Harvard Comes To Montana

"Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Forty

By

Griz

The only reason you can read this is because nifty.org exists. The only reason I write this is because you want to read it. The common denominator is nifty.org. Please, please, please support this non-profit organization that exists solely so you and I can get together. You, I, Hundreds of other writers, Thousands of other readers, network through nifty. I said 'please', and I meant please. But now: get out your goddamned plastic money and send some.

Please.

.....from Chapter Thirty-Nine:

Our family. Many good people, all loving each other, beneath more than a few different surnames, but within one family. Until July, the only family and future I really felt I had confidently was Mom, Dad and me. Time will reduce that confidence as she takes more of us, and it's a battle we'll never win. We can only balance Time's Arrow aimed at each of us with our future generations to, still and yet still more, be just more crops in rotation. Wheat, Rye, Oats, Team Jozef.

You got me here, Dad. I enjoyed our rides. I will remember them and you forever. Now, though.....I don't have enough days in a month for all the rides I can have with these people who crowd in my heart, but I'll be damned if I'm not gonna get each of 'em out on horses, just like you and I did. And someday.....it'll be me and Ned 2.0, your grandson. The first, if I have my way, of a house full of grandkids on Farm and Team Jozef.

We'll figure it out.

My moment with my big brother, I hope, will be one that I remember to my dying day. I thought he had a lot more faith in me than I had in myself, and I have a self-confidence that borders on arrogance. Others might think so, anyway. It wasn't because I was the youngest. In many cases, the last-born is babied, favored, coddled and privileged more than his siblings who preceded him. I think my assuredness was because my siblings were gone. For the most part, I was an only child. At least for outward appearances from the age of nine to seventeen. There was no coddling for me. There was only a list of chores and responsibilities that grew as I did. My folks never made me feel like I was just convenient labor, nor born because maybe the satellite dish wasn't bringing in any programming that day nine months prior, so up to the hayloft my parents went. Ned and Marie, my grandparents, our neighbors and friends, my horse and my steer, made certain I had everything I needed to move our land into another generation. If it failed, chances would be very slim that I, personally, caused the farm's failure. If I failed, however.....

So, there wasn't time while growing up to wonder if I was making the right decisions. There was time only to make a decision, but one built on by the results of those who came and went before it. Gather the eggs first, or fill the horses' water troughs? Milk the Guernsey, or feed Sebby? Throughout my years, all those important choices took care of themselves. All our animals, whether they knew it or not, would be fed and cared for on my watch. Then I was driving farm machines, following my dad on the one he was jockeying. 'Just watch me, Kiddo; do what I do. You don't have to figure it out on your own'.

Ah. Those were the days, my friend. I thought they'd never end. And then, they did, and only weeks ago. I have not grieved my father's death. There hasn't been time, just like there wasn't time for him to live longer and meet the grandchildren I would give him and Mom. That Summer, I looked over my shoulder a time or two to see if Dad was behind me, Master now following Student, on the old blue Ford tractor while I ran the bailer ahead of him. Force of habit, I guess. I knew Dad wasn't following me anymore, but I wondered if Time was stalking me. Not that I had to follow Dad's example and depart early, but maybe I knew I'd have to stop, breathe, cry, breathe some more, cry some more, and continue growing the fuck up. Maturity is a life-long process. Mr Raver told me that. You get your diploma on the day you graduate, in more than a few senses of the phrase; so do your best to be ready.

Grieving must be done; it's part of the Life Experience. If I didn't grieve Dad, would anyone grieve me? I had to deserve grief, I felt. I still feel that, as every day is one closer to someone over me on the West Forty, talking about what I had accomplished in All My Years, whatever number that turn out to be. Dad deserved the 1,000+ people who showed up to send him off far sooner than anyone could have expected. I'd be happy if for my burial by my people, it would be my husband, my kids, my brother and, if possible, my Little Guy---the Bernese who adopted me just as fast as I adopted him. Kinda gettin' ahead of myself. I wasn't dying that Summer. I was a healthy, maturing (though slowly), stabilizing and settling, inspired and hopeful seventeen year old on a 130 year old farm in Fergus County.

Maybe I'd go to college and get that degree in business. Maybe I'd stay with my head behind the plow and in the soil, and partner with my big brother to focus on land and family, succeeding with Hope, Effort and Luck. We had 1,000 more acres. I had a man with almost as many university degrees. Maybe the only paper I needed on the wall was a calendar, on which I'd write the market prices for crops, just like we'd done for decades, and then take our harvest to market when the number seemed right. Just right. If I made the decision to get the degree, I knew I'd still be writing numbers on a calendar. If nothing else, a college education would probably improve my penmanship. Legible writing can't be overestimated, even if it costs hundreds of dollars per college credit to achieve, I suppose. My boy and my girl were going after their educations, working land and slinging coffee, and they were facing parenthood and with it, sudden adulthood, together. I'll include myself in their 'together'; they're on Team Jozef, after all (according to my big brother, who Shall Not Be Contradicted).

For that morning, noticeably cooler as we approached Autumn, my future was not in question. We were focused on Aleksy's and Eva's. Despite all the advances in technology, science and medicine, ours were a humble people who appreciated a history when those advancements weren't even imagined possible. While I didn't buy into the mythology of our faith, I also didn't rule out the possibility some of the book was true and real, whether it could be proven or not. No one needed to prove that people need to be married before they have kids; that was just tradition that some chose for adherence, but no one could prove the tradition was necessary. Aleksy and I.....well, we wanted the confraternity of our faith in as many aspects of our lives as we could get; to be among those who 'get' us, just as we 'get' them. Centuries of just understanding each other got Poland to where it is, and the same could be said of the United States. Everything in any country is determined by the people in them, and how they understand each other---or fail to. Increasingly, it's if they even want to understand each other.

Aleksy and I understood without the need of apologetics or explanation that he wanted tradition. I wanted that for him. I wanted for Aleksy whatever he wanted. Almost half his life was spent without the family he wanted, but which had eluded both him and Dad. I was determined, or at least supportive, that not one more day would pass without Aleksy feeling the family he wanted to create would be the strongest among all our ancestors' generations. That man deserved to give his kids the father he wasn't able to know or understand, and I knew---regardless of an official wedding being the first step---his kids would know only loving, supporting, directing and as-close-to-perfect-as-possible parenting. They'd also have an uncle who would be the first to pull the kids aside and teach them all the words their father knew he would, but shouldn't. It would just be a matter of time, for fuck's sake (that's one of them).

Aleksy and I agreed on a time to meet at my truck for the drive into town, but until then, there were others to consider. I stopped in the barn and got an apple and a couple of carrots for my purple ribbon-winning beast of a steer, and then walked over to his own corral. I had decided that, although both Sebastian and the cows liked being together, he would eventually be separated from them permanently. I eased them apart, although it was a little heart-breaking. I could not do the same for myself and Sebby. Until he became the property of Ross Sweeney, Sebby was my responsibility for nourishment and at least a decent Autumn to follow a hectic Summer. Whether for a day or a week, apples and carrots would be about as much love as I could give for a sentient being whom I knew, years before, was bought and raised for sale and slaughter. I would continue to brush him, and I would continue to talk to him. I hoped we'd play 'Tag' at least once more, and I found myself welcoming those one-ton hip checks that would send me to the ground and remind me that my own 185 pounds meant nothing.

Aleksy made sure the Bernese family were well, and led Max from his barn home back into the yard where Lola Cola and Kids were awake and talking to each other. It's funny, I think, how much a new-born pup and a new-born kitten sound almost identical. A few days later, well, not so much the case. For Max' and Lola Cola's kids, what we cared about most was that they started their day talking to each other. Any silence was, though accepted, never welcome. Heh.....I caught myself thinking how future generations of people on Team Jozef needed future generations from Max' stock. Lola Cola's, too, though of diminishing percentage. There'd always be some of her, descending through the buzzin' dozen in the run by our house. Max woofed once to announce his impending arrival, and Lola Cola just wagged her tail in response. The kids were nipple-bound. Any conversation over breakfast between the parents was irrelevant to them.

34 minutes later, Aleksy and I checked in with Mom one last time before leaving for town, and then climbed into my truck. It was older than the two of us combined, and yet there was no other I wanted. Marc's was older and maintained over the years as if off the showroom floor. Dad's was new and still smelled like it. My truck was old, scraped, dented, loud, oil-hungry, rusted out and fucked in, and a few other things. It was mine and I was its, and St Leo's was our destination.

I could sense that Aleksy was preoccupied by this meeting. It was setting into motion the plan that was interrupted years earlier. Everything had changed since then, and my brother wanted to (essentially) weld a joint back together in a fence gate that was once new, strong and resilient, but didn't last quite as long as intended. Don't throw it out; fix it. Make it stronger than ever, so it can last forever. That's what Aleksy wanted, and if the meeting went well, more plans would be made. If the meeting didn't go well? Too bad, so sad, Tradition. Aleksy and Eva were all that each other needed, and would not be stopped by any 'Thou Shalts'. Not on my watch. One way or another, my kids would have cousins, whether their parents had a full sacrament of marriage first or not. Whether my man and I got that, as well. Kids are a sacrament. Old people are a sacrament. Land and animals, too. At least Aleksy was going to try, and stop for coffee along the way.

