The bell above the deli door jingled as Archie Benjamin Rogers \u2014 “Arch” to his friends, “Benny” to his parents \u2014 pushed through, balancing a crate of pickles on his broad shoulder like it was filled with feathers. Inside, the smell of cured meats and fresh bread mixed with the soft hum of a radio in the corner playing classic country hits<\/em>. The small-town deli was a comforting routine, a predictable little world tucked inside a town that moved at its own slow pace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie ducked slightly to clear the low doorway into the stockroom, the crate knocking a lightbulb loose from its socket as he passed. He winced at the tiny clink of glass but didn\u2019t stop moving until the crate was on the counter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cArchie, for Pete\u2019s sake!\u201d came the exasperated voice of Mr. Callahan, the wiry old owner, as he emerged from the back. \u201cThat\u2019s the third lightbulb this month.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry,\u201d Archie mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, his sandy brown hair sticking up in spikes where his fingers raked it. \u201cDidn\u2019t realize it was that close.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou never<\/em> realize, do ya? You\u2019re built like a bull but handle things like one too,\u201d Callahan said with a sigh, though there wasn\u2019t much malice in it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie nodded sheepishly, grabbing a broom and muttering an apology as he swept up the glass. He\u2019d heard it all before. Careful, Arch. Pay attention, Arch.<\/em> His parents, his boss, even his friends\u2014everyone had something to say about his \u201cstrength.\u201d He didn\u2019t think much of it himself. Sure, he was strong, but wasn\u2019t everyone? He just figured other people were better at keeping it in check.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the small town in soft shades of orange and gold, Archie\u2019s shift ended. Callahan handed him an envelope of cash with the usual grumble about being careful, and Archie stuffed it into his jacket pocket before stepping out onto the cracked sidewalk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His beat-up truck was parked under a flickering streetlamp. The metal door creaked as he pulled it open, climbing in and cranking the engine. He drove to the edge of town, to the kind of place you could only find in small towns like his \u2014 a barn converted into a half-decent hangout.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Inside, Archie found his usual crowd. Chester \u201cChess\u201d Wright, all elbows and glasses, was hunched over a broken CB radio, its guts spilling across the makeshift table of a warped barn door balanced on cinder blocks. Across from him, Roy \u201cJunior\u201d Simmons leaned precariously in a creaking metal chair, the front legs hovering inches above the ground. His hands were stuffed in his overall pockets, his smirk as permanent as the grease under his nails.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cArch, grab me a Coke,\u201d Junior drawled without looking up, launching a bottle cap across the barn with a flick of his thumb. It arced through the air and landed with a satisfying clink in a coffee can sitting on the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie rolled his eyes but obliged, pulling a chilled bottle from the ancient, humming mini-fridge in the corner. He cracked it open and handed it over. \u201cAny luck with that thing, Chess?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s not about luck, Arch,\u201d Chess replied, not looking up as he fiddled with the delicate wiring. \u201cIt\u2019s about precision. You wouldn\u2019t understand. If you\u2019d ever take the time to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet me stop you right there, nerd,\u201d Junior interrupted, finally tilting his chair forward and taking a sip of Coke. \u201cNobody\u2019s here for a lecture. We\u2019re here to shoot the breeze and drink soda. Quit messing with that junk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Chess scowled but didn\u2019t stop tinkering. \u201cAt least I<\/em> do something productive with my time. What\u2019ve you done lately? Shot a squirrel with your BB gun?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBetter than wasting hours pretending I\u2019m gonna build some robot army or whatever it is you\u2019re doin\u2019,\u201d Junior shot back, his grin widening. \u201cMaybe I\u2019ll aim for a raccoon next. Gotta set goals.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure, Roy,\u201d Chess said with mock seriousness, his tone dripping with sarcasm. \u201cAspire to greatness. Start a whole career as a rodent sniper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie leaned against the wall, sipping his drink as he watched them bicker. It was a ritual as old as their friendship, a constant back-and-forth that neither of them ever seemed to tire of. For all their jabs, it was clear they couldn\u2019t function without each other. They were like an old married couple\u2014if one half of the marriage was a wiry, bespectacled genius and the other a lazy farm boy with questionable decision-making skills.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The barn door creaked open, spilling cool night air into the musty space, and a voice called out, \u201cYou boys behaving yourselves, or is Chess explaining thermodynamics again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was Lena Davis, Chess\u2019 girlfriend, striding in with a confidence that belied the exhaustion in her eyes. She had just finished her shift at the Lucky Horseshoe, the only bar in town worth mentioning. