disbelief, his eyes scanning her as if searching for some sign of her rural life. Then, in a misguided attempt to compliment her, he said, “It’s amazing you don’t smell bad."

Yeah right. Like showers don’t exist, thought Kath, rolling her eyes mentally.

Instead, she let out a laugh, shaking her head with a mixture of admiration and disbelief.

As the rich kid left, Roy, another student who had been quietly listening to the exchange, piped up with a smirk, “That rich stuffing would never understand.”

Kath chuckled in agreement. “To be fair,” she added, “I grew up with ranchers. There’s a natural smell there from working with the animals. Zookeepers have the same occurrence, to the point that people who work with specific animals tend to only congregate together.”

A third voice soon joined the conversation.

It was Genie, and she was a seasoned rancher herself. 

“I've worked with Cows, chickens, alpacas, and horses. My mama taught me a trick in the shower that helps with the smell trapped in the hair. Seven sets of work clothes, a skull cap in the barn where the air sits, and Dawn dish soap followed by a good shampoo and conditioner. Then let the conditioner sit in your hair for at least five minutes. 

I always stored barn clothes outside to air out, or in the shed if it rained. Also washed my hair with eggs, honey, and olive oil when my hair needed a break.”

Roy squinted thoughtfully. "It seems like a lot, but let me just say that you look nothing like where you've been. Mr rich kid over there probably doesn't do all that. They’re rich so they don’t bathe; they just buy new skin.”

Kath laughed again, the absurdity of the situation settling in. "Eric isn't that bad, he's just not used to what we're used to."

“You really went to driving school?” Genie asked, turning to Kath. She was finding it hard to comprehend how one person could be so efficient.

“Yeah,” Kath replied. “Permit and 80 hours of driving education were mandatory before you could take the driving test.”

Roy, still shaking his head in disbelief, said, “You took care of Alpacas? Wow! You were so privileged and didn’t even know it.”

Kath’s face softened, her thoughts drifting back to the ranch she once called home. 

“Privileged to work from sunup to sundown, covered in all manner of things; from urine and poop to snot, spit, fleece, and unspeakable things. Hay splinters in my chest, running animals in horrific storms, chasing after coyotes, fueled by coffee, Ramen, and a prayer. 

Holding down, holding back, and holding up animals with their own will. 

Assisting births and newborn checklists, lugging hay, feed sacks, water, equipment, shoveling crap, giving daily and monthly medications, all for pennies and peanuts?"

She didn't know she had stared off into space while recanting her experiences. By the the time she caught herself and looked back at her listeners their eyes were wide as saucers and a few more ears had joined her enthralled audience. 

 Kath sighed: "God knows I miss it. If I could’ve made a living off it, I would’ve never left. I learned the names of 104 animals by face. They were great listeners, and really loved music. I do believe I was privileged, but I really needed more to live on.”

Roy sighed, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “Sounds like a beautiful, nostalgic poem.”

Genie clapped her hands together softly, a gesture of respect for Kath’s journey. “Well done, Kath, for handling all that.”

And in that moment, surrounded by students, much of whom could never truly understand, Kath felt a warmth in the camaraderie of those who knew the value of hard work. 

The ranch life was rough, but it had shaped her, given her strength, and most importantly, it had given her stories like this one, a testament to the life she lived and loved.