We pulled into 'Common Grounds', waiting somewhat patiently behind two other trucks. Eva and Kim were inside, laughing while slinging really good cups of Joe and whatever pastry they were baking that morning. Didn't matter what they baked; it all sold out. Eva had made us some treats earlier, so as much as we wanted just coffee, we also just wanted some more time together. Five minutes for those two were like five years. It made me want Marc there, too. Five minutes apart was agony for a farm boy in love. When it was FINALLY our turn at the window, Eva didn't even ask us what we wanted; she just handed me two insulated to-go mugs with something steamy in them.

"Hi again, Boys! You're my guinea pigs! These are a new kind of container the sales guy wants me to buy. Some hybrid of bamboo and recycled paper. And in them is another experiment: a light roast and a dark roast, together. I'm going for a little acid in the otherwise-mellow flavor, with the decadent richness of real cream. It'll be a little more expensive, but you can see the butter fat floating on top. I think the texture is interesting. Let me know what you think!"

I smiled and embarrassed my brother.

"Darlin', you could give antifreeze to Aleksy and he'd conjure essences of cherry, cinnamon and garlic, just because you served it to him!"

My big brother laughed but turned red, smacking me in the shoulder, but he didn't argue. We all laughed and I assured Eva we'd give a full analysis and report of our impressions with the cups and what was in them. What she said about the real cream wasn't all that new to me; I knew Rand Tuss' grandmother would drink coffee with some butter in it. The idea was weird at the time to me, but so was drinking coffee. 'Grown-ups', I'd lament to myself. 'Whatever.' The rest of the short ride was spent in conversation about Jon and Kelly Sanger's new life. Theirs was a tight family, too; and how they just adopted Toby right in, well, it was nothing short of both amazing and affirming for me. Lightning struck twice that Summer in Fergus County, and folks just accepted Love when they saw it. As much as they were happy to have their new farm to manage (and eventually own, on a lease-to-own contract), their youngest kid had his own kid on the way. 209 miles and three and a half hours separated Hingham from Lewistown, and grandparents don't like distances beyond three city blocks and five minutes. Still, a life's work doesn't stop for a new generation, but for the grandfolks, they'll do everything they can to bend it or slow it down every other month, weather be damned.

We arrived at the big church just in time for the weekday Mass. These didn't last long; not even thirty minutes. No organ, no choir, no first or second readings by someone in the congregation. Just a way for some folks in Fergus County to start their day. Aleksy and I decided to join, since we were early for the meeting with Father Tim. That was our first morning there, since Dad's funeral and Mass. Instead of 800 or so people inside then, we were only twenty that morning. The readings, the homily, all of it, seemed pertinent to our own visit that morning. Something about finding value in our history as a people, and our future. Isn't history what Marc keeps going on and on about, and isn't the future what I talk about, too? Yeah, both of those are true. Time, say scientists, is just a concept. It's nothing without space. Family is not a concept. Neither is a farm. They're time and space, coexisting and codependent. Anyway.....moving on.....because I know: 'give that kid a soap box to stand on, and he won't shut up'. Sorry. (But not really!)

Those were thirty well-spent minutes, because it put Father Tim and us in pre-communion to some get-right-down-to-it communication. Back in the vestry, the area where the pastor keeps his garments and tools of the trade, we sat together. We were offered coffee, which we accepted only because it was offered. Yeah, the Catholic Church might have a lot of money, but sure as hell ain't spent on good coffee. Good god, what awful swill. Maybe it was a test by Father Tim: 'If these farm boys will submit to god-awful coffee, they'll submit to the Rule Book'. Nah, that's not him. This was the pastor who drank Rye with my parents at our kitchen table, swore like the sailor on the USS Nimitz that he never was, and laughed the loudest when someone acted positively human and not quite ready for a paradisical afterlife. Too bad those guys can't have kids; he'd be a really great dad, I thought.

An hour passed, and negotiations between Labor and Management had concluded successfully. I won't pretend I knew all that was entailed in the conversation. I was there in support of my brother and Eva, in any capacity necessary. Father Tim noted that, and suggested that involvement from immediate family into a future branch of the tree was not only right, but necessary.

"The best counsel comes from those who know the question before it's even asked, and offers the answer with an open mind and an open heart, but almost always with a closed mouth. Just being there for each other, as brothers and farmers, will be better than anything I could ever say. But come by if you ever want a second opinion. I'm generally good for those."

With that, we all stood and shook hands, and out the door Aleksy and I walked. Walked? I walked. Aleksy floated all the way down the 109 year old brick steps, across the parking lot and into my truck. All that was missing was some beatific ray of light from the sky shining on him, and a choir of angels belting out something like the 'Hallelujah Chorus'. In the grocery store with Mom's small list, we managed to fill two shopping carts. Aleksy was buying stuff that made zero sense to me: marshmallow fluff and spray cheese-in-a-can? Detergent for a dishwasher we don't even have?? I finally had to say, 'STOP!' when my big brother wanted to buy twenty pounds of ribeye steaks---when we have quite a lot of our own in any or all three of the deep freezers on the farm.

"Oh---am I getting carried away? I guess my mind is wandering."

"Oh, it's clearly lost by now! Are you feathering your own nest now that you got the green light, or did you see some prophesy of a famine tomorrow?"

"Geez, I don't know. Why'd you let me buy this stuff??"

"Because I've never seen that look on your face. Seriously, or maybe not so seriously, you are just about to become a Broadway musical, and spontaneously burst into song and dance. 'Brigadoon' meets 'Oklahoma', with the third act from 'West Side Story'."

"You're so gay."

"Fortunately for everyone in the store. Otherwise, you might feel compelled to act on your own, and who knows what you'd do? Probably rip the sleeves from your shirt, drag your knuckles on the ground and buy cheap beer and chewing tobacco."

"That's awfully judgmental, don't you think?"

"It's just awful. At least my version would be talked about for a week or two. But now you're the dog who chased the car and caught it; Father Tim is onboard with it all. What do you do next?"

"Ask Eva to marry me."

"Do you really think that's what she wants to hear?"

"What---of course! Whaddya think she wants to hear?"

"Probably your esteemed opinion of this silly mug-shaped drink container, or the--and I regret to say this---not-so-great experiment in it. I mean, you're suggesting you should be her husband, but my money is on Eva making a wise business decision first. She can't keep you in the lifestyle to which you've become accustomed if she's selling stuff no one will buy. There are no guarantees for a middle-aged man who is delusional, and doesn't realize he's a kept boy, but his little brother can see it easily."

"Enjoy this, Little Brother. You're safe only because there are people around to prevent me from throttling you. If this were a moonless midnight and at the end of a dead-end alley? Well, let's just say....."

"Let's just say.....you've gone above and beyond contributing to Central Montana capitalism for one morning. We're gonna have to store some of this stuff in the barn. Really, Aleksy; spray starch for ironing?? You bought the last can in existence! Who irons anymore??"

"Eva will; that's soon to be her job. She's gotta be a little farmwife now."

"Oh, I can't WAIT to hear you tell her that. She's gonna have her size seven Birkenstock so far up your ass, you'll taste its cork sole."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. Farmwives are barefoot."

"Oy. Really. Let's get back to the farm before these ten quarts of Nesselrode ice cream melt. I think you bought the last of that stuff, too."

"You're a hater. You just know how to ruin a perfect morning, don't you?"

"Not as well as you know how to ruin a perfect checking account. When Mom gets the bank statement, I bet we'll walk into the kitchen to find that she's shat a load of bricks. All this is on you! I was just pushing the cart! Correction: the carts, fully loaded. I'm not a hater."

"At the very least, you're an enabler."

"If I am, just as in everything else, I'm perfect at it. Ummm.....did YOU like that coffee? I honestly thought Father Tim's was better, and his tasted like a Southern Baptist had peed in it. Or what I imagine it would taste like....."

"So many hits, and Eva finally had a miss. I don't like it, either. I guess my good news will make up for you telling her you didn't like it."

"ME??!"

"Yeah, 'you!!'. I'M not gonna tell her! I just got the official 'go-ahead' that we can marry by the house rules. I don't want this whole thing to stop before it gets started."

"We have to lie, you know....."

"Yeah, because THAT'S the thing to do when you've just received god's seal of approval, at least for the preview, Jeffrey."

We carried on like that for the trip back to the farm. It was a great morning already. Aleksy wanted to just walk into the coffee shack and get down on one knee, but it wouldn't be very memorable (I thought). This was a long time coming, and a lot of heartache separated then and now. Maybe they could've run off to get married when they were just kids themselves, and certainly Eva would not have suffered the way she did with Junior; but because she and my brother's anticipated marriage didn't happen, would Aleksy have gone to college? Would Eva have channeled her torment and pain into something so successful as her very successful business? I guess that's the other thing about Time; when there's so much of it that was lived in regret, there's not as much of it left for what's right. We can't 'Monday morning quarterback' our lives. We can grow a crop carefully and plan on a great harvest, and then comes a hailstorm that wipes out everything you hoped and worked for. The next morning, we get up before the Sun, till the soil until Dark and get ready for the next crop. We don't sit still and do nothing. Aleksy and Eva weren't going to do that, either. I was beyond happy for my big brother; this morning was, quite possibly, the happiest I'd ever seen him. A second chance, albeit with two metaphoric shopping carts full of Tradition, and maybe just in time for Mom to have a full, present and very significant part in yet another change for the farm and family. Marie The Grandmother.....I hoped.

