Harvard Comes To Montana

"Harvard Comes To Montana - Chapter Thirty-Six

By Griz

umgriz@protonmail.com

Hi, Gentlemen;

My head is hung in shame, Guys. It took an entire month to get Chapter Thirty-Six to publishable edition. Lots of Life got in the way of living, which I know happens for everyone. There were days I'd stare at a blank `page' on this iPad and do my best to conjure Jozef's voice. Finally I got some whispers from him and the others, and well, here we are. I mean, here THEY are.

Something I need to discuss with you Boys. That's all it is at this point; a discussion. A growing number of readers of both stories have suggested that comparable writers are offering subscriptions for subsequent chapters on Patreon. I'm familiar with three content creators who offer different tiers, all of them with modest subscription prices.

I am willing to try this, but only if you are. I'll launch Chapter Thirty-Seven as a subscription, as well as all the previous chapters. The advantage will be reading the story two weeks in advance of nifty.org non-subscribers, as well as other asundried benefits.

In theory, I like the idea; we'll see how it goes in practice, and if it's not received well, then I'll stop. The whole point of this is gas money so I can drive up into the hills for some peace, quiet and concentration on the story. The point is not to buy a new truck.

I hope each of you is well and enjoying the approach of May's end. I hope, too, you'll like Chapter Thirty-Six of "Harvard Comes To Montana".

With Respect;

Griz

*****Here's a refresher of the end of Chapter Thirty-Five (though I think you should read it again, since I slacked for an entire month here):

"Jozef.....you seem kinda distant. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine.....I think. Getting a little overwhelmed, I guess. I need to be online and in class in a month. We have to plant Winter wheat. We need to get the Sanger transaction started and finished. I have to sell Sebastian. Need to understand what Marc's research and new book will mean for him as well as us. Gotta understand Mom's condition. I don't know how I'm going to do all that."

"You're doing none of it alone. Yeah, school, maybe; but the rest? I'll be right with you to share the burden. I didn't come back here to just watch you run this place, you know. I still remember where the tractor is kept and how to plant seeds."

"I know. Sounds arrogant of me, thinking all of this is stuff I have to solve personally."

"Mom isn't going to fail today. Or tomorrow. Auntie Pat will be involved in Mom's health, too. The Sangers' loan is due soon, but from what you and I saw in the books we were shown, there's nothing to worry about there. Sebastian is going to be rough on you. If there is anything at all good about it, it's that it'll be over before school starts. Isn't it kinda cool, though? Sebastian watches over the cows and calves, O.C. watches over Lola Cola and the pups, and somehow you're watching over the whole place. You're not arrogant; you're the agro version of an air traffic controller, Jeffrey. You see everything, you know where it has to be and when, and what happens next. You're seriously a farmer. I could not be more relieved that you're here and we're doing this together. I don't think I could handle this place with only Mom and myself. I know I couldn't. And I truly think Marc is the perfect person for you, arriving at the perfect time and finding his own perfect person in you."

I was allowing myself to get stressed out, and in only a few seconds, Aleksy pulled me back out of my head, with some moisture in my eyes along the way. His reassurance was welcome. This was another insecurity of mine. I had worried in Billings that I might not be enough for Marc. Now I was worrying the same thing about the farm and Team W. Before this Summer, I worried about nothing. I had school, Mom and Dad, Aleksy if only remotely and on occasion, Tom and K on a daily basis, and my 4H project still a project. It wasn't....easy, but it was a challenge that didn't worry me. Ironically, Aleksy was offering me the same reassurance that I passed onto Tom only an hour earlier. I needed a dose of my own medicine, obviously. I appreciated Aleksy asking if I was okay, and really appreciated him saying he thinks Marc has a place here. And in my heart.

New lives and relationships came to the farm, bringing their own energies and concerns with them. Lola Cola brought and birthed an entire colony of Berneezers. Marc visited, got lost and then moved here, stole my heart and offered me his to replace mine. Aleksy came back to the farm, leaving a university teaching career to help his little brother keep Farm W a successful business. Eva became a constant and oh-so-welcome presence in our lives. My best friends were building a family already. Yeah, I had a lot going on that Summer, but other than Dad dying, the rest of it and them was exactly what I needed. And I am exactly what they all needed.

Now, THAT was arrogant.

End of Chapter Thirty-Five

*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.

All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***

With Aleksy gone but Mom not yet returned, I headed for Sebastian's corral, but stopped in the barn to get him his rewards for merely existing and in some ways, for giving me a reason to exist. Through the north door and out the south door and a short jog (don't tell Marc!) to the corral, I was greeted with a long, loud, plaintive bellow.

"Yeah, yeah.....I see you. And the dead relatives can hear you. Even the ones back in Poland."

"MOOOOOBELLLLLLOOOOOWWWWW I DON'T GIVE A FAT BOVINE FUCK! GIMME THEM APPLESNOOOOOOWWW!!!"

"Well, since you asked so politely....."

I rubbed my steer between the ears and eyes, trailing a firm touch right down to his nose. I don't know if he really likes it, or if he has just tolerated me for five years. I don't know if I'd really like reciprocity. Sebby's hoof down my face would do nothing for my movie star looks. And YES, I know Rondo Hatton was a movie star, and YES, I've been compared with Rondo many times.....

I fed Sebby the carrots and then cut up the apples into halves. We grew some okay apples, but not exactly award winners. The apple tree was much more useful in giving me something to climb. Boys just have to climb something, pull something (six times in one day) and poke something (all freshman year).

I always kept an older but functional halter and a rope lead on a nail at Sebastian's corral. He might as well stretch his legs and deal with his hundred new pounds of corn weight. He talked to me some more, likely complaining about the quantity and quality of the carrots and apples, and we made our way through the gate. Then the weirdest thing happened. He stopped and looked around, raised his nose to sniff the air, and turned. He walked in the opposite direction, leading me more than the customary me leading him. What the heck?!

He didn't move back to his corral, but rather east on the barnyard and along the fence line parallel to the house. Sebastian stopped and looked right at the dog run. Another moo-bellow-moo-snort, which was answered by Lola Cola. O.C. jumped off the top of the run and trotted over the Sebastian, stopping just outside the fence. Sebby dropped his head and nosed right on that old cat's side, who in turned leaned into the nosey massage. These animals communing with each other was the strangest thing I'd seen in forever, but it made me smile.

I pulled my phone out in time to catch Sebby and O.C. rubbing against each other to show the others later. Not many future moments would afford me that opportunity. I had only another week before Ross Sweeney would come for my purple ribbon-winning Black Angus steer. My friend, the lover of little mammals and protector of big ones. I was working daily toward the transaction, recognizing the event on the horizon that I'd planned and worked toward for five years. Like Cock-A-Doodle's time having run out, so would Sebastian's. Like it or not.

I didn't like it. I didn't have to. I had to do one thing: honor my end of a commitment and a handshake. Fuck. My Big Guy, who talks to dogs and massages cats and keeps coyotes away from mama cows and their kids, and knocks me on my deserving ass when we play Tag. We'd have to get one more good game in before.....well, before that snake showed up with a trailer behind his Cadillac. That thing was big enough to just let Sebby ride in the back seat. At least let him be comfortable as he's led to slaughter, you slimy slimer.

Eventually he saw what he wanted to see, and he pretty much walked back to the gate to his corral. I thought he had his social moment in the barnyard and was ready to do his security guard job, but maybe not. It looked like a nice day to be out doing----well, nothing but add more fat and marbling by way of sixty or more pounds of corn a day for another week. He just wanted some more Alone Time, I guess. No pressure; the little pasture, the little calves and the moms, all would wait for his deigned presence another time. I thought more of him going off with Ross Sweeney.

`This is what we do, Jozef.....you knew that five years ago. Everything on Farm W is harvested. You, too, someday.'

Dad didn't tell me that. He didn't have to. I think I was born knowing, and aged to my oh-so-ripe teenage years denying some things while embracing others with great impatience. I'm not so different. A farm boy among hundreds if not thousands in the state. We all know our future is one of cuts, bruises, profits, losses, births and deaths, smiles and tears, and yet we still do it; we still farm, and we hope----at the very least----we don't embarrass our folks.

In the few years that I've been sharing the planet, the county, this farm with other people and a few amazing non-humans, some truths have been unrelenting in their insistence that as much as I've learned, I still know nothing. I can grow an edible plant. I can grow a calf to a big steer. Nothing special about either of those; I suppose most people can do at least some of what I've done on this farm. I believe my abilities have more to do with the patience of my teachers than the impatience of my Youth, wanting to know everything, do everything, perfectly and immediately.

In many instances, in all my arrogance, I've believed there is nothing beyond my abilities. What I didn't know, though, was my unfailing ignorance about how the World really works. No one knows what they don't know, but I can often advertise that slight detail about myself by merely opening my mouth. At present, my persistent challenge of ignorance is understanding even just a little what it means that my father is gone. My brothers' father. My mother's soulmate.

Yes, I can grow that edible plant. Beef livestock, too. And I've tried to assure myself---and the departed and recently joined family---that we are going to be fine because of that compendium of vast knowledge crammed tightly into my cranium. The farm won't fail on my watch. I've paid attention, and the return on my parents' investment in teaching me how to manage a farm with a bountiful reward. I think---I hope---I'm a farmer. Really, though; what I know with certainty is how to be a just a good farmhand. Valuable, yes; I hope so. I think my biggest accomplishment in the past two weeks, though: hand-nursing puppies the size of a little potato. The Custom Combine Team, Mom and Aleksy brought in the harvest. I was there for only two days of it.

You're thinking I'm discounting what I've managed to do and be and have successfully, in Terms Of Marc. I don't mean to, and I know this reads like he's no bigger a big deal than planting, harvesting and feeding. Well, the truth is, Marc isn't a bigger big deal than those. He is AS big, or can be, because I want him there.

It's maybe disingenuous to suggest I know anything about men, or at least one man, to respect and fall in love with him. I know nothing. It was at the reception after my father's funeral Mass that I heard Mom talking with someone who had commented how wonderful it must have been to share so many years with Dad, and how well they must've been able to finish each other's sentences by then.

"I was just finally getting to know him, actually", said my mom somberly to the now-taken aback condoler.

Everything stopped for me when she said that. I knew what she meant, at least in theory. It reminded me of a comment made by Mr Raiver when he was sub-teaching this past year. A student asked a question if learning would ever get easier, once we're out of school. Mr Raiver laid it out for us.

"Increasingly more difficult, because now you have to be responsible for what you learn. Earning a paycheck depends on learning and demonstrating your abilities, in exchange for sustenance. You can fail a class here while you live at home, but you'll still be fed, given clothes to wear and a roof over your head. There's a simple truth you've experienced from the day you learned to walk: the sum total of your knowledge to that point has been a tiny pinprick of light in a room of darkness.

As you learn, that light grows, but the circumference of darkness around that circle of light grows, too. That just shows how much more you have to learn to shine more light in that dark room. If you're living your life right and well, you'll always be in a dark room, but making it brighter for yourself and others, all the time."

I've never forgot that. Right then, I felt like I knew a lot; but not enough. Will I ever? Will my knowledge increase so I can understand what is really required to make a farm run smoothly? Or have a loving, successful, lifetime relationship with a man and the kids I'd hope we would have? Or getting a dozen puppies through every day of their (I hope) long lives? I don't know what I don't know, but I think I'm getting a better idea, day by day, that I'm not prepared, not really, to get up in the morning and do more than chores, go for a drive, sent a text, and feed those puppies. I'll get there; I believe that. Mom and Dad had confidence in me from an early age, and instilled more and more responsibilities as I proved I could handle them. I believe if Dad were still here, I'd be talking with him about my insecurities. Heck, I already do talk to Dad, really.

Aleksy finished up his immediate concerns and drove off in search of a temporary oven for Eva. I looked at my phone. No missed calls or text messages from Mom. I walked over to check on the pups. They were growing so fast! Their tiny bones were already twice the size as when the pups were born. I remember growing pains in the Third Grade. My legs grew faster than my pelvis, and the hip connections weren't a perfect fit. When I ran, I looked like an ostrich. Long legs, long neck, long eyelashes, and a short body connecting it all. What a mess. When I ran in Fifth Grade track, even I laughed as it was entirely up to my feet to decide which one would plant where and when. Finally, I caught up with Me, and all my incoordination was history by the time I was in junior high school. The pups were all nursing reliably on their own, but we kept the hand nursers and plenty of formula around. My Little Guy.....I am anxious for you to open your eyes so we can meet formally. The basket on the handlebars of the four-wheeler is all ready to be your chariot.

My phone buzzed, still in my hand. My brother.

"What??"

"Don't you WHAT??' me, Young Man. I just sharpened the Swiss Army knife in my pocket, and it has the rare and special Second Circumcision' blade, just ready for you."

"Oh, really. Like a silly pocket knife is gonna do anything. Dad told me on my eighth birthday that the first cut in the hospital was done with a horse tranquilizer, industrial hydraulic lift and a Poulan chainsaw, and even that ran out of fuel before the job was done." "You were born to present all sorts of challenges to people who, by the end of it all, could never be paid enough to deal with you. I, on the other hand.....an effortless delight."