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and she tossed a small wad of cash onto the table beside Chess\u2019 work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTips weren\u2019t half bad tonight,\u201d she said, slumping into the seat beside Chess. \u201cGuess old man Sanders thought his fifty-cent tips were real generous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cProbably trying to impress you,\u201d Junior teased, leaning back in his chair again. \u201cBet he was talking up his tractor collection, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t remind me.\u201d Lena rolled her eyes and nudged Chess\u2019 arm. \u201cHey, genius, take a break. You\u2019ve been poking at that thing for days.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s almost done,\u201d Chess muttered, but he set the radio aside when she gave him a look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThanks,\u201d Lena said, smiling before glancing at Archie. \u201cHow\u2019s life in deli-land, Arch?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSame as always,\u201d Archie replied. \u201cBreak things, apologize, get yelled at.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lena chuckled. \u201cSounds about right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Junior leaned forward, an uncharacteristic seriousness settling over his features. \u201cHey, speaking of work, you haven\u2019t been hanging around that Rockslay guy, have you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie frowned. \u201cWhat? No. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Junior exchanged a glance with Lena, who folded her arms and nodded. \u201cHe\u2019s bad news, Arch. Real bad. You don\u2019t want to get mixed up with him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie shifted uncomfortably. \u201cI barely know the guy. What\u2019s the big deal?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019s a walking mess of trouble,\u201d Junior said flatly. \u201cFights, drugs, theft\u2014you name it. He drags everyone down with him. Even folks who don\u2019t deserve it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd he\u2019s got an ego the size of Franzo,\u201d Lena added. \u201cSaw him at the bar last week acting like he owned the place. Trust me, Arch, stay away from him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie sighed, feeling the familiar weight of their concern pressing down on him. He knew they meant well, but sometimes it felt like everyone in his life was trying to steer him one way or another. \u201cYeah, I get it,\u201d he said, keeping his tone neutral. \u201cThanks for the warning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Chess, oblivious to the tension, perked up suddenly. \u201cHey, you wanna see what this thing does when I power it on? I think I got it working.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNope,\u201d Junior said immediately, standing and grabbing his jacket. \u201cNot sticking around for you to blow the barn up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s not going to\u2014oh, forget it,\u201d Chess muttered as Junior and Lena both laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie chuckled despite himself. These moments, as chaotic as they were, were his anchor. They reminded him of simpler things\u2014of friendship, of loyalty, of people who genuinely cared, even if they had a funny way of showing it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The house stood like a relic of a better time, a boxy suburban dollhouse with peeling white paint and mismatched shutters that had once been cheerful yellow but had faded into a sickly beige. The front lawn was patchy and uneven, dotted with weeds that refused to be tamed, much like the family inside. The porch light flickered as Archie stepped out of his truck, the metallic groan of the old vehicle\u2019s door slamming shut echoing down the quiet street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The windows glowed dimly, a television casting blue and gray shadows on the lace curtains. Even from the driveway, Archie could hear the low hum of voices\u2014his parents, Heather and Andrew Rogers, talking in sharp, clipped tones. No shouting, not yet, but the kind of tight-lipped argument that could curdle the air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He hesitated at the door. The familiar knot twisted in his stomach, but he pressed forward anyway, turning the handle and stepping inside. The faint smell of reheated leftovers lingered in the air, and the living room greeted him with its usual scene: his mother perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, her arms crossed, and his father slouched in the recliner, beer bottle in hand. They both turned to look at him the moment the door clicked shut.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNice of you to finally come home,\u201d Heather said, her voice cutting through the silence like a razor. Her tone was light, almost conversational, but it carried a venom that made Archie\u2019s neck tense. \u201cLong day at work, I assume?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie didn\u2019t answer right away. He slipped off his boots and set them neatly by the door, brushing off the lingering cold of the evening air. \u201cYeah,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cBusy day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBusy,\u201d Andrew echoed, taking a lazy swig of his beer. He gestured vaguely with the bottle, his words slurring just slightly around the edges. \u201cBusy breaking stuff, I bet. Probably cost Callahan more in damages than you made him in sales, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie\u2019s jaw tightened, but he kept his face neutral. \u201cDidn\u2019t break anything important.