Two things were challenges with that. The first was Eva being able to conceive. Her body rejected the two previous pregnancies. Lots of reasons, as I came to understand, could account for the miscarriages. Although my brother and I are committed to our farm's and family's future, not having kids would not be a deal-breaker for them. Their love was not predicated on the ability to be parents. The second concern was the progression of Mom's impending illness. Lewy Bodies is a dementia only now, and very slowly, being understood. The diagnosis is the easy part; the treatment and prognosis vary from one person to the next, and the same was true of the doctors. In another day, I'd go find out what I could about it. Mom and Aleksy would do the same soon thereafter. I wished we could've all gone together, but we can't all be away from the farm at the same time. I've no doubt Jon, Kelly, Trace, Toby and Tommy would've challenged that assertion, and raced across the prairie in that old Explorer to be farm-sitters for us. Still.....I knew us. We'd all be sitting in a room where we should be worrying about this dementia, but instead we'd be worrying about the farm. Because when you turn your back for even one minute.....well, you know.

We got back and I did my best to prioritize an ice cream I was already certain I was going to either love or hate. What's not to like (or hate) about dried fruit and rum in ice cream? Still---as much as Aleksy spent on it, we were going to eat it---love or hate. All of it crowded in the barn freezer, and then we backed my suffering old truck up to the kitchen door and unloaded the rest. I heard the shower from Mom's room.

"QUICK! She's in the shower! Let's get all this down to the cellar! Maybe she won't notice for a day or two!"

"GOOD IDEA!"

And so we executed our brilliant but nefarious plan, only to be busted when Mom walked out of the pantry, instead. We looked like we were being caught robbing a bank.

"What in the.....what are you boys up to?? What is all that in the truck?!"

I said nothing. I just stepped aside and used my eyes to direct Mom's attention to him. He shot me a look of, 'You traitor.....I'm gonna feed you to your steer.....' From there, my brother had to take a deep breath. He was so wise, so smart, to lead with the news. Of course, Mom just shrieked and raced to hug him, and then me, and then us. Soon we were all bouncing up and down like we were in an inflatable castle at some kid's birthday party. Excessive shopping was all but forgotten as Mom pulled Aleksy to the kitchen table and grabbed the calendar off the wall on the way there. With their focus on the truly important stuff, I unloaded the unimportant stuff and carried it to the cellar. When I finished it all, I returned to the kitchen to see Mom up and smiling radiantly, and preparing lunch. I noticed, though, that the water was still running in her bathroom.

"Mom, why's the shower on?"

"What shower?"

"The one in your room."

"It is....? Ohhh....."

Oh. Fuck.

Aleksy and I glanced at each other. Mom stood and walked to her room. The water stopped, and she returned to the kitchen with a confused look on her face. Aleksy and I stepped in to assist with a lunch we weren't hungry for. At least I wasn't. Mom was flustered, trying to understand the same thing we were. Ever the Smart Son, Aleksy pointed out the elephant in the room, but gently.

"Let's get lunch ready, and then we should talk about that. I think we should also start taking note if things like this happen."

Mom just nodded, and I sliced a tomato, and then a few hard-boiled eggs, and a couple of pickles. I had no idea what I was doing, except filling time. Suddenly I wished there was another truck to unload.

We talked. I asked Mom if she remembered turning the shower on. She didn't. Any other question after that wasn't necessary, if at all possible. Aleksy got his laptop and was just indicating the particulars: date, time, incident, and discussion. He emailed that to Mom and to me. If anything happened again, we could reply to the email with another incident, if there were one. We both held one of Mom's hands and said supportive, but not patronizing, reassurances. I think she was all right with the general reaction, but I think I could see in her face that she wanted Dad there. No one knew her better than he did. No one knew him better than she did. No one knew what was going on, nor what to expect next. We knew, though, that for trips to the church and trips to the doctor's offices, we'd all go together. Maybe, though, Mom's calendar needed sooner dates planned for those than later.

We talked a little longer, and all three of us were relieved to move on to Aleksy's news. There was nothing to stop him from calling and telling Eva, or just going to see her in person (for the third time that day). Timing is everything; when to plant, when to harvest, when to propose, when to realize---finally---a heart's desire that was parked on hold for a very long time. I guess my big brother read my expression or my mind. He nudged me and smiled.

"Don't wait as long as I did. Not nearly as long. You'll know when it's right. I think Mom and the rest of us know you know WHO is right."

Mom nodded, and all three of us noticed the humidity on our eyeballs had increased by some one thousand percent. Geez. Aleksy realized a probability that day, and I accepted for myself a possibility. Then wasn't the time to worry about me, though. It was all about A & E, and I could not have been happier. Mom stood up and raced off to the pantry. We could hear the beep-boop-beep of the keypad on the safe. Moments later, she returned with an old purple Crown Royal sack. She sat back down and pulled the gold cords apart, allowing (encouraging, really) the contents to spill out on the black velvet fabric she brought with her.

I stopped breathing. I'd seen plenty of movies where secreted-away diamonds were suddenly revealed. Life imitated Art, but didn't stop at diamonds. Along with them, the world's rarest sapphires, Yogo Sapphires, tumbled out, too. Then rubies. Both were found naturally in Montana. Montana was the only place in the country, in all of North America, where sapphires could be found. These particular sapphires came from 35 miles South of the farm. The rubies made their way from 25 miles North. Where the diamonds came from, I had no idea. Where they were going was more easily anticipated.

"Boys, here's part of your inheritance, just as it was mine. I doubt you've seen these before. No time like the present to see what will look good on Eva's finger. Yours, too, Aleksy; no reason you can't have a wedding ring with a stone in it. Of course.....there are some other stones that've been set already....."

Mom stood and went this time to her bedroom. She returned with a little red velvet box. My brother and I looked at it and each other.

"Now, don't take this just because I'm offering. It's used, but loved so much. I'm probably just being silly and sentimental....."

"Mom. Yes. That one. The other rocks are nice, but they've never been loved. Please. And thank you."

Mom smiled and handed it to Aleksy, who just parked it on the end of his finger, turning and looking at it. We'd both seen Mom's and Dad's wedding rings, but as far as I knew, we'd never seen the engagement ring. It wasn't what got Dad to 'yes'; that was all him. The ring was just something for Mom to have wrapped around her finger as a reminder that Dad was wrapped around all of them. As if she needed reminding, really; everyone in Fergus County knew that already, too. Three boys were the other reminders. Before Mom put all the gems back in the purple sack, she moved them around so we could see them. She knew the story about each one of them; where it had come from, when and how. Before she made it past the third diamond, I asked if I could do a little documenting. I held my phone up.

"Mom, if it's all right with you, can you start over? I'd like to make a short video of each one of them, and record you telling their stories."

"I think that's a great idea, Youngest. If today can teach us anything, it's that you don't waste time doing what's right, and you don't waste an opportunity to understand the history of the things you have. I have no idea if or when I won't know about these gemstones any longer."

Aleksy and I didn't respond to that. She was right, and yeah, it was the reason I suggested the recordings in the first place. My phone had an adequate charge on it. The old lamp, once oil and rewired for electricity right above the black velvet cloth gave just the right illumination. If any scene was missing from 'The Godfather', this was it..... I set the phone against the salt shaker as a kind of mono-pod. It worked. Mom started again, and moved each stone around with the sharp end of a pencil. As she moved on to each new stone, she lined up the previous ones in a straight line. 45 loose, faceted precious rocks and an hour's worth of video, I pulled the camera back so I got all of them in a visible line, and Mom behind them, smiling. That was that. The file would be too large to email, but I could upload it to iCloud. I had two terabytes of storage available. This file was two gigabytes. I would also make a thumb drive back-up, too. By whatever means, I wanted my great-grandchildren to have an understanding of the gemstones squirreled away in the curious purple velvet sack, in the back of the safe. I had absolutely zero intention of ever doing anything with those stones but keeping them and their history for future generations. What they chose to do with them was their business; alfalfa, rye and wheat were mine. History was Marc's. Yogo Sapphires? Diamonds? Rubies? Of zero value when some meteor crashed into Earth a trillion years ago, with amazing pressure, friction and generated heat, but oh, my; what they meant almost a trillion years later, when the Sun reflected the beauty of that meteor's work, as seen on the fingers of the equally-curious humans who thought those rocks were pretty. Rocks. Just silly, accidental, goddamned rocks, worth over five million silly, intentional, goddamned dollars.

