“That’s it?” I have to say, I’m surprised. And maybe a little impressed. Who could run a place like this on next to no money?
“Your grandfather was one of those people who was very good to me. When he made the wheelchair for my turkey, he became really interested in the sanctuary. He supported me by making wheelchairs and helping me get prosthetics when I needed them, but he also gave me financial support. He donated money every year. Last year, I got a loan to build a new barn. He knew about it, and when he asked me how much the loan was for, I was honest. The thing about being a non-profit is that you have to know your financials, and I’m not scared of letting people know how much it costs and where the money is going. Then, when we sat down a month and a half ago and talked, he told me he was sick and would like to pay off the loan for me. I was shocked and didn’t know what to say. Honestly, I was horrified. My Great Aunt May had died suddenly without warning. It was hard losing her like that, but having someone sit down with you and calmly tell you they’re sick…” Becki trails off with a small sniff. She swipes at her eyes with the hand she’s not holding the lettuce leaf with. “Sorry. I—I’m sorry. Here I am saying these things when you’ve lost him too. You probably think it’s insensitive.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Anyway, you didn’t ask for the story of my life, yet here I am giving it to you.” Becki sniffles while I awkwardly fidget because that’s exactly what I’d been thinking, and it seems like she’s calling me out even though she’s obviously not. She crunches off another bite of lettuce. “I don’t have expectations for you being here. Your grandfather said he wanted you to experience something you haven’t before, learn what’s truly important, see another side of life, and stop working so hard and running the rat race. I don’t expect you to help me or do chores or anything. It’s up to you what you want to help with. This is for you, and I’m not going to put conditions on it. You can decide for yourself what you want your experience to be.”
I’m not entirely surprised, but still. Becki is so direct and open that it’s refreshing. I didn’t expect to find someone like this. I mean, I did—kind of. She’s not that different from what I thought she’d be but at the same time, she’s really different. I have this feeling that she’s not like anyone else, and by feeling, I mean it’s like an uncomfortable gas bubble trapped in my chest.
“I’d like it if you could tell me about my grandfather—all the stuff I didn’t know.” It’s hard to get that out. I didn’t plan it.
Becki crunches down the rest of her lettuce sandwich wrap thing and turns to get another. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”
“I’m sure,” I say with a nod.
“They’re good. I grew most of this myself. Not the avocado or the hummus, obviously, but the rest. I have a huge garden out back.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“It’s good to grow your own food. It saves money, but it also helps feed the animals. They deserve fresh food just like I do.”
“Sure.” It’s sarcastic, but Becki ignores it.
“It’s mostly vegetables in the fridge. If you want something else, you’re going to have to go to Topeka. If not, help yourself. The garden’s flourishing out back. There’s everything you can imagine out there—potatoes, beans, carrots, cucumbers, beets, cabbage, zucchini, and more.”
“Don’t worry. If I get hungry, I’ll just make my way to the barn.”
Becki blinks, and then her face goes from happy and warm to the brightest shade of rage red. It was a joke—a bad joke. One that I immediately regret.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Obviously.”
“It’s not a joke! What if I told you I was going to go to your house and eat your parents?”
“I’d say you could have at my mother, but my father won’t be very tasty.”
Some of the red fades, and Becki seems more annoyed than actually pissed. She rolls her eyes at me. “That’s disgusting. I’m just making a point—a point about how I feel. Those animals out there might just be animals to you, but to me, they’re my family, just like my parents. They’re my friends, and I care about them. I talk to them and want them to have a good life. Most people don’t believe in this the way I do, I know. Most people aren’t vegan, and those who aren’t vegans usually think people like me are stupid, ridiculous quacks who don’t live in the real world. I’m well aware of every argument and every insult. As much as I get support online, I’ve been through all the haters too. If you can dream it, I’ve heard it. So let’s cut the you’re-going-to-eat-my-friends jokes and just agree you’ll graze the garden and go to the grocery store for the rest.”