"Too bad you're not a fart-less delight. I just don't get it; we eat the same things, so what's the problem?"

"It's natural, built-in pest control. I can crop-dust, so to speak, around you and suddenly, I have peace and quiet again."

"Oh, I'm not running FROM you; I'm running TO the nearest toxic methane gas escape-to-safety location. I'm about to hook up the TIG welder and cauterize you shut. So! This was fun, but I suspect you called for a real reason."

"Something really nice about that new bed of yours: those four pillows give me plenty of options to suffocate you in your sleep. Yes, there's a real reason. This oven is sixty inches wide. Two ovens in it. I can't make it into the bed of the truck with just this hand cart. Your offer still stand to help me get this out of here and up to Eva's? Once Mom's home, I mean?"

"Yeah, of course. Damn, that's a good score, at least for now; a free double oven. Maybe if you set your mind to it, you could get a bun in each of `em."

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"What, you never heard a bun in the oven' before? In reference to pregnancy? So, if you have two ovens, just get two buns in em."

"Oh---yeah, actually; I remember that. I guess I didn't recognize it coming from you. I'm used to hearing actual adults say that term."

"Fucker. So? Twins would be nice....."

"You're in luck, then. Eva called me to say twins are actually going to be on their way."

"WHAT??! REALLY?!!?"

"REALLY! In the form of two fully contained bank drive-through buildings that Eva said she was approved only an hour ago to buy."

"Always teasing me, aincha? That's ALMOST as good of news as what I was hoping you'd share. So, is there a move-by date for the little buildings?"

"Not that I know of. If there is, I bet we can store them temporarily at the old radar base up Maiden Canyon. It's all lockable. Sooner is better than later to get them set on their foundations, though. As long as it's before the weather gets cold. Winterizing those things will be a challenge, and then we can't move and set them until next Spring. I'd like to talk with Lyle Connor, but he made that offer to Eva, not me. I just want to help her get this going; I don't want to manage anything. It's her business. I don't think I could do what she's doing, or wants to do."

"I'd like to help, too. Don't hesitate to get me involved, Aleksy; if and as Eva needs anything from me. Coffee, breakfasty stuff, pizza and ice cream. Whatever else this town needs, she's gonna figure it out and create a business to provide it. Mom has been gone awhile now.....I wish she'd check in with us, just to give a timeframe for returning to the farm."

"Me, too. I guess if she's gone longer than three hours, it's a serious thing. Probably serious now, actually. You saw how she was dressed up."

"Yeah, I did.....that was her Joan Crawford `Don't Fuck With Me, Fellas' suit. Oh.....speak of the devil-ette herself; I see her rig up on the county road. Look, I'll see what's going on and then call you. Probably good I can be in town in thirty minutes or so. Can you keep yourself busy and out of trouble until then?"

"I am the definition of `out of trouble'. Middle children get away with everything because we're invisible. Don't commit to a time here; she might need to talk with you, and whatever that's about, an oven can wait."

"Maybe, but a bun or two in an oven can't. Really, Aleksy.....are you even hearing me?"

"Involuntarily. All your yakkin'.....don't you ever get worn out from so much incoherent blather?"

"Nothing wears me out. Not even having to endure your sorry ass. I'll call you after I see what's up with our mother. In the meantime, send me a text with the address where to go for this fancy appliance you weaseled someone out of for free."

I ended the call before Aleksy could react. Mom was now parking at the side of the barn. I walked over in her direction. Mom opened the rear hatch and there were six grocery sacks waiting. Ah.....that could account for some of the time while she was away.

"Jeffrey. Hi, Honey. Will you help me get these inside, please?"

"Of course, Mom. I'm a teenaged boy. Those are six sacks of calories, most of which have my name on `em."

"Did you know you're responsible for one thousand acres' worth of grocery expenses? Everything we make in profit is spent just to feed you, and you're not even finished growing yet. Oh, dear.....!"

We laughed, and I doubled up with two sacks in each hand. Mom got the other two. I wanted to ask if she got everything accomplished in town she intended to, but that question had no reason to exist. Whether accomplished or not, it had nothing to do with me. I just focused on the package of six little shortcakes I saw in one of the sacks. I strongly suspected the last of the frozen huckleberries would soon appear in a dessert. I just hoped not tonight; I had a date in town with my man, and although I love huckleberries, I LOVE my man. Of course, the reverse could be said, too: as much as I love Marc, I LOVE huckleberries on shortcake with real whipped cream. Whichever of those I got tonight was not a compromise for the other. Played correctly, I could get both, of course.

"Jozef.....Patricia is on her way. She'll probably arrive this evening. She is staying at the Yogo. It's not us; she's having issues with stairs now. I offered her my room, but she said some of why she's here has to do with business in town. Sooo.....that's what I was doing, too. Well, when I wasn't buying out the entire store to keep you in 10,000 calories a day."

"I look forward to seeing Auntie P. Hingham isn't that far away; she should be here in a couple more hours. Is she coming out here for dinner?"

"No. I'm meeting her at the Yogo. We'll eat there and probably spend the evening talking. I was thinking we could do a big dinner out here tomorrow. She's in town for three nights."

"Nice! I look forward to seeing here! Do you think dinner could include Marc and Eva?"

"And Tom and Kristi. And Jon and Kelly. And Trace and Toby. It's not business; just a big dinner. Ten people. Maybe more, if some lost tourist shows up to ask for directions."

"EWWW! Tourists! HISSSS!!!!"

We both laughed and I helped Mom put stuff away. Other than the shortcakes, there was nothing in those six sacks specifically for me and my thousands of calories. Mom pulled her backpack off and parked it on the kitchen table. I could tell by the outline her laptop was in there, along with legal file folders. Yep.....attorney. As far as I was concerned, I saw nothing. That was not a conversation I wanted anything to do with unless Aleksy was there, too. Once everything was stored away, Mom walked off to the living room.

"I'm changing out of this thing. Are you hungry?"

"Heck, yeah. There are some leftovers. I can put something together, if you want to relax for a minute or two."

"I'd like."

"Oh.....dang. Forgot, Mom; now that you're back here, I need to go help Aleksy get Eva's replacement oven up to `Common Grounds'."

"That's fine. Are you coming back out, or will you stay in town for the rest of the day with Marc?"

"I'll come back, but I am having dinner with him. I'll probably stay the night. Aleksy and I are meeting here early tomorrow so we can go off to the Ag Station at Moccasin."

Mom was by then in her room, but we continued the conversation across the distance of the kitchen and living room.

"Oh? What's going on out there?"

"He wants to offer to host a big barbecue out here for the students there, and also to talk with someone about running grain sorghum as a crop on the Sanger farm. It's a good rotation after wheat, and they're producing a new strain at the Ag Station."

"Ah.....that's interesting. So, a barbecue? That's a good idea. Should we get a pig from Rand Tuss and spit-roast it in the ground? That'd feed at least a hundred people. Can't be that many at the Ag Station."

"No, only 35 kids and teachers there. That's a lot of pork for maybe fifty people, tops."

"Maybe just ribs, then. Lots of corn, slaw, watermelon and feta salad, and whatever else."

Mom returned from her room, dressed like a normal farmer. She looked relieved, too. Whether to get out of the go-to-town clothes or just to be done with town business, I didn't know. She just looked like my mom again, and despite what anyone might tell you, a farm boy needs his mom to just be his mom sometimes.

"You're going, so off you go. I'll check on the dogs."

"Oh.....Mom, Cock-A-Doodle died."

"Oh, he did.....poor old thing. Did you....."

"I did, shortly after we found him. The hens wouldn't come out of the coop until he was gone from the run. We need another rooster pretty fast."

"I'd bet Roy DuCharme has at least one or two on their chicken farm. I'll call. If he has one, can you go get it after you help Aleksy with the oven?"

"Yeah. I'll take Lola Cola's dog crate. Please text if Roy has one. I have maybe $100.00 in cash on me; do you think that'd buy a rooster?"

"$25.00 will buy a rooster, if even that. I'll text or call."

I kissed Mom and headed off for town. Aleksy buzzed my phone, and I answered through the truck's radio.

"Let me guess.....Eva is also going to sell corn-on-the-cob-on-a-stick."

"Hmmm.....I'll ask her. I can see that being popular, though. Have you ever tried it, brushed with lots of butter and then rolled in crushed Flamin' Hot Doritos? Absolute sinful junk food, and incredible. Anyway, I texted you the address. I'm there now. This thing is huge."

"Do you know how many times I've heard that within five minutes of a Saturday Night date?"

"That's a trick question.....do you mean, how many times you've heard other people say that to you, or how many times you've said that to yourself? I'd bet the latter's number is significantly higher than the former's."

"True, but only because other people generally find they can't talk with their mouths full. I may or may not have known that same struggle, myself."

"WHAT?! Not really! REALLY??"

"Of course. Every boy has tried. Some, repeatedly. What do you think I did for amorous attention before I was in high school? It wasn't much of a challenge, you know. Or actually, you don't know.....I don't think you've ever been flexible enough to.....well, you know.....'find out for yourself'."

"There is something most seriously wrong with you."

"Not anymore. I learned how to get past my own gag reflex."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU LITTLE PERVERT!!! Oh, my god! Just.....get over here and help me move this thing!"

"I said that on a few dates, too....."

"STOP! HAHAHAHA!!!!!"

I laughed and slid the call closed. I was lucky to have my brother back with me. Between him and Tom, we kept each other laughing, and sometimes it's all a farmer needs to get him through a day or a season. I drove to the address Aleksy texted me. Ah, Dan was there in his cruiser. Heh.....Dan would've had no problem just picking that double oven up and putting it in the bed of the truck himself. I don't know how he had time to get inside a gym, but he did. That guy could've played from high school to college to, I'm quite certain, the NFL. I parked my truck behind Dan's cruiser and walked in the house being remodeled. Every appliance you could think of was sitting in the kitchen, and all of it looked fairly new.

"Jozef, we're being offered the fridge and dishwasher, too. Just need to get `em all out of here. What do you think about both of those in the barn kitchen?"

"I think a lot of that idea, actually. That fridge in the barn now is a color of orange that doesn't exist in nature, and it's pretty small. That's generous of you, Sir."

"It's my pleasure. It's worth it to me to give it away if I don't have to move it myself. The new appliances will be here in a few days."

Once we'd all smiled at our mutual good fortune, Dan and I helped get the big (huge) oven in the back of my brother's truck. I had a tow strap in the back of mine, and I could easily secure the fridge and dishwasher in my truck. You might not think that a dishwasher for a barn is a big deal, and most of the time, it's not; but horses can catch cold viruses, too, and cleaning their bridle bits and oat pans with a sanitizing wash does a lot of good, just in general principle. As well, if at some point I really did build my own apartment in the barn, I'd have a full kitchen just outside the door. Win-win.

Half an hour later, two big farm trucks drove away. I followed Aleksy up to `Common Grounds', with Dan following me. We made quick work of getting the old oven out of there and replaced with the new unit. Eva was very happy. All three of us got hugs. Dan took a moment to talk with Kim, and Dan being Dan, he was making sure she knew to keep the front and back doors locked at all times after 6PM, and after Noon during Autumn and Winter. Window service only. Kim smiled and affirmed the advice. Hmmm.....why do two people need to smile so much at each other when discussing doors and locks and clocks? Hmmm.....

Mom texted to say Roy DuCharme had a rooster. I drove up Warm Spring Creek Drive to their chicken farm and picked up what looked like a much younger version of Cock-A-Doodle. He had a simple job, really; wake everyone up, keep the hens happy and protected, and get through ten years doing both. I drove back to the farm, happy with our acquisitions (none of which cost us anything, actually; Roy had more roosters than he needed). It was only 2:00PM. Plenty of time to get more stuff done before going back into town to my man and his pasta dinner (and his noodle dessert). Once Aleksy returned, again followed by Dan, we moved the new appliances into the garage and staged them where they'd be out of the way until we plumbed both fridge and dishwasher for fresh water.

`Dad, your barn is gettin' as high-toned as a Billings Sheraton.'

Dan, Aleksy and I joined Mom in the kitchen. She had seen us all pull in, and had iced tea and lemonade just waiting.

"Dan! Hi, Honey!"

"Hey, Marie; how're you?"

"I'm just fine! My older sister is in town for a few days. Oh, you know what? We're having a big feast out here tomorrow evening. It'll be us and the Sangers. I want you to come, too. You're family."

"Really? I'd like that. Thanks. What can I bring?"

"A big appetite! And if you'd like to bring someone with you, that's fine, too! Come anytime, but we'll eat at 7:00PM, outside. Oh----by the way. Do you have a campaign manager yet? Or a treasurer? Farm W would like to make a donation to your run for sheriff."

"Wow, thanks, Marie; that's generous. Actually, my little sister is doing both of those for now. Jack is retiring, and he said he'd endorse me. So far, I don't have opposition, but what I understand the current trend is deputies and municipal police from other cities going to small counties and towns to run for sheriff. Lots less work for almost equal pay. I might get someone in the ring with me."