It wasn't about the value of the stones as much as it was about Mom and what she knew about all of them. Before she began, I assumed they all came down through Dad's line. I wasn't even close. The diamonds were Grandpa's, on Mom's side. He got them from his father and grandfather. Whether they were acquired by legal means or not was something Mom didn't know. I created a little fiction in my head that included pirates, world leaders, madames of brothels, a pharmaceutical company and---why not?---a shady undertaker who trafficked in illicit trade by means of cadavers. Of course, it was likely nothing like any of that. Probably land trades were made, and the currency was precious minerals. I don't know. But I liked the cadaver aspect; (now) millions of dollars in diamonds, hidden up some dead person's ass, smuggled from one place to another to avoid any public knowledge of dirty deeds done dirt cheap?

Who wouldn't like that story? The sapphires and rubies were more immediately known. Mom knew their acquisition histories. Boring. It was a matter of the grandparents, then Mom and Dad, Patty and her paramour, just going out surface-mining out of sheer boredom some Sunday after Mass. That meant walking around in the area where the stones were typically found, and looking at the ground closely. That was it. Still, some of the sapphires were huge. Mom said she had the appraisals done fifteen years ago, and felt that should be updated. We just nodded. How the fuck on Earth were the ancient, pre-historic results of a collision between Space and This Big, Blue Marble worth anything? And yet, they were. And yet, we were. We wore History on our fingers, around our necks, for a few years. Then we offered that History to the next generation to appreciate the beauty that we, all of us, everything, are just star dust. I thought that we should just fuck the goddamned stones and look at the withered, lined faces of our Seniors, and appreciate their---our---Living History. Rocks mean nothing. A life well-lived means notting less than Everything. Mom was practical.

"I think this time I'll take them to Seattle or Denver, though; the last appraisals were done on Main Street. Even then and there, all of them were worth money. Plenty of it. I doubt seriously if the value has decreased. Let's find out, Boys! Which one of you wants to be 'my muscle' for the trip?"

We laughed, but Aleksy declined.

"Take Kiddo. I have a nest to feather."

"NOOOO!!! For the BILLIONTH TIME!!! No 'Kiddo!!!"

Then we laughed for the billionth time and agreed that we'd go to one of the big cities someday. There was no rush. Well.....maybe there was a rush, if an accidental shower indicated anything but mere oversight. I didn't know. And why worry about something I didn't even know that an hour prior even existed was worth worrying about? Rocks are rocks. You can't eat 'em, and while beautiful, they weren't as cute as a dozen Bernesers. Their value aspect, though; that was interesting. That Summer, our land's and our family's worth was revealed slowly to Aleksy and me. Like most farm kids, you don't know what you don't know, and you don't care. There's work to be done. We'll count the money later. Still.....it wasn't lost on me what could be on the farm's horizon, where until that Summer was either a rising Sun or a setting one, depending on where you stood and were looking.

I looked at my phone to note the amount of battery charge that remained, as well as what was left of the day. Not even Noon. I told Mom and Aleksy to not expect me for dinner; that Marc was making Seafood Louis salads, and I'd stay in town. No issue there. Mom was wondering about my weekend, though.

"You're off to Missoula on Friday?

"Well.....if you both can spare me, I'd like to go tomorrow late-afternoon, stay over night and be wide awake and receptive to the seminar Thursday morning. Then Friday, I'll go see my academic advisor and the registrar's office, and see if I can transfer my scholarship to distance learning classes and degree. As far as the discretionary awards, I think I'll lose those if I'm not there. Guess I'll find out soon enough."

Aleksy screwed his eyebrows together.

"You're not making black-and-white plans about college based on scholarships, are you? Unless you were sleeping throughout the past week and all that Mom already told you, funding your education is not exactly an issue."

"No.....it's not that. Those scholarships are my trophies for doing well during twelve years of a really good public school education in a small town and an incredibly rural part of a really big state. They're the return on the investment of the taxpayers and my teachers' time spent on my annoying ass."

"Wouldn't that be your degree? Or degrees?"

"Some of my teachers are already old and retired. All of them, though, are still alive. They might not be around by the time I graduate college, but I can send them the Dean's List with my name on it well before then."

Mom nodded.

"Yes, go tomorrow. Yes, transfer those awards, if possible. How does a box of cold chicken sound, and any of the salads left over?"

"Yes; perfect. Any of Eva's cake still around?"

Aleksy blushed and dropped his eyes.

"If you'd asked that question three hours earlier, the answer could've been 'yes'.....sorry. The last piece looked so lonely, but still so lovely. I couldn't let it suffer its solitary confinement in a box in the fridge."

"Oh. So you liberated carbs-in-quantity from the Cold Meal Bastille, so to speak. No doubt, a bronze medal awaits you, complete with a kiss on each cheek, by the President and Prime Minister of France."

"I need to ask her to go driving with me this evening. I can tell her you were whining because you didn't get the whole cake for yourself."

Mom perked right up.

"Where to?"

"Judith Peak. Lovely view up there. It'll be even better when Eva stands at the summit with me. That may be just the right moment and place to ask her to join us for whatever happens next and last for the farm and family."

How in the heck did a dirt farmer and college professor find the time to wax poetically about Family, History and Future? I didn't know, but I was inspired. And there was a part of me, a really small part, that wanted to be up on Judith Peak with my brother that evening. Not for the reason he intended, but because it seemed more than 99.9% probable that he thought---and felt---the way I did: We got here from there, and we're going there from here. Generations of people appreciating the beauty of star dust in the form of pretty blue, red and clear-white worthless---in any other context---silly, useless rocks. Sapphires, Rubies and Diamonds, worth nothing more than the bodies on which they were displayed.

Okay, enough of that. You get me. Moving on.....

Mom had the rocks returned to the old purple Crown Royal sack, and then to the safe in the old pantry in our old house. When she returned, she mentioned to my brother that the ring he was now welcome to give Eva was not one generation old, but many; it had been passed down from Mom's great-great grandfather, when he, too, moved to the territory that would become the State of Montana. Three fingers in all had worn that ring before. Eva would be the fourth, if she accepted it. Though only a remote possibility, she might decline Aleksy's proposal of holy matrimony. That was what my big brother was banking on; the church said 'yes', so now Eva must, as well, at least as far as Aleksy was concerned. I could not have cared less; nephews and nieces, new blood on old land, did not need any approval from anyone but the parents who would keep us in, really, only the business of creating History. Crops and livestock were fringe benefits. It was blood and soil that we traded in, and that included me. I rested on no one's laurels, including my big brother's. I'd produce, eventually, Jozef III. IV, V and so on. Somehow. I'd figure it out.

With my travel plans and Aleksy's proposal plans made, we moved on to the immediate concerns of the impending acquisition of 1,000 more acres. Mom was planning on a visit to the court house to look at the land's existing deed. She trusted Jon and Kelly Sanger, but seeing where the property boundaries existed until then was a detail Mom would not overlook. We were soon to become---again---land right up the fence that separated us from Rand Tuss. We'd worry later what to plant there. The concern now was just where we could plant it. Mom decided the lunch we three prepared would not be eaten, and it was kept safe for snacking sometime later. Aleksy had little of his mind on the farm, and we got that. It was Eva and her addition to our lives, if only legally and as far as some guy in a funny hat could see, that mattered to my big brother. And that mattered to me, because the big brother I'd missed so dearly, so desperately, was now my business partner. That wasn't all, of course. Not in the least.

I sent a text to Marc.

"Hi. I'm gonna do some actual farming. I think I'll be cleaned up and there by 4P."

"Why clean up before you come to town? Clean up with me. I just installed a new shower head."

"I'd LOVE some 'shower head'....."

"And I'd love to keep my tonsils right where they are. Just come here. I miss you."

"Me, too, you. This has been a big day. I'll tell you about it when I'm there."

"Are you here yet?"

"Not quite, but soon."

"Time is not my friend when you're away from me."

"Patience, Professor; I'll have to exercise some of my own, you know."

"I'm impatient."

"That makes zero sense for a scholar of history, you know."

"None of this makes any sense. You make all sense."

"Since you're starting to sound like a Hallmark card---or movie---I'm gonna go earn my keep with crops and animals."

"I'll try to keep myself otherwise engaged in town until you're here, but candidly, I'm gonna be watching the clock."

"When I get there, we'll get in the shower, and you can get busy watching the cock."

"Charmer. So charming."

"And I'll shampoo your hair. Might as well, since you'll be conveniently on your knees. I can thus advise you of any 'thinning of the scalp'."

"You can kiss my hairy ass and tell me if I'm balding there, too."

"Lots of hair or no hair, you're mine just as you are, from top to bottom."

"And you're mine, Jozef. Is it 4P yet?"

"No, but we're getting closer, and less productive, by the minute. Gotta go, my handsome, wonderful man. My handsome, wonderful steer awaits."

"Sigh.....I think I'll always have competition....."

"Competition that isn't, really; but if that thought will keep you on your toes and on your knees, I'll go to market and buy another steer. Maybe two."

"Jozef, I love you. Get here as soon as you can. Leave the steer there. I'm not ready for any kind of a three-way."

"Marc, I love you. I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll leave Sebby here. Three-ways just aren't done in Fergus County, Montana."

