The man ducks his head back inside the truck. You notice for the first time that the man is wearing a baseball cap.
You vaguely know what baseball is, but you’re not sure. Presently however, you can’t devote any attention to attempting to remember baseball, you are too consumed with trying to hear the two men talking. You see their heads bobbing, but you can’t make out what they say.
The country field is still and quiet, with not even a breeze blowing. You listen to the truck’s engine rumbling low.
The man draws his head back out. He calls to you again.
“So, you’re okay?” the man asks.
Okay. You know what the word means.
“Yes,” you say.
Another pause, and the first man ducks into the truck to talk with his companion again, and then turns back to you.
“You don’t look like you’re okay, Mister. You sure you don’t want a ride?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The truck rumbles. You wait. You don’t move, not even your hands that hang at your sides.
“Well,” the man says, “I reckon Mister and Missus Tablowski wouldn’t appreciate any half-naked strangers, okay or not, hangin’ around in their pasture. How about you come on over here, and we’ll take you back into town?”
It doesn’t sound much like a request.