"Well, if they're moving here just to run for a job and they don't have folks here, AND with Jack endorsing you, I think a donation from Farm W will go a long way. We'll still do it. Will you take a check today?"

"Sure, Marie; if you want. I really appreciate it."

Mom went to the little pantry office and came back with a farm check. Before she handed it to Dan, she showed it to Aleksy and me.

"Should've asked you boys first.....but are you okay with this?"

$5,000.00? Heck, yeah, we're fine with that. We'd be finer with even more, but Montana has limits that a business can spend on an election campaign, and Farm W was a business. Heck, Mom was donating basically one dollar per citizen of Lewistown, but I know she was donating on behalf of all the rural folk in the county. I also knew she'd rally our neighbors and friends to get in on the campaign, if only to post signs on fences. Heh.....someone coming from outside of the county to run against Dan? Whatever.

He accepted the check with a big smile on his red face. That guy was born to lead and protect, no matter how much like a little kid at Christmas he looked just then. After he parked the check in his wallet, he looked at all of us.

"Aleksy, if you want, how about you, Kim, Kristi, Eva and I sit down and talk about basic, common-sense safety and interaction, in case these pro-Junior, anti-everyone-agitators show up anywhere near them. They've kindly warned everyone they're coming. Not very bright, but very dangerous to good Fergous County folk."

"Yeah.....actually, I'll talk with Eva about this tonight when she's home. I'm guessing that's what you were trying to cover with Kim earlier."

"I was."

"So.....how'd that go?"

".....Fine.....I think.....why are you looking at me funny?"

"Because you two were looking at each other funny."

I started laughing. So I wasn't the only one who noticed `something' sparking between Dan and Kim! Dan shook his head at Aleksy.

"I'm going to chalk that up to all the extra exertion you placed on your pea brain, Aleksy. You're seeing things."

"UH-huh. SURE I am. I know what I was `seeing', Dan."

"Marie, can I throw him in the horse trough?"

"HAHAHAHA!!! You boys! Nothing ever changes! So, you'll come tomorrow?"

"I will, and thank you."

"And please bring someone, if you want."

"Thanks, but I'll be flying solo. I'd like to bring someone, but there's a work schedule conflict. Maybe another time."

Aleksy smiled and turned a little red, giggling just barely. I knew he was up to something.

"Yeah, kinda sucks when your date has to sling late-afternoon coffee on the highway. Too bad her boss is such a stickler for staying open all the time....."

We all laughed, watching Dan turn as deep in color as the fridge in the barn we were replacing. So. Dan and Kim really were sparking. What do you know about that.....

Dan got out of the kitchen as fast as he could, smiling the entire way back to his 500 HP Ford Taurus Highway Patrol cruiser. He left with a donation to his campaign and a welcome to him for dinner tomorrow night, and somehow, someday, a standing invitation to bring someone' with him for family things. Family and Things'. What we are and what we do, every chance we get. I moved the dog crate with the new rooster in it to the chicken run, and left him in there so he could see the hens and they could see him. I covered the top of the crate with a shade-providing rug to help keep him cool, and got him some water and feed in little bowls. He looked content to me; he was fed, sheltered and had a commanding view of his harem. And they had him in sight, too, ready to peck his pecker (both of `em) right off if they didn't approve. I didn't foresee an issue. It's not like breeding Arabians with American Quarter Horses, where pedigrees and personalities are as involved as genitals.

Oh---while we're on the subject: Do you know what American Quarter Horse' means, as far as a breed of horse goes? Everyone has heard that term, but few know what it means. So, here's your horse lesson for the day. American Quarter Horse' is a distinct, separate breed, developed entirely in the United States. Quarter' does not indicate the percentage of any one blood line (Arabian, Thoroughbred, Morgan and/or Standardbred, although each of those comprise the AQH). The quarter' aspect is the breed's ability to outrun other breeds in sprints of a quarter-mile or less. The AQH is very fast, with some able to run right at 45 miles per hour / 72.5 kilometers per hour. The breed is also very agile, and works well in livestock disciplines, as well as rodeo and English/Dressage riding. So, there you go. Oh, and Bolt and Stan say hi.

"Boys, I should've talked with you before I offered and wrote that check, but your dad knew Dan was thinking about running for Sheriff. He said he wanted to donate to the campaign. Before anymore contributions to anyone seeking public office, we'll discuss it."

Aleksy and I shook our heads no' at the same time. He looked at me for a brief moment, giving me the go-ahead'.

"Mom, I remember Dad saying he thought Dan would be a good sheriff, when you and he were talking with Jack one time at the grain elevators. That's good enough for me. I think he'd be perfect."

"I'll ditto that. I don't think he'll stop there, though. I wouldn't be surprised at all if Eva and I are dancing at his governor's inaugural ball in Helena someday. Even if you and Dad didn't talk about it, and even if you yourself thought it was a good idea to write Dan that check, you'd get no argument from me."

Mom sighed with relief. It wasn't about the money. Apparently she could've added another zero to that amount and it wouldn't have made much of a dent in anything. She was taking Aleksy and me seriously as business partners, and expressed concern about one niggling detail that didn't come up for a vote among us. Big deal. This was Dan; one of our own was wanting to keep peace, law and order in Fergus County. And he said he was going to deputize Marc! Fair trade, I'd say; Dan gets a check, Marc gets a uniform, and I get an erection that will never go down again when I see him in it (and then slowly take it off him).

"Mom, tomorrow's welcome dinner for Auntie sounds like a big affair. What're you planning?"

"I don't know.....I'll think of something. She'll go on record not wanting a fuss thrown over her, but I know she'll appreciate it, regardless. Jozef, if you marinated a bunch of breasts and thighs and grilled them like you did when The Team were here, I think she'd like that very much. Same with everyone else. Maybe I can whip together three cold salads, and we can grill some corn on the cob, too. And watermelon. Would that work for the Sangers, you think?"

"You could serve Ritz crackers with Cheez-Whiz and they'd think you were Julia Child. You know how Kelly is.....she's going to want to contribute somehow."

"Right. I'll call her today and tell her my sister will be in town, and we're throwing together an informal meet-and-greet-and-eat-meat thing. I'll tell her what we're grilling, and when she says she wants to contribute, I'll say, `whatever you choose will be perfect'. And it will be. I'll make sure she knows all of them are invited, and that'll include Kristi. Patty will be meeting a lot of new people tomorrow. She can get a little anxious in crowds, particularly if she doesn't know people. How about I rely on you two to keep the conversation going about harvest, planting Winter wheat, how the herd is doing, and play up the puppies. Less intensity on people and more on land and animals. That'll keep Patty happy."

That was a little concerning; there was a risk the party could go south if Auntie P got overwhelmed with new people? I didn't know that before Mom spoke of it. I knew Aleksy and I could take charge of directing the conversation away from Team Sanger, Eva and Marc, if necessary. So much happens on our farm, day in and day out, this decade and next decade. We are never bored. Auntie P liked to ride, so if she wanted to go out on Bold for awhile, that was fine, too. What I was beginning to feel like, though, was the possibility we needed to treat her with soft gloves and hushed voices. She was also a business partner, but in a business I wasn't yet involved in. That could also be why she's in town. Regardless of why she's here, she'll eat well, meet our friends and new family members, and laugh like everyone else. I hoped.

My big brother and I made a list of things to do to keep the burden off of Mom in preparation for this shindig. She had a look on her face that seemed like she was multi-tasking in a far-away place in her head. Maybe whatever she was in town that morning to manage. So much had happened for her and to her, and not even in a full thirty days yet. Had she really had time to grieve her husband's death? In some of the World's cultures, a family member's death can be witnessed as `just another day'; from the moment someone is born, their death is planned for. Perhaps not in a count-down, or knowing specific details; but each day is lived usefully and efficiently, none of it wasted, and all of it accounted for. I doubted that was how any of us looked at the time we spend here, but maybe there's something to be learned from families who live each moment as the monument to a man's life, rather than a huge slab of carved granite, weighing on his head for Eternity.

Aleksy had been trying to ask me questions while we brushed our ponies. I was lost in thought, wondering about Mom being lost in thought.

"Earth to Farm Boy.....Earth to Farm Boy.....come in, please....."

"Oh.....heh. Sorry. What were you saying?"

"Nothing important. Everything okay?"

"Yeah.....stressing a little bit about Mom. So much is going on now. I wonder if the land ownership changes, Dad's death, Eva and Marc joining us, Auntie Pat coming to town and Mom's health diagnosis are all overwhelming her."

"Is it overwhelming you?"

"Yeah, kinda. It is when I include school, and you and me navigating this sea of grass behind us. I have no experience dealing with any of this, but I'm about to get a lot of it, and not slowly, either."

"Can I make an observation here?"

"Of course."

"You're hitting several of the events on the top ten list of stressors: death of a family member. Health status change of family member. Change in school or occupation. New relationship. New home. All of that. Maybe more. You might consider talking with a professional listener, too. Not to tell you you're all fucked up; just to help keep your path well illuminated and smooth while you're on it."

"Isn't that what a steer, a horse, a puppy and a big brother are for?"

"Heh.....sure. But not reliably, I'm sorry to say. All four of those have their own challenges, too. I will listen to whatever you have or want to say, Jozef; of course I will. I am not objective, though. Also, and it pains me to say this, I'm really not much further along in life and experience than you are. I don't have the wisdom yet that can help you manage stress well. You said Mom has a lot going on right now. Well, so do you. I think you should get control over this now, or it'll just escalate and become unmanageable very, very soon."

"Um, how soon?"

"Very, very, VERY soon. Dork. Here's an example of what you're trying to take on: next week, you're going to Missoula to get all registered for school, and you're also going to the hospital to find out what you can about Mom's diagnosis. Do you realize how you're going to be compartmentalizing your noggin for those two different events? That's a lot to manage. Of course you can and will, but at what cost to yourself? Jozef, please; you have to---I have to, we have to---be good to ourselves. If we are not, we'll sink, and it's a lot harder to start swimming again."

Aleksy was right. I suspected he was, anyway. He suspected he was. Entirely true that he and I both were still very young. Wisdom had not caught up with all the knowledge we arrogantly believed we'd amassed, and it was entirely probably that once they were even, they'd just laugh at each other over the woeful self-deception they'd allowed two farm boys to embrace. I wasn't ready to do all this with what I knew. That circle of darkness surrounding the faint light was growing ever larger, just like Mr Raiver said it would. Mr Raiver. My best resource, and only minutes away.

"Aleksy, do you need me here at the moment?"

"No.....why? Has breakfast already digested itself?"

"Heh.....not quite. I can feel it moving around."

"But it's still inside you, right? Like, you're not feeling it moving around in your underwear yet.....or Marc's underwear?"

"Your mind, seriously! I'm seventeen, not ninety-seven! MOVING ON! I want to go to the bank for awhile."

"Uh-oh.....you and Mom, going to town for grown-up stuff, same morning, same looks on your faces. Do I need to be worried about anything?"

"Yeah---YOUR face. Something you said made me think of something else, and if now is an okay time, I want to get on this. Just so you know, I wouldn't be coming back tonight, but I'll return early in the morning so we can go see Mario and all the hot farm boys at the Ag Station. Oh.....that gives me an idea. Would you be all right with Tom going with us? He told me he can take some of his freshman year classes right at the Ag Station. Might be good for him to meet Mario and anyone else who'd also be there in September."

"That's fine with me. One thing, though; we haven't discussed running grain sorghum on the Sanger farm with anyone. Might be good if I had that conversation with the head of the project at the station while you two were elsewhere. Does that make sense? I don't want to appear like a vulture over a carcass, not while this is all so fresh for Tom and the others."

"Makes sense, but if we're talking about senses, I get the sense that Tom is beyond happy with the arrangement. Remember, he's going to be farming the sorghum, right on the land he's known for five years. If it were me, I think I'd bring him in on this sooner than later so he has one less surprise to address. Right now, that boy is full of nothing but reactions to surprises."

"You're right. Entirely. And none of the three of us will know that land better than Tom, so of course he should be involved. You're pretty wise, Little Brother; are you sure you're not 97?"

"I'm pretty AND wise, all wrapped up in seventeen years of luscious, good farm boy fast-thinking-on-his feet. No real wisdom here. Not yet!"

"Heh.....'pretty and wise'. Such burdens you carry! Maybe call Tom and let him know about our visit to the Ag Station tomorrow. That'll give him some advance warning so he can come up with questions about classes."

"I think you're the wise one, Big Brother. I'll call him on my way to town. Last chance to keep me here; I'm not trying to get out of work, you know."

"I know. Well, if you're gonna go, get going; otherwise I'll find stuff for you to do. How much longer does the new rooster need to acclimate in there?"

"I don't know, really. Should've asked Roy duCharme that when I saw him."

"I'll call him. Wait a minute.....you're grilling chicken tomorrow?"

"Yeah.....? Oh. Our timing is off, isn't it? I should've bought ten dressed-out chickens from him. If you're calling him, will you see if we can buy ten, and if so, I'll come get them tomorrow."

"He's not going to be up selling anyone chickens at 5:00AM. I'll go get them, and buy some chicken feed from him, too. He mixes his own and sells it."