We stopped the utter waste of time in a text conversation, although it was kinda fun and romantic. That Marc.....my Marc. He and I were interlocking pieces in the Jigsaw Puzzle Of Life. At least I hoped we would be. I remembered Mom and Dad waltzing in the barn while Kate and Anna McGarrigle suggested that my parents, too, were just exactly pieces of a puzzle. If you could've ever been lucky, really lucky, to see Love in a barn on a straw-strewn floor, you'd have seen Ned and Marie just locked up close against each other, moving to music and loving to each other. All three of their boys sat on straw bales and watched something that never made sense, but we liked the music and seeing our parents doing something together other than riding a tractor or moving cattle. Oh, god.

Not enough time had passed to even hint to me who I was, really. I had a name, a place, and seventeen years of unceasing discovery. I lost my father and met my man, and possibly at the exact same moment. Loss was gain. I mourned one, celebrated the second, and both with my family and friends surrounding me. I didn't really believe I was the center of the universe that Summer, but my big brother made me feel even bigger by suggesting I was true. I wanted to love and enjoy my mom while we still had her. When a kid experiences one parent gone in a heartbeat, literally and figuratively, he's left wondering if that's the better option to the slow and agonizing decline of mental faculty of the other. I laughed at myself. One moment lusting for some man-lovin', and the next, I'm behaving in my head at least like I was some wizened sage overlooking the ocean. Fuck that. I was seventeen. I was on autopilot, steered by what hormones remained in control of puberty, laughing at Life and crying at its injustice. And of course, through all of it, I thought I was the only one in all of Space and Time who felt that. Surely I'd be mature when I hit my eighteenth birthday in a few weeks.....heh. HA.

The rest of my day on the farm was productive. I did my best to care for the dogs, appreciate the cat, love the steer and grow respect for the new rooster. His wasn't an easy job; it's not for anyone who has a harem. I watched the Sun traverse the sky, and as it approached its rest in the West, I checked off my mental to-do list. Work hard, then play hard, then love gently, then sleep soundly. The next morning: do it all in reverse. I knew Marc had something to discuss with me. Something important. That was evident in the fact that he didn't mention anything casually. The topic at hand was worth avoidance of interruption, which is guaranteed and promised on a farm, whatever it was. That old, green, mohair-upholstered sofa was my destination for the evening. Dinner first, old music next, and finally, my man telling me what was on his own---our shared---horizon. Somehow, that seemed entirely, probably, how the original occupants of that really cool house had lived their lives within it. Nice.

When 3:30 rolled around, I put all the tools away, and talked with Mom for a few minutes before my departure into town.

"Where's Aleksy, Mom?"

"In the barn, showering. Probably the third time so far today. He seems to think he has to wash off all his epidermis before he can propose marriage to Eva."

"My brother is nothing if not committed to commitment."

"I hope he left you some hot water."

"Nah. He can have it all. I'm gonna clean up in town. If you didn't know, I'm planning on staying there tonight. I'll be back early tomorrow morning. Usual time."

"You don't have to rush, you know. Take it from your mother: linger a little. Sometimes a lot."

"I would, and thanks for that, but I'm heading West tomorrow afternoon."

"So you're coming here to do what, before you drive to Missoula?"

"Farmer stuff. Exciting farmer stuff!"

"Just pack what you need and sleep in tomorrow. Trust me----you'll never regret the few opportunities you have for that. It'll give your brother an opportunity to get dirty again and feel like he deserves another shower."

"Well....."

"You sound like your father. Stop trying to apply your own logic and reason to everything, and enjoy someone else's. A sooner start on the road would not be a bad idea, either. You know all the deer and antelope between here and there will decide they're better at being on the road than you are."

"No argument there.....okay, fine. Starting at Noon is better than starting at 3PM. Come up with me while I get some clothes in that big camping backpack, Mom."

We went up to my room, and oh, talk we did, while I got a few days' clothing and supplies folded and arranged in my backpack. Mom sat back in one of the big, comfortable chairs we got in Billings. She sighed as she melted into it, and then brought up the shower situation, mentioning again that she had no recollection of turning it on and then leaving the room. I said it was possible that, like anyone else, the best-laid plans of mice and farmers can get interrupted by a sudden detail requiring immediate attention.

"What were you doing in the pantry? Do you remember?"

"Yes. Patty wanted to see some old paperwork we signed about ten years ago."

"Did you find it?"

"Yes. Once I got it out, I started looking at other paperwork. Maybe this was all just being nervous about my sister and business partner being in town, and the need to look at documents."

"Maybe. I would not be surprised. Auntie P can be intimidating. I might forget to breathe if she looked cross-eyed at me. But.....you remember, don't you, that there's no hot water in the house?"

"Oh. That's right....."

"Which was a recent revelation. Aleksy and I were talking about that only the day before. Anyone could've spaced that. Honestly, in my oh-so-esteemed medical opinion, you've had a lot going on recently. Maybe you're rushing to satisfy your health diagnosis; like anything you're experiencing must be related."

"Maybe. I won't rule it out, though, that I wasn't aware of what I was doing; or that I didn't remember any of it."

"Until it happens again, let's just agree to know it happened, and not worry about it starting a trend."

"Okay, Jozef. How'd you get so wise?"

"I'm not, really; like most of my youth, I've made it up as I went along. I don't know what I'm doing; just hoping for the best."

"That has nothing to do with being young; that's a life-long excuse for fucking up right along with monumental successes. Take it from me....."

We laughed, and soon I had all I needed for a couple of days in the big city of Missoula, Montana. Back downstairs, I went over the House List of things remaining to be done before the end of the day. There wasn't much on it, really. Between Aleksy, Mom and me, we worked efficiently to keep the house in order. It wasn't just our shelter; it was a home that, really, we didn't own. We were just the current, temporary stewards of it. All too soon, way too soon, each of us would move from a big, old house to another home, six feet under, 100 feet behind the barn on the North Forty.

With a kiss and hug goodbye for both my mother and brother, I drove off to the county road. At the gate, I honked and waved. I'd never gone someplace on my own for more than a few hours, and here I was, going to learn about my mom's health and find out how I could learn an education in business management. It might seem daunting to some, but: with the right playlists on Spotify, anyone can go anywhere, for hundreds of miles. Just remember to stop and pee every so often. I still had the taste of that not-so-great coffee blend that Eva had us try, so I planned on a big Italian soda, instead. I just hoped it would not be another experiment. Just throw together some soda water, cream and huckleberry syrup, please. Lots of ice, too.

I got one of those for me and a lemon soda for Marc. That boy loves citrus flavors. I do, too. I also love when he eats lots of pineapple and strawberries, at least two hours before I peel his pants and briefs off, and feast on his erudite erection. When I think about how many hours Marc's cock sat through lectures, discussions and however many degrees, I stop thinking about it. Not everything needs to be so brainy; sometimes, only one thing needs to be an opportunity for the base of my brain to be stimulated by repeated thrusting. I had an agenda for the late evening, after dinner and mohair sofa time and nice, old music. I wanted some Marc-hair-so-fucking-nice time, and we'd make our own music.

Whew.....I don't talk about sex much. I've had plenty of it, and it was never really worth mentioning. Maybe that's because before Marc, the others weren't worth mentioning. That's not to say I had bad sex with all those people; some of it was good. Humbly, though-----they had better sex than I did. I've no doubt my name is still mentioned by people I've long-since forgot, and only in the most flattering terms. Sounds arrogant, I know; but the fact remains, I had a lot of well-tamed energy. Now, though.....I was content to just be with Marc. I hold him, he holds me, we talk, we listen, we laugh, we're silent. That's just the foreplay, though.....then comes the screams and pleading for mercy, which he never gives me. I swear, he has bottles of lube hidden underneath every seat cushion in every room of that house. He has it out and on before I can reach for it, myself.

So, there you have it. We both like what we like, and we love each other. It's all so fast; I don't understand it, myself. I just know that everything about us feels right. I don't want to analyze everything, or even anything; that gets in the way of my man anal-izing me. I couldn't give Marc my virginity, but I gladly shared many examples of how studious I'd been outside of the classroom. Specifically: under the bleachers on the athletic field. In the orchard at the fair grounds. On my horse. In my truck. In my truck while pulling my horse in its trailer. The high school locker room. The houses of maybe one or two or twenty other Lewistownians. I wasn't a slut; I was just very friendly, with a big dick. I had a muscular, fit, farmboy body, and I thought everyone (or at least as many as possible) should experience it. Yes, there were Mondays in the high school hallways that I'd see someone who displayed evidence of our Saturday night union, in the way they walked. I often warned them: 'stretch before I pick you up at your house.....' Sometimes they would. Sometimes they'd have to adjust positions in their desk chairs a hundred times or so, because they didn't heed my advice. They weren't the only ones stretching; I did, too. All nine inches of Paco and me.

