Mr. Was by Pete Hautman

one?”
    â€œNo thanks. Those things can give you lung cancer.”
    Scud gave me a puzzled look. “What’s that?”
    â€œLung cancer. You get it and you die.”
    He lit up with a wooden match, blew a stream of blue smoke at me. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
    â€œSo I’m nuts. That cigarette is still gonna kill you.”
    â€œI suppose you’re gonna tell me that in the future nobody smokes.”
    My guard went up. “What do you mean?”
    â€œYou said you were from the future.”
    â€œI was kidding.”
    Scud took a drag off his Lucky. “I knew that,” he said.
    Scud showed up a couple times a week, usually around mealtimes, usually dressed up like he had someplace important to be. He was there to see Andie, of course, but he liked to take a few minutes to watch me work. I think he was worried about me and Andie being around each other so much.
    One day, while Scud was watching me replace a broken board on the side of the barn, he came right out with it. “So what do you think about Andie?” he asked.
    â€œShe’s okay.” I was working with a handful of rusty, bent nails. Old man Murphy said new nails were too expensive, so I was trying to straighten out the old nails using a hammer and a brick.
    â€œMe and her, we’re going to get married as soon as she’s done with school.”
    â€œYou mentioned.” I was holding a nail with one hand against the brick. You had to get the nail in just the right position, then give it a good smack on the side. With a little luck, it would straighten out just good enough so it would pound into a board.
    â€œJust wanted to make sure you knew. You know?”
    I’d got the nail nearly straight, took one more hard swing at it, and smashed the tip of my finger. I dropped the hammer, jumped up, and howled.
    Scud started laughing. That did it. I tackled him, and we both tumbled into the muddy track that led from the barn out into the pasture where the cattle grazed. We rolled over each other a couple times, then I got on top and pinned him to the ground. His wool coat and most of the rest of him was covered with mud.
    â€œYou think it’s funny?” My finger was throbbing.
    â€œJeez, Jack, would’ja take it easy?”
    â€œIt’s not funny.”
    â€œOkay, okay, it’s not funny. Get off me, would’ja?” He had a big glob of muck stuck to his forehead. All of a sudden I saw what we must’ve looked like, two guys rolling around in the muck and cow pie. I tried to stand up, slipped in the mud, and went downagain, landing hard on my butt. Scud started laughing, and the glob of mud on his forehead rolled down his face onto his chest. That set us both off. When the old man came around the corner of the barn, we were both laughing so hard I was afraid I was going to pee in my pants. Not that it would have made any difference at that point. Old man Murphy just shook his head, turned, and walked away.
    For some reason, both Scud and I thought that was about the funniest thing we’d ever seen.
    That was the thing about Scud. He could be a real jerk, but he knew how to have a good time.
    A few days after the mud incident, I was getting ready to clean out some of the stalls when Scud showed up in a corn-colored trench coat and a wide-brimmed felt hat with a feather stuck in the band. I invited him to help me out.
    â€œNo thanks,” he said. “I don’t do manual labor.”
    I made a move like I was going to tackle him. He backed away, saying, “New coat! New coat!”
    We had a laugh over that.
    Scud said, “Me and Andie, we’re driving into Red Wing tonight to see an Abbott and Costello movie.”
    â€œThat’s nice.”
    â€œYou got thirty cents, you can come along.”
    I had about twenty dollars in 1990s money, but here in 19411 couldn’t spend a dime of it without getting arrested. I figured I could get some