"Thanks, Big Brother. We have to name the new guy, you know."

"Hmmm.....'rooster' in Polish is Kogut'. That's not very farmsy-cutesy'."

"Hodowca Kura' is Hen Breeder'. How about `H.K.'?"

"And thus the new rooster is named: `H.K.' it is. Don't you have a town to go to?"

"I do. I'll get cleaned up and go. Thanks."

I smiled and hugged Aleksy, who returned it and didn't exactly let me go when I pulled back.

"Don't let yourself stop swimming, Little Brother. Get someone in your corner, someone who knows what they're doing there. You are the foundation of this farm, Little Brother. Keep it strong, and yourself, too."

A simple hug turned into an embrace that was tight and solid. I was a little kid again, holding onto my big brother and genuinely perfect friend. Aleksy was right; I could see myself in the challenges he told me I had. I was grateful for his concern and his counsel. He was right; I needed someone objective. We held on a few more moments, all of which returned me to the little boy who was holding onto him to stop him from leaving, screaming at him to stay, screaming at my parents to make him stay, screaming at god for the injustice of having two brothers leave me. One had returned, but deep inside me, though smaller and quieter now, that same little boy huddled in irrational fear that it wasn't going to last; that Aleksy would leave again, and this time, take with him any sunny future the farm and family could ever hope to have.

After showering and getting dressed in cleaner clothes, I went downstairs and saw Mom at the kitchen table with her laptop and file folders open. Her glass of iced tea was half gone, so I brought some from the fridge to top the glass off.

"Thanks, Honey. Everything going okay today?"

"It is. The new rooster is on safe and guarded display in the chicken run. He probably feels like he's a Chippendale dancer. Oh----he has a name. H.K.'. Hodowca Kura'. `Chicken Breeder'."

"Clever. You're at Marc's tonight. Do you want to take some food in with you?"

"Thanks, but he's already planning on spaghetti for dinner. I'm going in a little earlier than planned. I have another stop to make first."

"Okay. Patty and I will eat at the Yogo and I'll be back here late this evening."

"Everything okay, Mom? Not trying to get in your business, but you seem a little preoccupied. If you need something that I can do or help with, please tell me. Spaghetti can wait."

"Ohhhh.....thanks, Jozef. I'm all right. Without going into a long conversation that should include the rest of you kids, I'll mention just that I'm not waiting to get some estate things finalized. I'm not planning on going anywhere, but your father wasn't planning on it, either. With Patty in town, I needed to get some Hingham farm stuff done, as well as the Great Falls bank, too. We have lots to discuss. Once I cover as much as possible with Patty, I can tell you kids more. For now, though: all is well. I'm just tired. Have you and Tommy and Kristi talked more about your idea?"

"No. I left it with them to decide particulars, but I'll handle all the plans for this place. They wanted to get married at the court house next Friday, but I think we're a week out now. That's good; it'll give them more time to ease her family into this. Or maybe more likely it'll be a dam break and the entire county will be flooded with really strong and likely negative reactions from her folks."

"I hope they can realize those two kids need love and support, not scriptural condemnation. There are myriad examples in that book of people having kids without first making it through an official marriage first. I can think of one, in particular. Still, if it doesn't work for those parents to love the very child they produced, then she'll still get lots of it from the rest of us. I have nothing against her family, but I have everything for Kristi and Tom, and that sweet baby on its way here."

"Every family needs you, Mom. Little Jozef will know perfect love when he arrives on the scene."

"`Little Jozef'? When was this decided?"

"Just now. Sounds good, doesn't it? I'm sure Tommy and K will agree. That is, if they're smart.....and in recognition of me being the best uncle and godfather in the county."

"HAHAHA!!! Nice! I'm going to keep working on this. Oh.....actually, sit with me for a moment. Get yourself some tea or lemonade....."

"You've gone from sounding awesome' to ominous', and from Mother' to Marie'....."

I decided to go for a half-and-half. While I was in the fridge, I saw a little bowl with all that remained of the strawberries from breakfast. I muddled those with a little sugar and added them to the glass. `Cheesecake Factory' has nothing on me. I joined Mom at the table and she looked at me with an expression I hadn't seen before, or at least don't remember seeing.

"Oh, that drink looks good."

I slid the glass over to her, and she took a sip. She then slid her glass back to me and kept mine. Well, I guess it didn't just look good, dangit. Mom slid a folder over in front of her from a stack of several. She didn't open it, but she looked at me like we were on an episode of the Jerry Springer Show, and I was about to find out Donald Trump was my father. Two things: him having more kids by yet more women would not surprise me, but I'm beyond certain my mother had very high standards and even stronger morals. Also, I looked like Dad. The only thing orange about me is Cheeto Dust on my fingers and orange Kool-Aid down my white t-shirt.

"There's something I did, for all the right reasons in my mind, but probably none of the right reasons in yours. I want you to understand none of this has to do with your own judgment or the decisions you make. You're beyond mature, and I have supported you entirely in your new relationship with Marc. Soulmates, pure and simple. Never was anything more obvious in my eyes or heart. Both you and your brother found your soulmates. Still.....'history is a mystery'. Two weeks ago, I contacted our attorney and asked her to investigate Marc Taylor. I know you're both angry and confused right now as to why I'd do that, but Jozef, you not only have a huge heart, you have huge wealth by Fergus County, or even Montana standards. Caution is expensive, but not nearly as much as ignorance. She had a private investigator in Seattle do some work for me. These are the results. I have not read them yet. I want you to have access first."

My eyes were wide and my brain swirling. What the fuck. What Mom said was logical, but still, it felt like a betrayal of my own intelligence. The moment I thought that was the same moment I also thought, `just how intelligent do you think you really are, Jozef?'. The answer: only as intelligent as tests in school can reveal. Not a lot about common sense and real life. Well, here they both were, and here was my semester test to see if I knew anything of either common sense or real life. I calmed myself before answering, but Mom could see my red face and less-than-Jeffrey eyes.

"You're right to be upset, and I can see you are. I don't want to upset you, and I'm sorry I have. Look, I can shred this right now before anyone sees it."

"You spent probably a lot of money to have that investigation done. You had your reasons. Tell me, what are your concerns? That Marc is a criminal? That he's someone who assumed the real Marc Taylor's identity? That he's married with five wives and thirty-five kids in rural Utah, and they're all hungry? Something else I can't imagine?"

"All of those, but not specifically those, Jozef. When I don't know someone but that someone has my baby boy's heart, a mother will stop at nothing to protect the baby boy and the heart. No one knows everything about anyone."

.....I was just finally getting to know him', my mother said to the person at Dad's funeral; and that was after knowing each other their entire lives, and sharing a life with each other for most of them. Mom knew what she was talking about. What I didn't know was exactly, precisely, how huge' our---or my---wealth exactly was. I had no context for that, really. Mom knew, though; and if she was concerned, then I had context for that concern. I was half-way to understanding why that file folder sat at an arm's length from me.

"Mom, I'll tell you what I want to do. Leave that folder closed, and please don't look in there. I think with high probability that whatever our wealth is, Marc can buy and sell us thirty times before the weekend. He hasn't told me everything yet, but he alluded only hours ago that in addition to his parents' money and property, there is his father's parents' estate, which includes money and property in the States and three other countries. I highly doubt Marc would need to come to us for a loan, and I know we won't need to go to him for money, either. Marc said we would discuss his end of things in detail, and that could be why he wants to meet this evening. By the way, I have told him nothing about us, financially-speaking. So, leave that file alone----for now----at least until I talk with Marc about whatever he said he wanted to cover with me. Please. Then if necessary, we can go over the file together, you, Aleksy and I. Let me ask you this, though; did the attorney say if the investigator found anything that would indicate Marc is a safety concern for the family or the farm?"

"No.....and I asked that question specifically. I have been assured, as much as that's possible, that no one is in danger."

"Okay, then knowing that, are you more relieved than you were when you asked for the investigation?"

"Yes, definitely. What you just said, though.....about Marc's own resources.....maybe that's why this folder is so thick. I'm going to wrap packing tape all around this folder and put it in the safe. You let me know when you want to open it, okay?"

"That's fine. This is a conversation that I strongly suspect not one other kid in my graduating class has had with his or her parents. Maybe in the history of my school. Still, here we are, having this conversation, Mom. What we can agree on: the role money is playing in my life, in Marc's life, in the entire Team W's life. It's already a burden, isn't it? Money is supposed to provide security, and yet, the past five minutes have been all about feelings of insecurity. Not fun."

"No, you're right. Does what Marc told you----about his and his family's money----bother you?"

"Not really. I didn't know about it before we met, and to this very minute, I still don't know much. Just this much, I guess: it's not my money, and it's not my problem. Our money is not his, and it's not his problem. We'll have plenty of those, I've no doubt; and if money isn't one of them, then the others will seem fairly small potatoes by comparison. I hope."

"Jozef, you have something worth so much more that is valuable to Marc.....you're realistic, mature and compassionate. And you make a great drink! Thank you!"

We laughed, and I stood up to go. I bent to give Mom a hug and a kiss.

"Even with that folder not a concern anymore for now, at least, you still have a lot to do. IF you need anything from Aleksy and me in terms of help with any of it, please tell us. We're your sons and business partners. We're not here to look good in Levi's and ball caps, you know."

"HAHAHA!!! Duly noted! Say hi to Marc."

"One last request from me....."

"Sure, Honey."

"Don't ever do anything like that again without discussing it with me first. If you trust me to be a business partner on this farm, to care for and about you and everyone and everything else here, then grant me the same consideration in dealing with other aspects of my life and commitments. Please."

Mom was silent and looked at her hands on the table. This was a new moment for both of us, but it would've come at some point, on some issue. I wasn't born and raised to have Doormat Issues, and I wasn't going to start having them now. It was harsh, and I knew it; but I had a choice. Speak my mind then, or spend the rest of my life wondering when future instances of behind-my-back decisions would be made, whether in my best interests or not. A hateful choice, but many of `em are, for anyone. My turn, I guess.

"That's not something a mother wants to hear from her son, Jozef. But you're not wrong. I agree to that."

I nodded and smiled, stood and kissed Mom's head and grabbed my own backpack off the table behind the sofa in the living room. I'd already packed my iPad, cables and a notebook in there, as well as another change of clothes that I planned on leaving at my man's house in town. I was out in the barnyard and on my way to town when Sebastian called me. Oh, what's another five minutes? My Big Guy and I would soon be parted, and five minutes were no hindrance to the rest of my day. I put my backpack in my rig and headed into the barn to get him a couple of apples and carrots.

"Whew! Sebby, you need a bath! We'll do that tomorrow."

"MOOOOOO-OOO!!!"

"Don't sass me, Mister; I'll use that gardenia shampoo you don't like. Now, tell me; what's the problem?"

Sebby hip-checked me, almost knocking me over. Fucker.....that's not fair. I can't do the same to him, at least not with the same results. Was he initiating a game of tag? Wasn't really a good idea to do that in his corral, but I still had a couple of minutes, so I attached a lead to his halter and led him out to the little pasture. If he still didn't want to go out there, he didn't have to; but I couldn't imagine him wanting to stay penned in all day, either. Once at the gate, he muscled his way through, and just kept walking. No Tag-You're-It today, after all. I watched him lean down to get a couple of tasty field daisies in between his teeth, and all seemed right with him again.

I returned to my truck, waving at my brother as I drove away up to the county road and then into town. I knew Marc was likely getting tired of root beer, so I stopped at Eva's and was happy to see I was only sixth in line to get something cold to drink. Somehow the naked iced tea didn't satisfy me the way my intended drink was supposed to. I'm sure two Italian Sodas would do quite nicely. Eva leaned out the window while handing a tray of drinks to someone in the lead car. She saw me and waved. Even though I'd seen her while delivering and installing a huge-assed oven only an hour or so earlier, she still greeted me like she hadn't seen me in forever. I pulled my truck off out of the line-up and parked at the back door of the shack. I knew I was going to kind of cut in line by walking inside, but no one in the other vehicles looked like they were exactly dying of thirst. I wasn't either.....but I could make the excuse that I wanted to make sure the oven worked. Sure.....I'd go with that.

I smelled something yeasty baking away. Ah.....it worked. Maybe I should get back in line.....but since I'm here.....

"Hi, Wonder Women!"

They both struck superhero poses, and we all laughed.

"What're you having, Captain Fergus County?"

"Two Italian Sodas with cream, please! One raspberry, one lemon! Biggest you have!"

Kim rolled her eyes and thanked me for not wanting some extra-hot coffee drink.

"How can people come through here all day long in August, wanting something hot to drink?! We have tons of ICE! Our syrups are from FRANCE! They don't know what they're missing!!!"

"Agreed, Kim; that's why I don't want coffee, despite how good it is here. Smells like the oven is already earning its keep and paying itself off."

Eva smiled and nodded while talking with someone about something on the phone. She smiled and turned to give me a `thumbs-up', but for whatever she thought I knew, I was clueless. Maybe Junior had been transferred to an island prison off Guyana. Kim got the drinks made and handed them to me and gave caution.

"Use both hands.....I'll get the door for you.....okay, here we go....."