When I went through 'Common Grounds', I was relieved to see Kim at the window. She wasn't going to (necessarily) ask me about the experiments Eva gave Aleksy and me earlier, or if she did, I was going to punt and say something like, 'it was interesting, but I'm so spoiled by my Zombinator favorite, I kinda struggle with anything else!'. For one thing, that would be true. For another thing, telling someone to pass along an 'I hated it!' just wasn't very cool. Eva wanted to be successful; she didn't need 'yes men', particularly those in her own family. With the Italian sodas secured (and sampled.....yeah, I sucked on Marc's.....as if that'd have been a surprise.....), I drove the 2.5 miles into town, turned left on 6th Ave North, wending my way to Town House Taylor. The '57 was in the driveway, backed up to the garage door. It just fit perfectly with that house. Although I felt comfortable and welcome there from the first time I was in it until the last time the Taylors Senior were, I still felt like I was walking into a museum. Original furniture, original appliances, original little apartment in the basement, which seemed somewhat like a Montana mid-century modern version of King Tut's tomb. There was no going in there without the need to be quiet and reverent. I would not have even considered the idea of taking a glass of 7-Up downstairs.

With the motor of my old truck turned off and the big backpack pulled behind me as I exited, I made my way to the front door. It was open slightly, so I opened it cautiously and quietly. Marc was on the phone in the kitchen. He smiled in my direction and waved me in. What a handsome man, with a deep, sexy voice, saying decidedly un-sexy things.

"It's okay, Grammy; really. I think we're in agreement, and I will tell you, I could not be happier. Do we really have to wait until October, though? Well, I get that.....you've already bought the entire vacation. Are you sure? I think that's something the four of us should discuss when you've returned. Oh, all right..... Hi, Grampy. Yeah, Grammy is being insistent about it. Well, if you're not going to argue with her, I know I won't! It makes sense, and it's very generous, but I want to think about it. Oh, if you are adamant, yeah, I'll talk with Jozef, too. You're very good and kind to consider how he feels about this, but I think I know how he'll respond. Yeah, just like that. He's here now; we're going to have dinner together. Oh. Seafood Louis salads, lemonade, and ice cream. I forgot: sourdough bread. Yeah, it's a hot day here. Sure.....hold on, and I'll turn on the speaker."

"Jozef! Jeffrey! This is Rod Taylor! How are you?"

"My gosh! I'm well, Sir! What a nice surprise! Are you and Mrs Taylor doing well?"

"We will be---if you stop with all the 'Mr Taylor' and 'Mrs Taylor'. You sound like you're talking to characters in 'Downton Abbey'. From here on out: it's Rod and Naomi, or if you insist on living in the last century, 'Grampy and Grammy'. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like a hug from a couple of thousand miles away, Grampy. How does THAT sound?"

"Like we just got that out of the way. Good. Naomi said you were a fast learner. So. Our grandson has something to discuss with you, and then we'll all talk. For now, we're getting off the phone. No one will ever convince me there's no such thing as a long-distance charge on my phone bill. Not even you kids! Have a nice dinner, and we'll talk later."

Marc and I signed off, smiling and calling out both Grampy and Grammy. I didn't know what I had walked into, but while Marc explained, he could do so while enjoying a lemon Italian Soda. Well, what's left of it.....I might've sampled it a few times on the way into town. Yum-tastic! My man pulled me up tight against him, moving his face into the crook of my neck. He breathed deeply and hugged me even more tightly.

"Jozef....."

"Yeah, Boyfriend?"

"You smell like a farm. It's wonderful."

"Yeah? I like it."

"And you look like someone I could only dream of having in my life. What a dream! If I'm dreaming, I hope I never wake up."

"Now YOU'RE the charmer. Come on.....bring your drink. Talk with me while I get clean for you. That phone call sounded interesting. I can't imagine what's going on."

Marc and I made our way down the hall to the pink-tiled bathroom. He leaned back against the double-basin sink counter as I undressed. Okay, I'll admit.....I wasn't fast about getting all nekkid. I took my time, watching Marc watch me. I saw him almost imperceptibly shake his head and smile. Ah.....so he still liked the show, so I would give it to him. When I peeled my underwear down, I bent over so he got the full view of my back, ass and legs. I knew he approved of them, so he might as well get a full picture of what was allllll his. The whistle was an indication Marc still approved. When I stood upright again, I felt him against me, his chest to my back and his arms wrapped around me. I felt his warm breath just at the base of my neck. We weren't all that different in height, but in the ways that we were, oh, damn. Those 98.6º of moist heat against me were indescribably addictive. No less so were his rock-hard inches wedged in the slightly-furred valley of my ass.

Marc wasn't ever just sex to me, although I'll admit, at first that's what I was thinking of him as. I had no idea what he'd mean to me, and allow me to mean to him, only a few days later. Sex didn't happen without it just being ancillary to the love we felt and made with each other. Did I like him buried completely inside me, regardless at either the North or South poles? Who with sense and a mere pulse wouldn't? Both Aleksy and Tommy told me they thought Marc was a stud, and that I'd done well for myself. Both, too, said Marc was equally lucky, that so-bizarre Summer. Everyone, though, took us seriously---not just literally. Whether they saw what we felt---that like history and acreage, there was something there to be acknowledged, recognized and respected---or if they were objective observers and saw something between Marc and me that we just liked, wanted and needed. No one objected. No one did anything but smile at us, as if to imply that one of us grows new things and one of us teaches old things, and that we can't do either of those without the other, and how on Earth did we ever think we could've been truly happy if we'd never met? Marc and I didn't think about that, actually. We did meet. No other possibility mattered. Still.....that was a conversation we hadn't had. The big 'What If'.

"Marc. I did my part. You do yours. Take your clothes off, and move right back into this position. Please, Boyfriend. Even the thinnest layer of cotton between us a betrayal against god, and all he intended from the time of creation until this moment."

".....You didn't seriously just spew that drivel....."

"Sure did. How'd I do?"

"I'm embarrassed for you. I'm just glad my grandparents weren't still on the phone to hear that crap."

"Well.....me, too. That was the cheesiest of cheese. I'm glad you got the joke."

"I know when you're joking and when you're serious, Jozef. But I'll get naked with you. God, you're a beautiful man. You're a colt, built of nothing but energy, muscle and happiness."

"Nothing but those?"

"Okay, well, maybe you kinda like me a little, and you have a sense of humor that belies your youthful age."

"I like you a fuck-ton, and I think I love you even more. For what I know of love, anyway. If you want, we can get under this new shower head of yours, and I'll quote more Proust. Neither he nor I really know what that 'word' means, but he wrote volumes about love, and I feel even more, I think, about you and us. And I intend no cheese with that statement."

"Yeah, I can tell. That's something else I like about the past; History bats last in the real world series. Facts and evidence get the final word, and opinions are footnotes on the pages. So if we're finished with the metaphors, let's erode the contents of a bar of soap on each other. We have a lot to discuss, Babe."

I smiled at him, and once we were both epidermally exposed, we stepped into the shower and held onto each other for another few minutes before one of us---and I don't remember who---reached for the new bar of soap. Ten minutes later, we sensed the soap was considerably smaller, and water was no longer quite as hot; but we certainly were for each other.

The towels were huge and thirsty. I was spoiled for anything obviously inferior after that.

"Dang. This is incredible. Who knew that drying off could be as pleasurable as getting wet?"

"Found 'em at that store on Main Street, next to the Bon Ton. Huge, isn't it? Is it a bath sheet, or a terrycloth bed sheet? Anyway, glad you like. So; wanna get into some loungey pants and a t shirt? Clean farm clothes? Or do you want to tease me and eat dinner in your sexy jockstrap?"

"It's YOUR sexy jockstrap. I just happened to appropriate it during a night on the farm. I knew it would find its way back here. Sorry for its condition, but.....nah. Not sorry. I think I've shot a dozen loads of cum on it since it accidentally got left behind in my bedroom. Our bedroom."

"Then that's what you'll wear, but for the evening, you can also go the lounge pants route. If you want."

"What're you gonna wear, Boyfriend?"

"Well, you; or at least part of you. I want that, Babe. It's really more need than want, but regardless, this will happen."

"Before dinner?"

"No. I suspect it's gonna be a solid hour of lovin' before I can even think about taking you. Actually, that's not true; it's something I think about often. Harvard came to Montana a couple of months ago, but I don't want much more time to pass before Montana cums in Harvard."

We made our way to our room. Marc got to the big, old walnut chest of drawers before I could. He extracted the jock and snapped it in my direction, laughing. I caught it quickly.

"Too bad this only has me and my DNA on this. It'd be soooo nice to sit in it at dinner, your load all over my dick and balls."

"It will be, Jozef. Though dry like yours, I've added to your own ministrations."

"YEAH?? So hot, Boyfriend! Heck, yeah!"

Of course, I was seventeen that Summer, and I was hard before I could pull the jock up. I stretched the elastic and cotton fabric over Paco and the Twins. No doubt, they were not happy at being cloistered so soon, and so soon after hearing Marc say time's a-wastin' for him and me to flip fuck finally. On that issue.....of course I wanted him, but I also liked how things were going already. Ahhhh..... there's that big but. That Summer was the end of 'how things were going already'. Everything changed. Kinda already went into that, but here was further proof that I was on a new trajectory. Generations of my family and a couple dozen of teachers made it their mission to instill in me: 'Learn well, and year after year, build on that to something greater than you or we were, and teach---patiently---those who follow'.