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDidn\u2019t break anything important<\/em>,\u201d Heather repeated, mockingly, as she leaned forward. \u201cThat\u2019s rich. How many times are you gonna waltz through life not caring about what you ruin, Archie? Because let me tell you, it\u2019s getting real old.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI do care,\u201d Archie said softly, his voice barely above a murmur. He met his mother\u2019s sharp glare for a brief second before looking away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019ve got a funny way of showing it,\u201d Heather snapped, standing and pacing a few steps across the room. \u201cDo you know how embarrassing it is to have Callahan call me again<\/em>? \u2018Your son smashed another display case,\u2019 or \u2018Your son crushed a broom handle.\u2019 What\u2019s next, Archie? Are you going to tear the whole building down?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI said I was sorry,\u201d Archie replied, quieter still, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He didn\u2019t even realize he was doing it until he felt his nails dig into his palms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry doesn\u2019t fix things,\u201d Andrew chimed in, not looking up from the TV. The game played on, ignored except as background noise to his commentary. \u201cSorry doesn\u2019t pay bills. Doesn\u2019t keep this house running. And you sure as hell aren\u2019t doing much of that, are you, Benny?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie flinched at the nickname, the one his father always used when he wanted to cut him down. He hated it. But he didn\u2019t say so. He didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019d think,\u201d Heather continued, gesturing animatedly, \u201cthat a kid with your strength would use<\/em> it for something. Roofing, construction, landscaping. But no. You\u2019re stuck in that deli, breaking more than you\u2019re earning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie forced himself to stand still, his hands trembling slightly with the effort of holding back. Words pressed against the back of his throat, bitter and sharp, but he swallowed them down. Arguing never worked. It only made things worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019ve got no ambition, Benny,\u201d Andrew added with a dismissive wave. \u201cNo direction. You\u2019re strong, but you\u2019ve got no spine. A waste of potential. Just like your mother says.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Heather shot Andrew a sharp look, but she didn\u2019t correct him. Instead, she turned her focus back to Archie, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. \u201cMaybe you should think about what you\u2019re going to do with your life, Archie. Because right now? You\u2019re going nowhere. And dragging us down with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The words hit like stones, but Archie didn\u2019t flinch. He stood there, rooted in place, his face a blank slate. He wanted to yell, to tell them how hard he worked, how much he wanted things to be different, but he couldn\u2019t. He wouldn\u2019t. Instead, he clenched his fists tighter, his nails biting into his skin, and nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOkay,\u201d he said softly, his voice barely audible. \u201cI\u2019ll\u2026 I\u2019ll figure it out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, you do that,\u201d Heather said, her tone icy. \u201cAnd while you\u2019re at it, try not to break anything else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Archie turned without another word and headed for his room, his boots whispering against the worn carpet. He climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, each step creaking under his weight. His room was small and bare, more of a storage closet with a bed crammed into it. The walls were lined with faded wallpaper, and the ceiling sloped awkwardly, giving it the feel of an attic space.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. His hands were still shaking, and his palms bore half-moon indentations from his nails. He stared at them for a long moment, then shook his head and crossed the room to the bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sinking onto the worn mattress, he let his head fall into his hands. The house was quiet again, the muffled sound of the TV and his parents\u2019 low voices the only reminders of their presence. It always ended like this\u2014sharp words, heavy silences, and Archie retreating to the safety of his room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He didn\u2019t cry. He hadn\u2019t in years. Instead, he sat there in the dim light of the bedside lamp, his shoulders hunched and his mind turning over the same thoughts it always did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {Maybe they\u2019re right. Maybe I am just a screw-up. A waste.}<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Strong, Silent Type The bell above the deli door jingled as Archie Benjamin Rogers \u2014 “Arch” to his friends, “Benny” to his parents \u2014 pushed through, balancing a crate of pickles on his broad shoulder like it was filled with feathers. Inside, the smell of cured meats and fresh bread mixed with the soft … Continue reading “Inauguration \u2013 Issue #08”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-592","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/592","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=592"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/592\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":593,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/592\/revisions\/593"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=592"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=592"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=592"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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