She nearly hustled me out of there. What the....?

"Wait! I can't get my wallet out!"

"THAT'S THE PLAN! GO! SHOO!!! BYE, JOZEF!!!"

We laughed and I shook my head, and I headed back down the three steps to my truck. I got in and drove back out, seeing that the line was even longer then. My plan wasn't a bad one.....I'll have to remember that sweet little cheat. I was in and driving when my phone buzzed. I answered through my truck's radio. It was Marc.

"Hi, Boyfriend."

"Babe. Are you coming to town soon?"

"Sooner than that. I'm almost in town now. Just stopped to get a couple of Italian Sodas. Need something from the store on my way?"

"No; just was trying to gauge when to start heating water for the pasta."

"Yum! Can't wait! Marc, I'm coming to the house now, but I also want to go back into downtown and stop at the bank. Maybe fifteen minutes there or so."

"You gonna rob it?"

I was thinking that robbing a bank wasn't really necessary; apparently we owned one. Marc probably owned Switzerland itself.

"Nope. But if they're giving out free samples, I'll gladly accept the offer. I'm gonna talk with one of my former teachers who works at the bank."

"Okay. How does 6:00PM work for you for dinner?"

"Just right. Send me a text if you need anything between here and there."

"I will. Oh----just so you know----when I was waking up this morning, you looked so adorable with your head on the pillow next to mine. I'm sure you've heard that before, though."

"Nope; you're the first. I've been in bed with men once or twice, but never to the following morning. I saved my bed-head and adorable-ness just for you."

"You're the first man I've awakened to, as well. I think if I don't concentrate on dinner, I'll pass out."

"`Pass out'?"

"All the blood has flowed right out of my head to regions far south of it."

"Oh.....you cut yourself on the can opener, didn't you? You really should be careful, you know."

"Sheesh.....you're never getting cards, chocolates or roses from me, if that's how you react to swooning romance."

"Just feed me spaghetti and a couple of big, meaty, juicy balls; I'll be happy. See you in a minute. Your only challenge at the moment: lemon or raspberry soda. Think LONG and HARD about it; which one do you want to SUCK on?"

"Oh, my god.....I'm about to hit the floor.....bye."

"Love you."

"Like you."

"Only `like'?? What's that about, Boyfriend?!"

"Depends on how good the sodas are. Everything is conditional, you know."

"So it seems! Fine."

I smiled and slid the call closed, just in time to turn at the traffic light on 6th Avenue. Five blocks and I'd be home with my privately well-investigated man. I got to the house and parked where I normally do. Kids were playing across the street. Ah, the timeless appeal of a piece of chalk and a crudely-planned Hopscotch diagram on the sidewalk. We didn't really play that at the farm, but everything else was a game to a little kid with two big brothers and parents who were at least as much fun. The five of us were, for a few years, our own fun and games. We were always laughing at something or someone, always in fun, and never bored. There was always something to do. Don't let anyone tell you nothing happens in Fergus County, even if for me it was just chasing dragonflies, sneaking up on gophers or looking for hawks and eagles circling in the sky high above me, watching me sneak up on their dinner.

Having two drinks in my hand prevented me from paying for them at `Common Grounds', and they handicapped me in being able to walk into our home, too. I used the knuckle of my index finger to ring the doorbell. After a few seconds, Marc answered, smiling at me.

"What did we discuss about you knocking on YOUR OWN FRONT DOOR?"

"There were caveats, one of them being having full hands. This is one such example."

"It's a good thing I love you."

"Oh? We're beyond `like' now?"

"Are you kidding?? Look at these Italian Sodas! And.....oh, my gosh.....look at that lovely bulge in your Levi's, too.....yeah, definitely `love', Babe."

"I see it all clearly now: dick and drinks, drinks and dick. For the record, though.....I love you, too. So, which will it be?"

"Raspberry, please."

"Done."

Marc closed the door behind me, and we made our way to the kitchen to sit at the island. Marc reached out to hold my hand, making me smile broadly. This was the 21st Century version of two boys at the diner where all the kids went after school for one shake and two straws, just like at Pops' Chock'Lit Shoppe in the Archie comics from the 40s. After a few sips, I slid my glass over to Marc, and he reciprocated in kind. We seemed to do that a lot; sharing different flavors with each other. It was effortless with him, sharing and trying new things together. So many of our experiences were experiments, since neither of us had someone in our lives we felt so uniquely, strongly and in love with. Mom said she was just finally getting to know Dad, and that was after thirty-some years together. I would be happy to feel that with Marc. Sure, there's comfort in familiarity with a person close to you, but there's also the excitement in the unfamiliar, at the same time delightful and new. In our short time together, Marc shared in my father's death, and I shared in his rough childhood and early adulthood. Looking deeply into each other while holding hands and slowly drinking sweet soft drinks was a new pleasure for both of us. I had no doubt this is what Phyllis saw of us at her cafe in Billings.

I hoped sincerely Aleksy and Eva would stop there, maybe even say hi from Marc and Me, and eat a one-pound-heavy portion of corned beef hash. Oh.....gotta send them both Teigan's contact information, too. So much going on for one and all. That Summer, we all gained experiences and lost sleep, and compared notes throughout the day on what made us think, laugh or cry. There are so many layers to a life, I was learning; none are the same, and just as some peel away, more are added.

"Babe, are you hungry? I have the meatballs made and ready to go into the oven. The sauce is going. We can eat whenever you want, but at some point, I need to talk with you about that message earlier."

"I'm drooling already! Meatballs, too? Heck, yeah. I like you a lot!"

"What happened to `I love you a lot'?"

"Everything is conditional. Depends on the quality of the spaghetti dinner. I'll let you know if anything changes when we get to the Spumoni."

"How'd you know I got Spumoni?"

"Because anyone with good sense and good taste would. Your good sense is proven by the Spumoni; your good taste is proven by me."

Marc smiled and stood up, walked around behind me on the counter stool, and wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling my neck with his entire handsome, furry face.

"You are so wonderful, Jozef. I know you have something to go do for awhile. I'm going to take a walk around Highland Park School and the City Cemetery. Half an hour. After dinner, I'll have some things to show and discuss with you. It's all about the message I received earlier today."

"Marc, my errand is by no means a priority; it's just something I need to take care of at some point. It can wait."

"This is just an observation, but I don't think three words said often by Agro men is `it can wait'....."

"Well, there is that. Okay, well, before I go.....and now that we both taste like raspberries and lemons.....howzabout some smoochin'?"

Marc squeezed me a little and spun me around on the counter stool. He placed his strong hands on my knees and gently pulled them apart so he could step almost right between my thighs. Marc moved his hands up my thighs to my arms, slowly making their way up to the sides of my face. His touch was, for the entire time of a month that we'd known each other, intoxicating to me. Marc was deliberate and firm in his touch, and despite his career as a student and a professor, the skin on his palms and fingers was not soft. Calloused and a little rough. I imagined it was from all the weights he'd thrown around in fitness centers and gyms. Whatever resulted in that texture, the work was welcome on my cheeks----as were Marc's lips on mine, tender and soft. I suspect they had not been used to lift 80 lb / 36 kg weights.

We kissed for a few moments, enjoying some intimacy in a big, quiet house. Fewer than thirty years ago, Rod and Naomi Taylor were serenaded in their home by the insistent ear-piercing strains of a newborn's powerful lungs, kept quiet during nine years of the submerged development of one Marcus Tyler Taylor. Six weeks later, Marc and his parents departed for Seattle, and an absent silence returned, unwelcome but accepted almost grudgingly. To keep their grandson present, seen if not heard, his Grandies built a shrine under perpetual adoration to the only future of either family. And what an amazing future it had been to these twenty-nine years, and would be for----if I had my way----at least another seventy.

A seriously nice, long kiss with my college professor, and I was off to see Mr Raiver at the bank. Being only a few blocks away, I decided to walk beneath the oldest cultivated trees in the county. Those along 6th Avenue dated to 1875, a gift from Columbus Delano, Secretary of the Interior in President Grant's cabinet. Mighty, solid Oaks, survivors of droughts, floods sub-0º and super-100º temperatures, members of a family even older and with deeper roots than my own. Barely.

"I'm walking to the bank, so by all means, enjoy an additional eight minutes on your own afternoon sojourn."

"`Sojourn'? Are you for real, Jozef? What teenager in rural Fergus County knows that word?!"

"This one. My Freshman year history project was on Sojourner Truth. I chose her as my subject after reading her name and finding out what it meant. Did you know she was the first woman of color to win a legal judgment against a caucasian man? Also the first to have a statue in the US Capitol, and the only woman to have recruited free and escaped African slaves to the United States Union Army. She spoke Dutch only until she was eighteen years old, and had a Dutch accent while speaking English for the rest of her life. I recited her extemporaneous speech, `Ain't I A Woman?', as part of my presentation. Mr Raiver became my biggest supporter among high school staff at that moment, and I think I owe him the greatest credit in helping me with my academic achievements. I know he played a significant part in getting me from Seventh Grade to my Freshman year, skipping Eighth Grade entirely. He's who I'm going to see at the bank. He retired from teaching and works there part-time now, and offers classes to kids on financial literacy, among other things."

"There is no one like you, Jozef. Unique, gorgeous, talented, intelligent and mine. All mine."

"And you're worth every effort to be each and all of those, day-in, day-out. Smooch, Boyfriend; I'm off."

Marc walked me to the door, and just before I could open it, he slid his hand from my back down to my ass, holding it right in the valley and pressing slightly against my hole. Ahhh.....a preview of cumming attractions, maybe? Or was he being a dick and sending my dick on a walk to town in a very observant, upright and priapic state? C'mon, Paco; let's go for a walk.

In only a few moments, we were on Main Street, turning at what was once my maternal grandfather's original Rexall Drug Store. All of one minute passed and we were at the front door of the bank in the Montana Building, Lewistown's own six story skyscraper. I've said before that Nothing never happens in Fergus County, but I'm wrong in one specific subject: this bank is the only one (of an historic fifteen) in the entire county that was never robbed. Maybe the big, cosmopolitan building was intimidating, or perhaps it was because when the Montana Building was built in 1917, the city police department was on the opposite side of the alley. Like those majestic Oak trees, this bank had withstood land disasters, great depressions, recessions, world wars and other catastrophes. I hoped it would be around for at least seventy more years.

When I walked through the door, Mr Raiver was finishing up a conversation with Rax and Chana Frazier. They farmed along Cottonwood Creek, too. Always good and kind to Mom and Dad, and older than the oak trees. Okay, so, not really; but they knew rural Fergus County history. I hoped someone younger in the area cared enough to learn from Mr and Mrs Frazier. They were custodians of the memories of all the lives lived in Central Montana.

"Young Wojtowicz! Greetings!"

"Hi, Mr Raiver! You look happy."

"I'm very happy. The school board has been turned upside down and inside out, and they're in search of new members and new candidates for the position of superintendent. I'm not happy we're down two board members, but I'm happy the school district isn't compromising and hiring either of the final two candidates to lead the district. Nothing against them, but.....they need to keep looking. I wish the university professor had given the district another chance."

"Maybe he might, in future. From what I understand, Marc Taylor is content to remain in Fergus County. He plans to work from here for the foreseeable future while he writes the series of history books his publisher wants."

"My gosh.....we are on the literary map! So, what brings you in today, Jeff? How can we help your money make money?"

"Nothing really money-related, Mr Raiver. I would actually like some guidance from you."

"Whatever I have to share, I'm happy to share it. Can I ask, though: is this a discussion better conducted less publicly?"

"Yeah, probably. I just want to get your opinion on a couple of things. I know we could email back and forth, but I honestly prefer face-to-face conferences, if possible."

"Me, too. That's fine. All right, how about this: if you're able to see your schedule over the next few days, let me know, and you're welcome at my home. We can have lunch out back, and hopefully my visiting grandchildren will be napping after the inevitable sugar rush their grandmother will prescribe them by way of cookies, Jello and lemonade. I can make sure she saves some for us, too. Before then, though....."

Mr Raiver leaned toward me slightly and dropped his voice to a much quieter sound.

"Are you all right, Jeff?"

I smiled in appreciation for his question and concern, answered that I was all right, and looked forward to talking with him soon. I reiterated that I needed some counsel on the age-old problem of aging and maturing. You know, `growing up'. We talked more on general matters for a few moments, and we both saw some other people wanting to talk with Mr Raiver. I smiled and shook his hand and walked to say hi to one of the tellers I knew. Five minutes later, I was on my way back to Marc. I didn't accomplish exactly what I wanted, but the fact that I didn't even know entirely what I wanted was the reason for wanting time with my trusted teacher. Still, I felt happy to have talked with Mr Raiver, and I felt good about even just a few moments with him, and with a plan to have more than just a few more, and soon.

I took a different route back, trying to stay in the shade of other stalwart sentinels lining the streets. I passed the US Post Office and stopped in to see Pete Taggart, the post master there since god was a child. I knew I'd have to register for Selective Service when I turn eighteen, so might as well get the documentation form now. No one in line at the window but me and Mr Taggart. He knew everyone, and had been at Farm W twice or so in the past few years when taking over a delivery route for a carrier who was ill or just out for awhile.