And now in another, new regard, I was in a virtual position to do something new for someone else; to take Marc, his first time. He had been my first time in a literal position only so recently. I'd never even considered being on the receiving end in all the instances I was with anyone else. I was glad I waited; it meant something to add something new to my life that Summer, with someone I genuinely cared about. Marc was doing the same in waiting for that experience. Rare, I suppose, are the people who share with one other a very specific, very loved, mutual 'first time'.

It wasn't a specific role I had come to like so much for a specific reason; it was only because the way Marc fit in me seemed perfect for both of us. His colleged cock made immediate friends with my prostate, and ever since, they've become reacquainted as soon and as often as Marc and I could make it happen. It's almost like they're old friends now. Still......I can deny my man nothing, and if he says it's time to get his Love Nut poked and prodded, well, it's time. Also, he made dinner. I have to contribute something.

In t shirts and jammie bottoms, we smooched again and headed for the kitchen. Marc turned the oven on to heat the sourdough bread. I knew where utensils drawer was, so I set the table and found the little drawer where the cloth napkins were kept. I offered to pour drinks, and Marc nodded his head in assent at the suggestion.

"Fifteen minutes for the bread to warm up and the butter to become useful. I'll add the seafood to the greens and other ingredients. Oh-----before I do: any seafood or shellfish allergies? This has cod, some crab and a little lobster. Nothing fancy; just complete."

"Yum! Damn, Boyfriend! I know Mom and Aleksy would love this! We have to repeat this sometime! No allergies here; not for food, anyway. Just penicillin."

"I hope you'll like it. I found the recipe for the dressing in Grammy's book. She dated the page: July 1959. Joining them were two other couples. They ate outside beneath the trees. Mai-Tais before dinner, wine with it, and Creme de Menthe over vanilla ice cream for dessert. Grammy was a prolific note-taker when she wrote recipes, or used others already printed. When I told her I was making this, she got all excited. Apparently she hasn't prepared Seafood Louis in decades. Ummm......soooo.....let's start the conversation while we wait for the bread to heat."

Just as he said that, the oven's thermometer clicked, indicating the oven was hot enough. Marc placed the loaf in, and turned back to me. He looked happy, but also slightly trepidatious. I sipped my 7-Up and reached to pull him closer to me as we leaned back against the kitchen counter.

"Marc, I can't read your face. Everything okay?"

"Yes.....almost entirely. Maybe seven percent give me pause."

"Like a bear's paws?"

"No.....oh. Smart-ass. Okay, here's the part of the phone conversation with Grammy and Grampy you didn't hear, either today or a few days ago when we initially discussed this. Okay. As it turns out, they're miserable in New Mexico. Their friends are fairly miserable there, all together and in each other's miserable business. It's also just flat and boring."

"I can imagine the topography being nothing like here, or Ontario, where Grammy lived previously. They should just move back here. We can just pretend they were on vacation."

"Are you serious? That simple?"

"Why not? They built this house. They're miserable where they are. You know what I think the real issue is, though?"

"Wasn't that laundry list of complaints enough, genuine as I'm sure they are?"

"You're missing the only one that matters, Marc. They want to be near you. You're the only family they have left. Time is short. This isn't primarily about their flaky friends; it's their grandson and his life they're missing. They raced to your rescue only half your life ago. They'll never not be worried about you, and missing you, and happy for you because now you're happy. Possible?"

"Holy fuck. I hadn't considered that at all, but what you say makes sense. You're so insightful, Jozef."

"I don't think you can see them objectively. After you and I met and before they moved, I could see how proud they are of you. Grammy positively vibrated when the school superintendent was trying to get you interested in the job. I think the only reason they moved away was because they didn't even consider you might move to Lewistown, Fergus Fucking County, Montana."

"You know.....that makes complete sense, although I have no doubt the other concerns are valid. They only knew those other people from spending a few Winters down there. It's different when you're immersed in a culture that is really not your own."

"Don't you think that's exactly what things are like for you now, Marc?"

"What do you mean?"

"Seattle to Cambridge to Third Avenue North in this little town and a farm about ten miles away? This hasn't been exactly your culture."

"Would it sound too cheesy if I said I liked agri-culture?"

"Oh, yeah. VERY cheesy."

"But I do. I wasn't really happy teaching at Harvard. There wasn't a clear career path for me there. I signed on so I could get 'in' with Harvard Press and a good publisher there. Just means to an end. And then, I get lost while running, and just a short time later, I got lost in you, Jozef. Yeah, cheesy; I know. But it's true. Through you and your family...."

"YOUR family....."

"OUR family.....I came to appreciate experiencing where food really comes from, and the people who commit to making it possible. All this makes all sorts of sense. Just like you do. It was just the improbability of our meeting that doesn't make sense. It doesn't have to make any sense. Now, though.....of course I want my grandparents to return. I want to be with them, too. You're right; time is short. In no time, they'll be gone. In just a little more than no time, you and I will be, too. I get it completely now."

"So, logistically....."

"They'll return to Montana after their cruise. They already paid for it, and Grammy thinks that since it's a temporary vacation, everyone will be on their best behavior aboard the ship. Maybe optimistic. So here's the big argument.....they want to buy a condominium in the old hospital building, or the old high school."

"So they're gonna live in one of those utterly boring and sterile boxes, when they built their own house?"

".....I want them to live here, Babe."

"Of course!"

"I said they live rent-free in their home. They argued. I asked if they wanted to move back to Montana or not. Grammy changed the subject. This is not a problem in the slightest! You get that."

"Double of course. I see no problem with any of this."

"I don't want to live with them, necessarily; but that's because I've been on my own for most of my life. I love them, but they've spent decades, save a few months, in this house. I said I would move into the apartment on the lower level. Well.....Jozef, please don't freak out about this, but they keep insisting that should be your home in town, too, and I should ask you what you think about living in that apartment. I think they're the in-town version of Marie and Aleksy and everyone else."

"I think they are, too. So, what's the problem? That's a solution, right? You have your own place in this house? It's large enough for you to have an office space in there, too. Although.....if that's gonna happen, I have an idea that could really make this a win-win. A win-win-win, actually."

"Oh? Go."

"You move to the farm. We have a room there, and our farm family already adopted you as our own. You can have any of the other rooms as your office. I'll configure it however you want. Fuck! Take that huge-assed attic! I'll have skylights put in, and even run a bathroom up there, if you want."

"Jozef.....you'd do that?"

"For you? Anything. You're my man. Oh! Do you think we could share the attic for an office? Me at one end, you at the other? I can study my classes up there!"

"We could be together more regularly, once I begin writing?"

"Fuck, yes! IT'S YOUR HOME, MARC!"

I moved upright from my perch on the edge of the counter and launched myself at Marc, throwing my arms around him. I don't need any particular reason to love up on him, but on special occasions---like that one---a tight hug was a physical exclamation point. My hard cock poking him just above his own was another punctuation. Marc hugged me back and laughed."

"That sounds wonderful, but.....that's big, Jozef. Living together."

"In our own home? That one or this one? Hear me clearly, Marc; where you are is where I want to be. Yes, this soon. Yes, with you. THAT is 'home' to me."

"Well....."

"You want me to go back to the furniture store in Billings and get approval from Grace and James?"

"God, no! I don't want to see those people ever again. Well, except maybe on a reality show about people abducted by aliens or some shit like that. You're really okay with two homes, though? I would want to stay here once they move back. Not all nights, but some. I want you to be here, too. If possible, of course."

"Why not? I'll be honest: I wasn't really all that thrilled with the prospect of being separated even a few nights a week from you. Yeah, ten or so miles away isn't an insurmountable distance, but it's enough. I can't roll over ten miles in my sleep to press my back against your chest. Is that selfish?"

"Not even remotely. However.....Grammy and Grampy are kinda set on being closer. Like a flight of stairs away."

"Okay?"

"And they're kinda insistent that where I am, you should be there, too."

"Anyone with sense thinks that. They certainly accepted me and our relationship quickly. That's not typical of their generation."

"You're all they talked about when you weren't here. Well, they might've asked me a question or two about writing and teaching, but Grammy said there's no question in their minds about whom I should be with."

"Then let's not argue with them. Let's just keep going the way we are; you can have our home here, but you also have your own home on the farm. Nothing has changed since The Grandies moved to New Mexico. Or the way they describe it, New Hell."

"Thanks. We'll figure it out. So, we're agreed that Grammy and Grampy moving back into here is not a problem?"

"I'd have a problem with you if you thought I'd have a problem with that, Marc."

"Nice."

The bell sounded. Those were a fast fifteen minutes. Marc pulled the loaf out of the oven, and oh, dang; did that smell perfect. I could already taste it slathered with butter. I wasn't yet concerned with my cholesterol levels. I wasn't concerned with anything. Could my man and I really share a big attic for scholarly pursuits, and a big bed in a big room for sleeping and whatever else we could imagine on it? I thought so. Marc sliced the bread and parked it on the table, and then pulled the salad from the fridge. He actually had two serving bowls piled with greens and other things, and then added the seafood on top. I was drooling before I sat down. Before, though, I replenished our ice water. Soon a feast was on the table and a fork was in my hand.

