"I just wanna tend the rabbits, George."

Kevin's on the ladder cutting in a one-inch copper tee.
I'm on my knees roughing in the half-inch sink hot supply.
"So what'd you do before this plumbing shit?"
"I used to go to college."
"What happened?"
"Jack Daniel's. You done with that torch yet?"
"Almost. You should go back. Don't waste your brain."
"Yeah."
"I saw you reading in your truck on coffee break."
"It beats taking a nap."
"Not for me."
"To each his own."
"I'm a stupid person."
"No, you're not. Your talents lie elsewhere."
"Great, I'm a good plumber."
"Not really. Look how crooked your pipes are."
"Smartass."
"You know I've never read one book in my life?"
"I do now. Does this line look level from there?"
"Yeah, you're good to go."
"As soon as you're done with the damn torch."
"Hold your horses, kid. This is a union job."
"Milkman."
"Job-killer."
"Butcher."
"Scab."
"Got me there."
"But really, that's no joke about never reading a book."
"Maybe you should find one on how to use a tape measure."
"I liked you better the first two days, when you didn't talk."
"Ditto."
"Apprentices should be seen and not heard."
"Mechanics should have to initial their work."
Thirty silent seconds pass gloriously.
"When my teachers assigned book reports I just copied the back."
"Did you paraphrase at least?"
"What's that mean?"
"Did you change the words?"
"Yeah, and added some stuff of my own."
"They knew you didn't read them."
"Maybe, but they gave me a C just for handing in the stupid report."
Kevin finally relinquishes the acetylene tank.
I walk over, grab it, solder my joints, and take my gloves off.
Kevin opts to break the precious silence again.
My guts tighten and sigh.
"Those old-timers are crazy for not wearing gloves."
"Yeah, they don't care anymore."
"My old lady won't even let me touch her if my hands are rough."
"Or dirt under the fingernails, they hate that."
"I always wear gloves at work, even though it's a pain."
"John Steinbeck wrote a book called 'Of Mice and Men' about that."
"About wearing gloves at work?"
"No, not really. One guy wears a glove filled with vaseline, though."
"Why?"
"To keep his hand soft for his wife."
"And that freak's the main character?"
"No, the story's about these two men who end up working on a farm."
"What happens?"
"The one guy's a little on the slow side, much like yourself."
He doesn't laugh, keeps staring at me with those blank shark eyes.
"So he accidentally kills the wife of the vaseline glove guy."
"He wanted a piece, that bastard."
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
"The slow one and his buddy flee into the countryside."
"But the posse catches them, right?"
"Not 'til the one friend shoots the murderer in the back of the head."
"Who needs friends like that?"
"It's a mercy-kill. You'd let your only pal get lynched by an angry mob?"
Kevin sucks his lower lip in as he ponders the moral dilemma.
I polish my finished joints and bring the torch back to him.
"Books are stupid."
"Some of them, yes.
"I'm glad I don't read."
"Me too."
Kevin gathers his tools and moves on to the next bathroom.
I zone out, gazing through a window at the cemetery out back.
A dozen teachers roll over in their graves somewhere.