"You're a W.....I can see Ned all over you! Let me guess.....you must be the youngest.....Jack?"

"Jozef. Hi, Mr Taggart. Yeah, I'm the youngest! I don't think Mom would like any more of us running around the farm!"

"How is Marie? She doing okay since....."

"She's adjusting, Mr Taggart. We all are. Still have a job to do there. It's just a little lonelier there now."

"I don't doubt that, Jozef. Some men's names are as big as the men. Generations of Ws have been known in this county, if not many. I suppose you're off to chart your own course."

"Sure am! From the barn to the East Forty! I'm going nowhere, Mr Taggart. Through the marvels of modern science and technology, I'm attending Montana entirely online. I can farm and learn at the same time. At least, I plan to!"

"You kids have the world by the balls, and you don't even realize it yet. The school can come to you while you go out and make hay. Inconceivable only twenty years ago. My gosh.....what's next?"

"Well, modern warfare hasn't quite caught up to that yet, Mr Taggart.....some of it can be done remotely, but we'll always need boots in planes or on the ground or on ships. And so, I want to get a form for Selective Service, please."

"Oh, of course, Jozef. Right here. If you want to complete it here, I can post it for you myself. It'll be an honor."

"Thanks, Mr Taggart; but I have a few months to go yet. I'm not eighteen until October. Unless I CAN do it now; it's inevitable, so why not?"

"I like your attitude, but no, not yet. Soon enough. Trust me on that. Now, if you choose to enlist, I recruit for the United States Navy, right here. You can enlist at seventeen."

"Thanks, Mr Taggart; I'll go if I'm needed, but for as long as possible, I want to focus any time and talents I have to farming and learning how to manage a business."

"That's just fine. You're growing food for my guys on ships, and for that, I thank you. If you have your dad's and mom's brains, you'll keep that operation going for at least another generation."

"I want seven more generations there, Sir. That's why I'm studying business. I work on a foundation built a hundred and thirty years ago. I'm obligated to keep going so another 130 can see the Sun rise and set on crops and cows on Farm W."

"Take this with you. When you come to bring it back, you wait for me if I'm working with anyone else. I'll get to you pronto. It's my goal to shake the hands of every man who brings one of these here and to thank you in advance, should the sacrifice be necessary."

"Thanks, Mr Taggart. I'll see you in October."

"You don't have to wait to call me Pete, Jozef. Please, okay?"

"Okay, Pete. Thank you for this and your time. I'll see you in October."

"I'll be here! Say hi to Marie for Bess and me!"

I took off again. Geez, Dad; is there anyone you don't know, or who doesn't know you? The doors you open for me without even meaning to. I can't underestimate the power of a name's reputation.

Within another block, I was home. Marc was just walking around the corner, concluding his walk at the same time. He looked so stealthy.....ball cap, sunglasses, a polo shirt and 501s. Well, he was TRYING to look stealthy.....that gorgeous man with his stud-fuck muscled body and fur would stand out anywhere. Marc was the wet dream of any marketing campaign manager for tobacco companies. Harvard college freshmen might've been obligated to take his class to fulfill elective course obligations, but no one left there without having been instructed well.....or have their eyes made love to. And now, he was mine. All mine.

We reached the door at the same time.

"Babe, I don't remember getting a key for you. Did we do that?"

"No. I think the same is true regarding the farm home key for you. Wanna trade?"

"Keys AND bodily fluids. So to speak, you know....."

"Yeah, well, I'm not keeping the key where I'll keep your bodily fluid."

"Heh.....likely a good idea. Soooo.....if we're sharing keys, when're you gonna give me some of `you', Babe? Thus far, I've gone from a lost tourist visiting Fergus County to now being a regular. All that is a metaphor, you know....."

"Oh, I know. And unless I'm mistaken, you were knocking gently before I left for the bank. Seemed to me you want to visit again. Metaphorically speaking, of course....."

"Babe, this can seem really vulgar, but damn, your ass was made perfectly, and just for me. I can't imagine not wanting to be near it, in it or feasting on it. I know you like being just fuck-pounded hard on occasion, and I like that too, but making slow, passionate love to you by way of your farm boy hole is everything from an obligation to a privilege for me. Still.....you got only half of my cherry. I want you to have the other half, too. Whenever you want it."

"I want it. Your first time, we'll have to work very slowly to get you ready."

"You think I should shave my ass first?"

"If you do, I'll divorce you before I marry you. My less-hairy ass is seriously in love with your very hairy ass. You can not be too hairy on your chest, legs, ass, face, head.....you're perfect, and a perfect fantasy come true."

"Soooo.....whatcha doin' right now? Dinner isn't for awhile yet....."

"Marc, I want you inside me right now, making love with me up to and including the length of time it takes to boil water for spaghetti. Candidly, though....."

"You'd rather talk first, then eat, then love each other."

"Oh, I don't have to wait to talk and eat to love you, Boyfriend. I love you twenty-four hours a day. But physically.....yes. It'll be a good way to work off dinner. Pasta equals carbohydrate calories equals unbridled farm boy energy."

"We're still walking on a new route after dinner too, though, right?"

"Definitely."

"Any private places to do nasty stuff in public, sooner or later?"

"Oh, yeah. In fact.....I think I'll take maybe twenty minutes or so to prepare for `sooner or later'."

"I like that. While you're doing that, I'm going to raise and lower the top on the Mustang a couple of times. I want to keep it operating smoothly. I really think I'm going to sell it. I like it and all, but I have all the stud horsepower I need, right there in your size 11 farm boots."

"Oh.....before you sell it, please take me for ride in it!"

"Sure; where do you want to go?"

"Wellll.....Paris, ideally; but Yellowstone or Glacier National Parks would be just as nice!"

"Done. I like that idea a lot. Can I offer it to you for another idea?"

"Back row of the drive-in movie, you n' me? Midnight show of `Rocky Horror Picture Show'?"

"Now, THAT idea has immeasurable merit! You're going to Missoula next Friday, right? Grown-Up, Big Boy University Stuff? Also, the hospital there for Marie's lecture series on Lewey Bodies?"

"Yesssss......you want to go?!"

"I do, but.....pursuant to what I need to discuss with you, I'm offering you the car to take for that trip. I regard that car has equally yours, anyway."

"That's.....so nice of you, Marc. You're not coming with me?"

"No. I'd like to, but timing is everything, and right now, mine is being pulled in a different direction than I'd planned. I have an idea.....while you're doing what you're doing, I'm going to make two 7-Up Spins. We can hang in the back yard and talk before dinner. I'll have some printed pages to show you, as well."

"Old issues of `Hustler'? I've seen those. Found a huge stash in the high school basement two summers ago. No one knows for sure, but we suspect it was one of the former custodians."

"Holy fuck! Imagine having that in a public school where kids are walking around right above! Did anything in the magazines surprise you?"

"No, not that I know of....."

"`Not that you know of'? Just how broad was your education there??"

"I couldn't get the pages apart. I'm fairly certain I had a comprehensive and practical knowledge of the contents, though."

"Oh, yeah.....your Freshman year....."

"I'll show you the yearbook someday. I was awarded `Most Cunning Linguist" of the year."

"Heh.....probably of the entire history of the school, in perpetuity."

"I've forgot nothing. I can---and will---give you demonstrations as proof of having won that award honorably, and with no lapse in knowledge or technique."

"Damn.....how can I pass up that opportunity?"

Marc's phone rang and he rolled his eyes. It seemed he recognized the ring tone.

"My agent.....Babe, I need to take this."

"You NEED to take this", I told him, grabbing my cock through my Levis and thrusting my hips in his direction. "But until then.....you talk, I'll clean."

Marc smiled and shook his head and slid the call open. I took the timely opportunity to hit the bathroom in the hallway, rather than in the primary suite. Marc still wanted to occupy one of the guest bedrooms and bathroom, which was fine with me. We were comfortable in each, and the shower head was actually in the ceiling. For the first time in years, I had a shower head higher than I was tall. I attended to everything necessary first, and then relaxed in the powerful jets of warm water. Something about water.....whether playing in the horse trough as a little boy, then the pond, the bathtubs, the Jacuzzi, showers all over the county and best of all, Summer rain storms, I was born to love being in water.

Apparently my man felt something similar at the moment. He joined me without me even realizing he was in the bathroom with me. I was facing the wall with the water controls, and felt two strong arms wrap around me from behind. I didn't know I could relax further, but apparently I could; I pressed my back into Marc's thoroughbred chest and covered his arms with my own.

"Thought you might need your back washed, Babe."

"Neither my back nor I will pass up that opportunity."

Marc stepped backward just a little and reached for the soap on the little shelf above the faucet handles. I leaned forward and rested my hands against the wall while Marc performed firm yet gentle ministrations from my neck to below my ass (his ass. it's his. all of me is Marc's.). I moaned just a little, not only because I wanted Marc to know how much pleasure his touch afforded me, but also because I was incapable of not moaning when my man touched me intimately.

The bar of soap was massaged along my skin, covering great territory as it moved North to South. Marc was in no hurry as he charted his route, and I was along for the ride with about as much interest in reaching the destination anytime soon. Ah, but once you're there, Marc.....stop, rest and stay awhile. Please.

"Marc....."

"Right here....."

"I'm ready for `whenever', but I'm wonderin' if maybe you n' I could.....y'know.....just....."

Before I could finish (using words I had yet to formulate, a condition as a result of hypoxia from the sudden lack of blood in my head), Marc released his grip on my chest and reached for the bottle of hair conditioner on the little shelf.

Oh, god.

Seconds later, we initiated a recreation of that infamous moment in the suite bathroom at the Billings Sheraton. I felt comfortable we would not be barged in on/interrupted/surprised/shocked/proudly embarrassed this time. Marc nudged me gently, and I pushed backward with the same pressure. We held that for a moment. Marc dropped his hands to my hips and (also gently) pulled me all the way back onto him.

Oh, god!

Marc was inside me, or some of him was, and soft thrusts brought him fully until he bottomed out in my bottom. Fuck, yeah. I pulsed my hole to send a message of, `now you're here, now you're mine, and no, you're not leaving'. Now it was Marc's turn to groan, followed by a kiss on my neck.

"Babe, this is the appetizer before the spaghetti and meatballs and the Spumoni. You'll get the real treat later when we can get busy with some kissin'. It's your face that got all my attention when I was out running and getting lost, and I can't get enough of that. I wanted to get in here and get clean with you."

"Oh? It seems to me like you just wanted to get `in'."

"Well.....there's that, too. I don't think you can feel how nice it is in here, although if I know you, you've tried to find out for yourself....."

"Repeatedly. I can blow myself, but haven't yet managed to get the airplane into the hangar."

"`The train inside the tunnel'?"

"`The submarine into the drydock'."

"Yeahhhh.....that last one doesn't really work. You're not getting THAT submarine anywhere if it's dry. I shudder to imagine....."

"Let's not and say we did. Well, until the treat later, can you stay right here, just like this, just a little while longer?"

"Until the water runs cold, Babe."

That's precisely what we did. Marc stayed a very nice negative eight inches inside my Comfort Zone, just resting there, giving me nothing but pleasure, contentment and love. I tried to return that. This man, a month in my life, belonged. My entire family, my best friends, welcomed Marc. The community embraced him after he neutralized a threat to a beloved businesswoman, and told a school board to reach higher and try harder, that ultimately, it was failing to keep teachers and students from failing even harder. My Marc did that.

Eventually the water ran colder, but not quite so cold we began shivering, and we faced a choice: get out, dry off and dress again, or warm up---maybe just barely, but with great pleasure---by creating a little friction that hair conditioner would be challenged to mitigate. Marc kissed my neck and pulled me tighter into a nice hug, then stepped back and---regrettably---out.

"C'mon, Jozef.....let's drink a Spin and talk. We have an entire evening and night together."

I smiled and nodded. I wasn't disappointed, but I missed him immediately when we separated. I loved Marc inside me, even immobile and momentary. We dried each other off and got into fleece loungey pants and t-shirts. God, we looked so domestic. It was kind of adorable, really. One entire wall of the guest bedroom was mirrored, an inspired design idea to enhance the light in a room that faced North and was in a wall hidden behind huge trees and other greenery. Marc and I stood looking at ourselves in our nearly-identical laze-around-the-house attire. I stepped behind my man and wrapped my arms around him, keeping my eyes on his in the mirror, and kissed his ear.

"Boyfriend, I think those guys are in love."

"I think so, too. Falling deeply, for certain."

The quiet moment endured a moment or two later. I guess I am kind of a voyeur, really; I liked watching us, my man in my arms, his head rested back against the side of my face and both of us `in for the night', so to speak. Considering all the excitement of the past few weeks, a few hours of having to go nowhere or see anyone was welcome. Marc took off for the kitchen and I stopped in the office-cum-library to queue up some music for the old radio. With a playlist decided, I joined Marc as he poured the 7-Up Spins (half liter of 7-Up, at least three scoops of vanilla ice cream, rainbow sherbet or raspberry sorbet---my favorites---in a blender). He poured the drink between two larger glasses, and we plotzed back in the office on the dark green mohair-upholstered, over-stuffed love seat. Just to be juvenile, I moved my right leg over Marc's left. He laughed and parked a hand on the inside of my thigh, squeezing it tenderly. I rested my head against Marc's shoulder and snuggled closer to him. Heh.....as if that were possible. I was beyond content to inhabit his loungey pants and t-shirt, right along with him.

