Blue Jeans and Coffee Beans by DeMaio Joanne

Author:DeMaio, Joanne [DeMaio, Joanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Joanne DeMaio
Published: 2013-03-03T06:00:00+00:00

Jason decides to keep the barn’s natural wood ceiling details. “Look, it’s got that steep pitch, and you can see the beams in its structure, with those lower cross beams for support. I like it, but it might be a little too rustic.”

“Hey,” his brother answers. “Rustic works. It’s got character, man.”

The power sander Jason uses on the rear wall takes off the old paint, leaving exposed wood. The motor of the sander strains as he moves it over a rough patch, going over and over it in a circular motion to wear the finish smooth.

“It’s dark, though,” Jason says as he continues to sand. His goggles are coated with dust. “Tough light to work in. That’s why I thought about sheetrocking over some of the walls.”

“What? Are you crazy? Sheetrock?”

“Why not?” Jason pulls off his goggles and blows the dust off of them, taking a short walk back and forth to keep comfortable standing for so long.

“You’ll cover the beauty of the place. There’s history in those old beams. Come on,” Neil insists. “You’re going all wussie on me, white walls.”

“Fuck you,” Jason answers when he leans down and blasts the sander on a lower part of the wall. He works in the loft part of the barn, having hauled his sander and scrapers up the stairs to the rear wall. A long extension cord snakes through the railing down to an outlet below, and the noise from the commercial grade sander is enough to wear ear protection. But he thinks that might block out Neil, too, so he doesn’t.

A few minutes pass, and nothing. No word from his brother. He keeps the sander moving in a circular motion and then hears Matt down below turn on the boom box radio that’s sat on a shelf for the past ten years. Some classic rock anthem fills the space like they are in a concert arena.

“What? Did I offend you?” Jason asks. He stops and drags his hand through his dusty hair.

“Huh,” Neil answers when Matt starts up his sander again. “Takes more than a two-bit cuss to scare me off.”

The scream of a random guitar riff competes with the scream of the power sanders, so much so that Jason can’t tell one from the other.

“You need light,” Neil suggests.

“What?”

“Light, man. Clean up this wood to brighten it and get lots of light.”

Jason uses both hands to work on the wall near the corner. “Like hanging lamps, from the beams?”

“You’ve gone dense, bro.”

He stops his sander and the dj on the radio rattles on about some summer concert series at a pavilion the next town over. His voice echoes in the vast emptiness of the barn.

“See that wall there?”

Jason lifts off his goggles. “Where Matt’s working? It’s got all my good shelves on it.”

“No, guy. The other one. The one with all the vines growing up it on the outside. Which, I’m just saying, ain’t looking too sweet.”

“Hey, Neil. I only have two hands. And one leg for God’s sake. Give me a break.

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