Jody, Brad, and the Farmhouse Night
This is all about my friends Jody and Brad.
I first met Jody Clark when we were on the same little league baseball team. He got in trouble for chewing tobacco, and the coach kicked him off the team. What stuck with me was how he just walked away like he didn’t care at all. After that, I didn’t see him for years.
Then later on, there he was again—in concert band—playing French horn. That was such a weird contrast because Jody was a tough kid. He got in lots of fights and won most of them, and there were always rumors floating around, like that he’d broken somebody’s arm.
Jody had this friend Brad who lived right down the street from me. The two of them were like their own subculture. They were always together, wearing their fathers’ army jackets that were too big for them, just doing their own thing like they didn’t care what anybody thought. One day walking home from school, they were throwing rocks at a yard gnome. I stopped and started throwing rocks too, and from then on I was somehow in their good graces.
Not long after that, we decided to go camping at Jody’s family farm, which was out in the middle of nowhere. When we got there, there was an old house on the farm, and Jody’s cousin was staying in it. His cousin was an outlaw biker who was basically on the lam. We ended up staying in the house with him instead of camping.
Right away it turned into a party. The cousin came out with a whole grocery bag full of weed he’d harvested, and we had a bottle of whiskey with us. His wife was there too. At one point, while we were drinking and hanging out, the cousin looked across the table at his wife and said, “You know what I want, and I want it tonight, and you’re gonna take care of my friends here too.”
She exploded. She was like, “What? 14, 15-year-old boys? Fuck you!” She got furious, knocked a lamp over, and it crashed. They were fighting, and then suddenly they both stopped and snapped to attention like something had changed instantly.
Out of nowhere, someone grabbed a rifle and someone grabbed a shotgun. The woman stood near the door with the rifle, and the cousin went outside with the shotgun. Then he yelled that it was okay—it was their friends. Some friends showed up, and the adults basically kicked us kids out of the way: go do your thing while they did theirs.
So we went upstairs and started playing hide and go seek in this huge, dark old farmhouse. There was no electricity. We were running around with flashlights. Downstairs, they had lights hooked up to car batteries—that was how they were living.
While hiding, I found a staircase that didn’t look like it should even be there, at the end of a hallway on the opposite side from where we’d come up. I thought it was the perfect hiding spot. I went down the stairs, found a door, and figured nobody would ever find me. I opened it to step inside—and it was the bedroom.
On the bed was Jody’s cousin having sex with a woman who’d come to visit, while his wife—and I assume the other woman’s husband—watched.
I abandoned the game immediately and went and got Jody and Brad. I told them, word for word, “Guys, they’re fucking down there. They’re fucking.” They didn’t get it at first, but I motioned for them to follow me. We went down and basically just watched. It was a crazy night. Other things happened, but that was the main thing burned into my memory.
Then, a few weeks or months later, Jody came into band looking upset and told me his cousin had died. Jody said they’d visited him in the hospital, and that his cousin liked me. Apparently, his cousin kept saying, “Who’s that little guy that was drinking the whiskey straight?” That was me.
Before he died, the cousin gave Jody a piece of paper with a crude map. He told Jody it would lead to where he’d buried an AK-47 assault rifle and a PCP pipe. Jody and I went out and looked and looked and looked, but we never found it. To this day, I thank God we didn’t, because I honestly think that’s probably why I’m still alive.
I first met Jody Clark when we were on the same little league baseball team. He got in trouble for chewing tobacco, and the coach kicked him off the team. What stuck with me was how he just walked away like he didn’t care at all. After that, I didn’t see him for years.
Then later on, there he was again—in concert band—playing French horn. That was such a weird contrast because Jody was a tough kid. He got in lots of fights and won most of them, and there were always rumors floating around, like that he’d broken somebody’s arm.
Jody had this friend Brad who lived right down the street from me. The two of them were like their own subculture. They were always together, wearing their fathers’ army jackets that were too big for them, just doing their own thing like they didn’t care what anybody thought. One day walking home from school, they were throwing rocks at a yard gnome. I stopped and started throwing rocks too, and from then on I was somehow in their good graces.
Not long after that, we decided to go camping at Jody’s family farm, which was out in the middle of nowhere. When we got there, there was an old house on the farm, and Jody’s cousin was staying in it. His cousin was an outlaw biker who was basically on the lam. We ended up staying in the house with him instead of camping.
Right away it turned into a party. The cousin came out with a whole grocery bag full of weed he’d harvested, and we had a bottle of whiskey with us. His wife was there too. At one point, while we were drinking and hanging out, the cousin looked across the table at his wife and said, “You know what I want, and I want it tonight, and you’re gonna take care of my friends here too.”
She exploded. She was like, “What? 14, 15-year-old boys? Fuck you!” She got furious, knocked a lamp over, and it crashed. They were fighting, and then suddenly they both stopped and snapped to attention like something had changed instantly.
Out of nowhere, someone grabbed a rifle and someone grabbed a shotgun. The woman stood near the door with the rifle, and the cousin went outside with the shotgun. Then he yelled that it was okay—it was their friends. Some friends showed up, and the adults basically kicked us kids out of the way: go do your thing while they did theirs.
So we went upstairs and started playing hide and go seek in this huge, dark old farmhouse. There was no electricity. We were running around with flashlights. Downstairs, they had lights hooked up to car batteries—that was how they were living.
While hiding, I found a staircase that didn’t look like it should even be there, at the end of a hallway on the opposite side from where we’d come up. I thought it was the perfect hiding spot. I went down the stairs, found a door, and figured nobody would ever find me. I opened it to step inside—and it was the bedroom.
On the bed was Jody’s cousin having sex with a woman who’d come to visit, while his wife—and I assume the other woman’s husband—watched.
I abandoned the game immediately and went and got Jody and Brad. I told them, word for word, “Guys, they’re fucking down there. They’re fucking.” They didn’t get it at first, but I motioned for them to follow me. We went down and basically just watched. It was a crazy night. Other things happened, but that was the main thing burned into my memory.
Then, a few weeks or months later, Jody came into band looking upset and told me his cousin had died. Jody said they’d visited him in the hospital, and that his cousin liked me. Apparently, his cousin kept saying, “Who’s that little guy that was drinking the whiskey straight?” That was me.
Before he died, the cousin gave Jody a piece of paper with a crude map. He told Jody it would lead to where he’d buried an AK-47 assault rifle and a PCP pipe. Jody and I went out and looked and looked and looked, but we never found it. To this day, I thank God we didn’t, because I honestly think that’s probably why I’m still alive.