"Marc, I'm ready whenever you are. I think. Sounds serious, but if it were an utmost concern, you'd have made sure I knew that by now."

"It's a concern, but not quite that much. At least, I don't think it is. I've done this three times already, so my level of comfort and familiarity won't be yours. My agent and publisher are wanting more.....involvement from me for this series of books than the previous titles."

"Okay.....so, a commitment for more titles beyond the three?"

"Possibly. Probably, actually. Nothing has been proposed solidly for it, but my agent seems to think a series of ten books would be nice. `Nice', he says. He doesn't have to write them; he sits back and collects his cut. Which he deserves, actually; I don't mean to make it sound like he does nothing. He actually pitched the idea to Harvard Press in the first place. But it's not just me writing them.....they want a limited tour promoting and lecturing."

"Ohhhh.....I get it. You write one title, then tour and talk, and that drives sales and interest. Then it spawns subsequent titles, and more tours and lectures. Soon you become the ouroboros, the serpent eating its own tail. Am I close, Marc?"

"Dangerously, Jozef. What they want....."

".....is what you want?"

"That's why we're talking. This is no longer solely about what I want, Babe."

"I don't know how this is even a question; you've devoted your entire academic career, both as student and professor, to the subject of history and its documentation. Honestly, I don't know all that is involved, but you're what, 32 years old? A demand for a series of publications and a lecture circuit for anyone at that age with your accomplishments would be the envy of anyone not named Marcus Tyler Taylor. I think so, anyway. Has this conversation with your agent and the publisher even reached the stage of discussing the tour and lectures, and scope of work?"

"`Scope of work', says the seventeen-year-old farm boy who should be the one touring and lecturing."

"About what would I tour and lecture? Raising crops and steers? Composting my dead relatives?"

"Entirely engaging to any audience, considering your command of the language and easy communication with friend and stranger alike. I don't really think you realize what you have going on, Jozef."

"I have a faint idea, but it's not my focus now. At one time, I thought I'd do different things with my life, but now I have commitments to keep, and nothing will deter me from them----or them from me. I'm not entirely altruistic or magnanimous. I expect a return from my land for my toils and tears."

"That. THAT right there is a perfect example of poetry and prose, flowing effortlessly from your tongue. In my many years of attending lectures, meeting minds far greater than my own and doing my level best to combine twenty-six letters of an alphabet into something worth reading, you rest your ass on the tailgate of your truck four weeks ago, and I've been unable to resist you ever since."

"Have you tried?"

"Not once."

"Were you able to try?"

"Yes."

"Will you try in future?"

"No. Wait.....you sound like you're at the unemployment office, taking my weekly benefits claim....."

"HA! Can't slide anything past you!"

"How would you even know that stuff??"

"Did you ever see Mel Brooks' `History Of The World, Part I'?"

"Yeah.....long time ago.....oh, yeah! I remember now! Very clever of you, Babe."

"If nothing else, you'll never be bored with me, Boyfriend."

"Ridiculous notion. So.....we need to go over this, Jozef. Nothing has been put in a contract yet. We're negotiating at this point. But the big picture is this: For each book, minimum of three hundred pages, I lecture on a single evening each of ten to fifteen universities and/or libraries. Five weeks."

"That leaves forty-seven weeks....."

"For research and writing, and lecture generation. Um, there's kinda more, Babe....."

"Heh.....I can just imagine! They want you to do it at Harvard!"

Silence.

Silence so deafening, I could hear the camera shutter click on the James Webb telescope. Oh, fuck. Fuck me. And not the good kind, either.

"Marc....."

"Jozef, this is negotiation. I didn't say `yes'."

"Did you say `no'?"

"No....."

"Ah. Well, there you said it, so at least we know you can say `no'."

I moved my head from his shoulder and laid it straight back against the sofa cushion, staring at the ceiling. I knew.....knew right then.....I was already over-reacting. I did the same the first time I saw crops laying down after a hail storm. Dad and Grandpa anticipated that, and I didn't disappoint them with my prepubescent hysteria. Still in puberty at seventeen, but having learned a little in the past six years, I took a deep breath, counted to five and raised my head up to look at Marc.

"Cheap shot, Marc. I'm sorry. Please, keep talking, and I'll stop talking."

"For now."

"For now, agreed."

"Harvard is offering me Full Professor with tenure."

"Oh.....damn. That IS big, Marc. Is that conditional on you writing and lecturing? Are you obligated to teach classes, as well?"

"Negotiations would likely include that from them, but I am not inclined to agree to it."

"But they could make all this conditional; teach in a lecture hall, week-in, week-out, or `no deal'."

"They could, but: I have no contractual obligation to Harvard, the publisher or my agent. I wrote three books, and they published them. They want more. With the risk of arrogance, they want some polish on their prestige, and of course money from the series."

"And at least one appearance on Oprah!"

"Um, well, PBS, at the very least. I wouldn't mind talking with Oprah, though. Again. We've met."

"You've met Oprah Winfrey?? Or should I say, Oprah met Marc Taylor??"

"Yes.....a few, ummm, times....."

"Why would you two be meeting?!"

"Well, the first time was when she got her honorary doctorate. She spoke at graduation. There was a faculty reception, and I may or may not have backed right into her when I was trying to get out of the way of First Lady Michelle Obama, who had fallen against me because Doris Kearns Goodwin slugged her shoulder instead of mine....."

"Wait.....you know D.K. Goodwin? I wrote a report for my senior year journalism class on her 2014 book, `The Bully Pulpit'. I think she did a lot to inform my politics, as well as understanding the integrity of investigative journalism. Too bad about the plagiarism scandal....."

"She actually inspired me to check, double-check, triple-check and then check my editors' work to make sure I wasn't lifting anything from someone else's work without giving corresponding credit. But a good person and a good writer, regardless."

"That must've been some scholars' reception. Would I be surprised by anyone else in attendance?"

"Well.....I have the guest list somewhere, if you'd like to see it.....those events are great for networking. No historian does it all on his own. I met Ken Burns that night, too. He rushed to help keep Oprah upright after I body-checked the poor woman."

"Um, `The' Ken Burns?"

"The very. Soooo.....that's something more.....he is also interested in collaborating on a new series. He says it'll likely be his last. He's not quite as young as you or I. That option does not include lecturing or touring, but he controls the history subject, and has to happen faster. So both are good, or could be; but both have their compromises, too. Everything does. Except you, Jozef. There is no compromise with you. I have no obligation to Harvard, Harvard Press, Ken Burns, PBS, or Oprah Winfrey."

"That's nice. Really nice. I'm humbled by that, Marc; and I believe you believe that. However.....while I'm not a compromise, perhaps, I'm also not an opportunity to further your work. Sounds to me like you don't have all the information yet, so you can make an informed decision."

"So, my agent is collecting that now. What they want, when the deadline is, who's editing, what schools and libraries they're thinking of, and what my classroom obligations would be. I don't know any of that. I mention this because I've been approached, so I'm approaching you."

"I hope sincerely you're not giving me the responsibility of deciding for you."

"No, but I am ASKING you to tell me candidly your thoughts, from what you know now to the point I make a decision after getting more information. This is an opportunity, yes; but you're my man, Babe. Nothing I do, nothing I want, can be considered unless I know how you feel."

"You haven't mentioned money."

"Because I don't know that yet. What they want, all parties, comes at a high price. They can afford it. A price too high for me, though, is any hindrance to this relationship with you. I can write books and submit them for publishing, and it's likely they'll be printed and sell well."

"But that wouldn't come with a post-doctoral, full professor with tenure position. At least, not probably, and not at Harvard."

"I don't know."

"So at this point, you're not needing to make a decision, Marc; you need more information from everyone else."

"Particularly from you."

"Okay, well.....based on what I know now, which ain't much, here's information for you. Five weeks away while you get some good use out of those suits. You'll need at least three more, by the way. So, five weeks. A semester on campus professin' your love of History and Academia, not including the lecture circuit. Let's say another month of having to travel for research. Conservatively, and I'm always conservative, five months away."

"I.....think I can see how you came to that number. That sounds realistic, though it `sounds' a lot of things to me at this moment, and not all of them warm-and-fuzzy."

"Let's look at this another way. Five months doing what you love, what you seem born to do, what you're good at, and what will benefit other people in the knowledge through research that you share with them in the form of a book or ten. Does that sound realistic?"

"Ummm.....well.....yes."

"If we had not met, Marc, would this even be a question?"

"Probably not one I'd think much about, no. This possible project would take me into my Forties, if not Fifties. Five months out of the year. You can take me seventy years into my Nineties, twelve months out of the year. We have to get back to the Sheraton for that one particularly special suite."

"Or we could go to a Motel 6 and still celebrate a life with each other. That celebration is what I want. So, Marc; based on what you know, what you've told me, pursue this. Harvard didn't go to anyone else. Certainly not Doris Kearns Goodwin. They want YOU. So does Ken Burns. Who knows what Oprah wants, except probably to remain upright after receiving her hundredth honorary doctorate degree. They get you for five months, but I have you for twelve, give or take a few hundred miles of distance. FaceTime, phone calls, weekend visits from me to you. You're gonna get to your Forties or Fifties anyway; get there while doing something you love. Farm W isn't going anywhere, and I truly believe I'm not, either, Marc. You're my man and I am yours."

Tears nearly gushed from Marc's eyes. It wasn't my intention. I was already planning on getting wet involuntarily from sea level rises, but one source of salty water is just as surprising as another. And then---of course---I can't let him founder at sea on his own, so I had to react to his reaction, and that resulted in me moving quickly so I was straddling his thighs with my arms around his neck. We didn't speak. I thought everything important to say at that moment had been said, considering there was still more information to glean. So, we hugged, smiled at each other, wiped our eyes and noses, and drank our Spins. They had nothing to do with the spinning my mind was doing. Marc had been, and was possibly still, the career antithesis to my own; traveling, talking, meeting, doing. That's Marc. Farming and studying? That's me. Opposite careers, but complementary men, bound by love and commitment.

Ah. Commitment. A discussion for, perhaps, another time; but one that needed consideration. The implications of that word and all it entails can't NOT be considered and discussed. Now that Marc had enjoyed some (perfect, if I may say) farm boy ass, would he want other opportunities? Maybe. Would I? I couldn't see that happening. The puzzle pieces in Marc's heart fit the pieces in mine just fine. It wasn't just his cock that endeared and enjoined me to him; it was his thorough spanking of Junior. His running the school board through the corral pen and branding them a collective idiot. And it was Marc who was not asked if he wanted to hang with my family and friends, but who was told, `You're hangin' with us. You're one of us now.' Yeah, we'd discuss commitment.

I felt Marc's cock growing in his fleecy pants, crowding against my hole in my fleecy pants. I don't think we were feeling particular sexy right then; probably mostly just energy from getting through a conversation neither of us knew how to have, and knowing then that it would be continued with more to consider. There are no simple moments in history, and there is no simple interpretation of it. We all do things or react to things for specific reasons, and voila, History. It's an academic art, the study of the past; but in one regard at least, it's science, and by observing something, we change it. That Summer, Harvard came to Montana, and it was discussed that a Montanan would possibly return to Harvard, and another would go to visit sometimes. I hoped so. I hoped that on our seventieth anniversary, we'd visit the museum in Billings and see a long row of Marc's books there, maybe bookended by two original Remington sculptures.

"Babe, it's still early. I'm thinking dinner at 6:00PM. Would that time work for you, and then we can go for a walk, come back and talk more, eat Spumoni, maybe some lovin', and---if we dare---some sleep, too?"

"I like the agenda as proposed. Anything I can do to help with dinner?"

"It's really all done, except for the meatballs going in to bake and then the pasta to boil. The Bolognese is in the CrockPot."

"Bolognese AND meatballs?? Fuck, yeah! My lucky day!"

While we talked more, I relaxed myself off of Marc's thighs and back down beside him. I doubt he even felt me on them.

"Would you like another Spin, or some iced tea? Water?"

"I'm fine, but thank you for asking. Marc, our previous conversation included some of your childhood. Is it all right to ask you about that period of it?"

"Of course."

"Everything happened so fast for you. Your grandparents come to town, essentially to rescue you from.....well, harming yourself. Very brave of them, and very brave of you to pour your heart out to them. Your mother appears at your home, beckoned with no option to say `no' to your grandparents. After a vicious confrontation with her, the four of you go to dinner. Your mother did a very fast 180º. How did the rest of the night go?"

"I seemed to sober up pretty quickly once food was poured into me. It was my birthday dinner. My mother forgot yet again, and didn't know my age. Grammy looked like she wanted to slap my mother right across Lake Union and into Lake Washington. Grampy steered the conversation toward school. Nothing in public about why they were in town, nor my health challenges. I told all three of them about projects I had lined up to do, but whose participation in and completion of seemed unlikely with me `going away' for awhile."

