I went back to my hometown for like, a week. It’s not even a town, really. More like… a bunch of farms glued together with dirt roads. My mom grew up there, then moved to the city when she met my dad. But her parents still got their farm. And like, my grandpa’s really old now. So we go sometimes, help out. Or try to. This time was different though. I’m 20 now. Not like, a little kid running around getting in the way. I thought I could actually HELP. Like, for real. I even wore these old jeans, like, the ones with the paint splatters on them from art class last year. And a T-shirt that was kinda faded. Tried to look the part. Like I belonged. I really wanted to. It was hot, man. So hot the air felt thick, like you could scoop it with a spoon. And the smell… not like the city. Not like exhaust and street meat. More like, dirt. And something else. Green. And kinda… animal-y? I dunno. Just different. We were out in the fields, picking… something. I forget what it even was. Rows and rows of it, just stretching forever. My back was killing me after like, ten minutes. My hands were already gritty and kinda itchy. My mom was ahead of me, way down the row. She was wearing this huge straw hat, like one of those old-timey ones. And she was hunched over, moving fast. She always moves fast when she’s working. Like a machine. Me, I was trying to keep up, but every time I bent down, my head would kinda spin from the heat. I was sweating like CRAZY. It was dripping down my face, getting in my eyes. I probably looked like a drowned rat. Then my grandpa called out something from the tractor, way at the end of the field. And my mom straightened up, pushed her hat back a bit. She looked around, squinting. Like she was looking for someone. And then she spotted me. And she didn’t like, smile. Or wave. She just… pointed. With her chin. And she yelled, over the rumble of the tractor, over the buzzing bugs, "Hey! Can you get the new kid over here? Tell him to hustle!" The new kid. She thought I was one of the farmhands. One of the guys they hire to help out for the season. Not her son. Not me. Her kid. I mean, I don’t even… It was like a punch, right in the gut. A cold, hard punch. My face felt hot. Not from the sun anymore. But like, a burn. All over my cheeks. I just stood there, kinda frozen. For a second. I didn’t know what to do. My mouth felt dry. I wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Then she saw my face. Really saw it. And her eyes, like, widened. And her mouth kinda went into this O shape. And she slapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh my GOD," she said. Her voice was different now. Soft. Embarrassed. "Oh honey, I am so sorry. I thought… I thought you were one of the new guys. Your hat… and you were so far away…" She kept apologizing. Over and over. And I just kinda shrugged. Like, "it's fine." But it wasn't fine. It wasn’t. It was like… a mirror shattered. Or something. Like I was looking at myself, and it wasn’t me looking back. Or it was me, but like, the version of me that nobody sees. That nobody in the city sees. That I never see. I mean, I don't even like farming. It's so hard. And dirty. And the sun just beats down on you. I like my air conditioning. And my coffee shops. And my friends who talk about art and music and politics. Not dirt and crops and how much rain they got last week. I felt like such a fake. Like I was playing dress-up. And she saw right through it. Or, she saw a different person completely. A stranger. Someone who just works with his hands and sweats all day. And that’s NOT me. That’s not who I am. But then, is it? Is that what I look like to her? To… people? Like some kinda labor machine? I felt so… small. So insignificant. Like all the stuff I do, all the things I care about, my classes, my ideas… none of that was visible. Just the dirty jeans and the sweat. And the fact that I was picking stuff. Like anyone could do that. Anyone. And that’s what I was. Just some anyone. It still kinda burns when I think about it. And I think about it a lot. Especially at night. Like right now.