"I can never guess another person's reasons for their reactions, but your mother's seem to be completely detached from you. Was she.....just unprepared to be a mom?"

"I don't really know. The following morning, The Grandies drove me to Seattle Children's Hospital. A nurse concierge admitted me and discussed the entire process and procedure of in-patient chemical dependence treatment, as well as treatment for depression with suicidal ideology. My mother looked like a bunny in the headlights. She asked questions, but they were less about me and more about the organization. She seemed at her cheeriest when she pointed out that Boeing, where both she and my father worked, donated millions to the hospital. Grampy just steeled his eyes at her and said, `well, isn't it nice your son's very life is the practical return on that investment?'.

We toured much of the facility, met two doctors and a child psychologist specializing in suicide among kids. I think all of it---particularly the last part---just froze my mother. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head, wondering how my hospitalization might affect her or Dad's careers. Within the hour, we'd completed a circuit of the part of the hospital where I'd be, and it was time to say goodbye. It wasn't like prison; I could have visitors anytime I wanted, or if it was appropriate to the moment. The Grandies said they had flights already booked for two weeks and four weeks, the latter of which was when I'd be sprung out of there.

My mother's reaction was still dazed, and she made no specific commitments of when she would be visiting; just that she and Dad would be by to check on me'. It happened twice. We were all uncomfortable with it. I'd never been the center of their attention', and none of the three of us knew what to do now that I was. I really just wanted them gone. I didn't hate them, Jozef; I knew what they were, but I didn't know who they were. I never did; even to their dying day, we were mutual enigmas."

"Did your other grandparents come see you?"

"No.....they were traveling, and if I remember right, they were in their home in Malta. That's where my father's mother was from. I don't know if they ever knew what had happened. It never came up. They were.....well, somewhere half-way between my parents' and The Grandies' level of compassion and concern for me on a good day. I don't think they knew of bad days. Bad days weren't conducive to making money or having power. Bad days' were what they paid other people to have on their behalf. That sounds cold and calculating, but it's true, really. Empathy' was a mis-spelled four-letter word. As much as my parents were pissed off I'd been getting drunk on the expensive potato vodka, my other grandparents would've applauded me for having exquisite taste; but within the same sentence of praise, I'd have been derided for being weak and allowing expensive booze to have power over me.

It's funny, now that I think about it: The Grandies loved me. My parents ignored me. My other grandparents struggled to find a place for me in their ledger columns: was I an asset? Depended on my grades and future in their family business. Was I a liability? Yeah, most definitely. Within the only six people on the planet to whom I was related genetically, they ran from extremes to extremes. Trust me: many hours were spent in conversation with the shrink about my abandonment issues, and how both alcohol and depression fought each other for dominance."

"Marc, I'm asking about this because I want to know you; certainly, though, I don't want to upset you. We can stop this."

"What, you don't want to know me anymore?!"

"Smart-ass. Of course I do. As much as I can. You're going to know everything about me. Not today and not next week. Just `along the way' toward seventy years. Something I've been thinking about, though, since last we talked about this episode of your young life to that point: Your Taylor grandparents would've gladly taken you with them back to Montana. I can actually hear them wanting that, and at least on the surface, that'd sound like a good idea to me."

"In that one regard, my grandparents weren't as stellar as all the other times. They were trying to `engineer' a relationship between my parents and me, because Tradition and History say a nuclear family is what runs the planet, regardless of species of fauna. They wanted my parents to miraculously and spontaneously accept their responsibilities to me, and to finally love and support me. That wasn't going to happen in Fergus County. The other reason, if you can believe there were two of them, was because I needed the kind of help that wasn't likely to be available here. Also, I wasn't exactly in the fifth percentile of students at my academy. Every class I took was honors or enriched or advanced or anything-other-than-standard.

Sounds elite and snobby, which is not my intention, but being an educator herself, my grandmother was insistent that I keep my place on track to graduate, which would get me some good offers from universities. It did exactly what she said it would. Seattle University, then University of Washington, then Harvard. Each school layered upon the one just prior. Knowing Lewistown and Fergus County as I do now, I wonder if I'd have made a different college path. If I could've seen the future, I wonder if I'd have grown up here, just so I could go running like I did four Sundays ago, and meet my farm boy."

That was definitely worth a kiss, so he got one.

"Were the thirty days in the hospital miserable for you?"

"Not at all. Well, the first week was. My body was going through two changes. One was a sudden stop of alcohol consumption. It's everything you read about; your body is trying to repair itself from perpetual poisoning, and it's not gonna let you forget what a complete dick you were to it. The other change: puberty. I was already well into it by that point, but it didn't stop just for a hospital stay. My body was trying to repair cells and grow new ones at the same time. I had a migraine for one solid week. A few times, it hurt so much, I just passed out entirely. It was a big concern for the medical team. To be fully candid, Jozef; I was in four-point restraints a few times in my hospital bed. There was no knowing if I'd hurt myself voluntarily or involuntarily. If you ever want to see a movie from a different point of view, watch `The Exorcist' and imagine yourself as the little girl. That's how I was in bed, and how I felt. All the fucking time for that first week, and part of the second."

Now, THAT was scary. Not the movie aspect, but that Marc was medically out of control for a brief period of time. My college professor is not the boy he was. I could not imagine any of his life and experiences. It certainly helped me, if not forced me, to do the whole `compare and contrast' thing between his home life and mine. It's not to say my home life was perfect. My father had a serious temper issue, which Mom could manage most of the time. It drove my older brother away as soon as he graduated high school, and I suspected Dad had something to do with Gus leaving, too.

But that moment was not about my family; this was Marc letting me peek inside his own history. Although he welcomed me, I knew well enough that realizations and revelations are both limited in appeal and offer.

"Marc, in only one month, you and your medical team were trying to save your fourteen-years-long life. All of it. I can't imagine the trauma you experienced."

"I can't, either. It's why I FaceTime with my therapist once a week. Sometimes twice. I am not codependent on him, any more than I am my dentist or osteopath. He's a professional who is not paid what he is worth. I have really good insurance through Harvard."

"This conversation was precipitated by you seeing a little frame in your apartment downstairs. How did you go from in-patient care to being in a non-medical program for alcoholics in recovery?"

"When I was being released, the doctor told my parents that I would need continued care, and an option was a twelve-step program for me, and an associated program for them. My father actually said, What do I need a program for? I wasn't the one sneaking $150.00 bottles of vodka out of the pantry!' Mom glared at him, but didn't exactly say that at least she'd participate. Really, there wasn't time for them to go to meetings, and I knew their work and social schedules would not be altered. Since I would not be living with them after release, my access to or temptation by that goddamned expensive potato vodka would be mitigated, and I could be invisible to them just as easily living on campus at the academy. I didn't exactly see it this way at the time, but it was a win-win'. If I wasn't living at home, I wasn't a visible reminder to my parents that there was a program for them that would actually help me---by helping themselves. Unless there was a prescription written for a twelve-step program, my parents weren't going to be involved---there wasn't, and they weren't.

So, I tried the old tried and true' program for a month after leaving the hospital. I understood it in theory, but in practice.....I never got past the part of giving up my challenge to a higher power. To me, if there's a higher power, why wasn't it powerful enough to prevent a kid from becoming addicted to alcohol in the first place, or from suffering clinical depression so deep that he was within hours of killing himself on his birthday? It seemed to me that my paternal grandfather was a higher power', too; but him, I could see and talk to. They were both the same in one regard, though: ineffective in being involved enough in my young, little life to use their power to keep me safe, happy and living toward a good future.

After a month, I got my Thirty Day Chip, and I was proud to have lasted on my own for one month outside of the hospital, not drinking. I sent it to my grandparents as a kind of proof that it worked because I worked it, and I kept coming back. Well, for awhile. Because I had regular outpatient visits with my medical team, and because Boeing's health insurance for families is even better than Harvard's, I could have my weekly sessions. My therapist and I agreed that there were other options to twelve-step programs, and we explored a few. I finally hit on one that has been successful for me for eighteen years, in combination with my weekly virtual therapy appointments. The only downside is, there are no opportunities in Lewistown to meet with others for mutual support. We FaceTime, though; it works well enough. Maybe better than well enough; my group is comprised of people all over the world. Even the Vatican! Anyway, it's not a contest of which program delivers the better results; that's because I alone deliver the results for myself."

"Do you feel you have all the control you need to prevent yourself from relapsing back?"

"No, I don't have all the control I need. That's why I'm in therapy and a program. I may never be fully self-reliant. There are other issues, Jozef; it's not just about the alcohol. It was parental neglect and abandonment, too. And for the record, because my parents weren't wired to be parents---other than conceiving a kid---they didn't know what they didn't know about what happens from nine months later onward. The clinical depression is a chemical imbalance in my brain. That exacerbated the dependence on vodka and the feelings of abandonment. It's all connected. None of those three can `take one for the team'; it's all of them or none of them. There is no cure for them; with the help of others, I manage the symptoms."

There was so much to consider in what Marc was telling me. I hoped we'd have more conversations like this one. My man seemed secure in himself enough to share his experience with me, and that alone kept me engaged in the theory of his experience, as well as his practice of it.

"How was school when you returned?"

"Because I'd completed all my homework assignments while in the hospital, my absence wasn't felt academically. As for my classmates.....because I rarely did anything with any of them, most of them didn't notice my absence. I said nothing; but if someone asked me a question, they got an innocuous answer, and then everyone just kept walking down the hallway to the next class, never to be discussed again. Only my teachers expressed any concern or polite benevolence. I felt they were truly sincere, which I appreciated. The hormones surged forward for years to come, and over time, my body continued healing itself from the damage I'd done. School was not unbearable; if anything, it was better and I enjoyed it more. I threw myself into it and solidified my 4.0 GPA early. I wanted my senior year to be cake and nothing but cake, and it was. From the first day of my senior year, I was taking twelve credits of college courses at Seattle University, too. The Grandies bought me a car so I could zip back and forth across the floating highway. Everything was improving, and I lived for improvements."

"So we both essentially started college a year earlier, just by different routes and formulas. Marc, it's curious to me that never once after, nor any time since, have you visited your grandparents in Montana. You said they came to you."

"That's correct. They decided to make a concerted effort to be involved in my life here; to see what I enjoyed of the area, of my school, since those were the elements I was in. They felt I wouldn't be `me' here, and that I'd be bored out of the regimented academy life and the big city I was living in. I think I could've been happy here, Jozef. I see plenty of mostly happy people in Fergus County.

"Did the relationship with your parents ever change?"

"No, we never grew close. Christmas and birthdays were perfunctory and brief. I prayed they would be. Both were celebrated in public so they wouldn't have to be alone with me. But I'd also get a cab to take me to the house just before or just after holidays, when my parents were likely to be out. Then it was the gardener, the cook and me, with a home-cooked meal and laughter and gift exchanges. So while the relationship with my parents never changed, I'm pleased to say that my relationship with my only friends didn't change, either. I am neither worse off nor better off. The status quo has been blissfully, or at least comfortably, maintained."

I had a million more questions for my man, but I had (I hoped) a million more opportunities for us to have more getting-to-know-you' conversations. All that mattered to me; all I cared about was Marc having survived a race toward a dead end. So much talent and even more potential in my man, and that wasn't just him as a boy; our earlier discussion about the proposed writing project indicated that more and greater promise was to be found in my intellectual man by other intellectual men. And then there was me. A farm boy. I knew what was to be found in Marc; in his heart, more of my own's presence. In his wardrobe, more of my clothes. In his future, seventy years of us'.

Before dinner, we discussed a proposed future of research, writing and presentation. We also discussed an acknowledged and justified past of pain, depression and loss. `That which does not kill us makes us stronger', says numerous bumper stickers and dining room wall decals. I don't see how what almost killed Marc, vodka and depression, made him stronger. If anything, understanding them has made Marc better aware of what he lacks and needs---and is getting from professionals. He has said, once or twice, that he lacked a farm boy that he needed, but now that he has one, everything else is falling into place quite nicely.

Maybe that's why he felt no anxiety about telling me of the lecture and book and teaching offers; because he got his farm boy. Maybe I'm foundational to Marc, both as a man and as a professional historian. Maybe he knows already that like my land, solidly in place for me, I am the same for him. Plant and grow your roots deep with me, Marc. They'll be here waiting for you, just like I will, when your lecture circuit and classroom obligations are completed. Live the life you created for yourself, from the culmination of years of study and writing and teaching. Wasn't it Sting who wrote a song containing the wisdom of loving somebody and setting them free, and if they return to you, they loved you, too? Something like that? Just don't treat each other like a possession.

I have money. Marc has money. Alaska Airlines flies from Montana to Seattle to Boston. Yeah, I can see it's entirely and safely and assuredly and necessarily possible that Montana goes to Harvard. I told you that I am Marc's, and Marc is mine, but we're not each other's possessions. Marcus Tyler Taylor and Jozef Stanislaw Wojtowicz are each other's soulmates, and a little farmin' here and a little learnin' there---and a whole lotta lovin' all over the place---will all work some mystical unicorn magic in those two lives.

Or is it just one life now?

I think it is.