We ate. Savored, really. I'd never had a Louis before. Yeah, I could see the entirety of (as Aleksy insists) Team Jozef having the same reaction as mine. Of course, there's the very remote possibility I loved the salad because I loved the chef. I'd be very, very happy to help him in future. I'd toss his salad all afternoon for decades, if I had my way. I'm used to getting my way.

As we ate, we talked more. Marc asked me about my idea for the lower level apartment.

"It gets no daylight. Can't put in skylights, but there's an option. Because the apartment's exterior wall is the foundation of the house, and the way the room is aligned, the long side is the exterior wall. Excavate twenty-five feet of ground, exposing the foundation. Cut in a door with an equal-sized side light. Then, two more windows that would not only bring light in, but be additional emergency egress. You're probably thinking how that would look, but here's the how: take out a 25 ft by 25 ft part of the back yard. Slope the sides down so you're not in a hole. Build a little deck down there, and a run of stairs up to ground level. Replant not with lawn; that would be impossible to mow, but terraced areas where plants could be."

"Damn. You're a farmer, architect and landscape engineer?"

"For you? Anything. It's just an idea."

"It's a good idea! I think the foundation is reinforced concrete, though. That means rebar in it."

"I don't think it will be reinforced. The load factor is really light; only a house, not a multi-story building on it. You know, after dinner, we could look at the blueprints and engineering specs. That could keep this a good idea, or eliminate it from consideration. I'm not trying to spend your money, but I can't imagine it costing more than a fraction of the property value. And I could sneak in your bedroom window in the middle of the night and have my way with you."

"You can do that without sneaking at all. The Grandparents were insistent that you're as welcome here as Marie and Aleksy say I am there. Babe, I like the way you think; from attic to basement, you have ideas how we can be together more. Your brain is something else!"

"Right now it's having filthy, filthy thoughts."

"Oh. Yeah. I get it. All that dirt that needs to be excavated, you're thinking."

"You're on the right track, Boyfriend. Think more about a tool burrowing into a certain space....."

"I hope there's no rebar."

"That tool is harder than rebar. I know. At least in my experience, outside of where I truly need it to go."

"What my man wants, my man gets. You still have lube here? Even Crisco? I can work with Crisco."

"Plenty of lube. I can't imagine why I'd buy Crisco.....except as lube....."

"You realize we're gonna have to completely de-gay this space before your grandparents move in.....so they don't find any Gun Oil in drawers or little cans of Crisco under beds or next to the toothpaste in the bathroom."

"OUR grandparents. And yeah, we'll 'de-gay'."

"Of course. Also of course, that's kinda incestuous, you know."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

We laughed and continued a perfect late-Summer dinner. I'd never had different fish and shellfish on a plate together, but they played together nicely on my tongue. I knew I'd want it again. We had also worked our way through the entire smaller boule of sourdough bread and, no question, a half pound of butter. Afterward, we cleaned up in the kitchen.

"Babe, I have ice cream, but no liqueur to go with it. That okay with you?"

"It is, but I don't really have room for it right now. Can we table that for a later return to the table?"

"I concur. So. A post-prandial perambulation?"

"Okay.....I can usually hold my own with things like that, but all I'm getting is 'post' equals 'after'. Care to educate me, Professor?"

"'Post-prandial perambulation' is an after-dinner walk."

"Well why didn't you just say that??!"

"Because, Jozef; few and far between will be any opportunities for me to teach you anything. Different route this time?"

"Right. I know one that goes on the trail where the old Milwaukee Railroad bed once was. It goes through another nice, old neighborhood. We can get a mile in, and I'll show you some other Fergus County historical stuff."

"Then let's get covered and go! You still have a couple of changes of clothes here, unless you want to put back on what you arrived in."

"And get all gross and smelly again?!"

"And get in the shower together again, and work what remains of that bar of soap on each other."

"Oh, that's tempting.....but maybe another time. There'll be other people on the trail, most likely. I don't want to give anyone a reason to throw rocks at me and run you out of town due to your association with Farm W. Or at least the last-born of the last---and counting---generation on it."

Marc laughed and shook his head, and pulled me by the hand to the bedroom we shared. I'd forgot the other clothes in the closet and chest of drawers. They came in handy, after all. Once out of the loungey stuff, I reached for clean briefs. This time, Marc's hand stopped me instead of leading me.

"Nope. The jock goes back on. Otherwise, choose freely the rest of what you'll wear."

I turned red, but smiled and complied. It was a turn-on that a worn-out and cum-loaded jock turned Marc on, too. Back fully dressed, Marc patted my ass while he hugged me.

"Just knowing you're wearing something on that perfect rump of yours does things to me.....just so you know."

We enjoyed a nice walk for almost an hour, seeing at least a dozen people out with their dogs. We ran into three girls I'd graduated with only a few months before. They were all smiles and waves as they swarmed Marc and me, sharing laughs, questions and promises that we'd always be close, and you were my favorite of all the boys, the school won't be the same without us and all the other things kids say as they leave behind everything that was certain or predictable. All three girls gave Marc plenty of attention, too. One of them, perhaps the one kid in the history of the high school who would achieve her superlative plan: 'The Girl Most Likely To Anchor A Desk For CNN And Win At Least One Pulitzer'. For Lana, every opportunity was something to document and report. She could make the paving of a parking lot seem compelling. Apparently, she thought the interviews for the school superintendent were important, because she was there.

"I'm Lana Tresfort. I was at your interview before the school board."

"You were. I remember you were just behind Jon Black and Ethel Ann Blinken. Were you transcribing the interview?"

"That was my intention, but it devolved into basically writing up a circus program. I don't mean you or Mrs Heusen, or Mr Boldonovic. Almost all of you were thrust in front of the community who were there to make themselves feel like they're civically engaged. You brought some recent notoriety into the room with you, though. The fairground board are trying to decide where to erect an effigy of you, and bronze plaque. Okay, so maybe not really, but the thought has crossed the minds of many people who were at your interview. I think Black and Blinken had an agenda to 'embarrass the big city coastal elite freak', and get a low-information puppet in the job."

"Well, Lana; that's a fairly accurate perception, if I may say so."

"Thanks. We kids were lucky; we had a good administration and good teachers. Now they want to freeze the pay for newly-hired teachers. How will good teachers be attracted or recruited? That's not what they're going after; they're going after first-year college graduates with six-figure student loans who can be molded and manipulated into being low-information teachers. Even a recent high school graduate can see that. While they have no guarantees of a good superintendent, things are looking up for school board members. At least the entire community seems to be behind a particularly promising person."

"I don't envy anyone on that board, Lana. I hope the candidates have, more than anything, a love for kids' education and the future of the community. Oh; and very thick skin! School boards have nothing to offer but their service to their schools. Well, it was good to meet you; all three of you. Thanks for saying 'hi'.

Marc and I smiled and were ready to continue our walk. Lana wasn't quite ready to release us.

"Mr Taylor, I'm an award recipient from Newsweek. It was a national competition, and I'm getting a full-ride scholarship out of it. I know already I'll be expected in some class to write an interview. I'd like to talk with you, specifically about a fast climb in academia, being a published author, and then moving to a small, rural community---the very antithesis of your educational pursuits. Mostly, though, I want to find out what is next for you, since you're not going to be the superintendent of schools."

"I'm honored, Lana; and congratulations on your award. I think I would be interested in talking with you, indeed. Here's my email address. Write me when you have a date in mind. We can negotiate a time frame, along with your interview's outline."

Marc had a Harvard business card in his wallet, which he shared with Lana. His cell phone number was printed on it. Again, everyone smiled, and the two groups departed for opposite ends of the old railroad trail. The walk home was leisurely. Some of the trees' leaves, particularly the Ash, were only nominally still green. The chokecherry bushes were hanging heavily with the ripe, black fruit. Chokecherries are inedible without a fuck-ton of sugar, a little salt, some lemon juice and maybe cinnamon, and then it's-----bearable. Barely. The annual Chokecherry Festival was approaching, and would be a good event that drew people from hundreds of miles to Fergus County. Business owners would celebrate for months with credit paid down, if not off, before they began the process all over with new products and services for the local yokels and those passing through.

Back on 3rd Avenue North and on the closing stretch of the journey home, Marc's phone rang. He looked at me before answering, and I smiled to suggest walking can include talking, whether with three school girl fans or someone on the phone. He opened the call unaware of who was at the other end. No number displayed on the caller ID. Few people in Montana knew his phone number, but his agent and publisher knew it, as well as his administrator at Harvard. And of course, the Grandies. Even Lu Barney, if she did her research well enough.....

"Hi, this is Marc. long pause Yes, Mrs Heusen. Oh, you're not serious......of course you are, Ma'am. Wait.....what? Don't I have to initiate that? Well, I can at least decide for myself, right? No, I would not want the citizens to come after me with torches and pitchforks. Mrs Heusen---all right, Madeleine---I'm out for an after-dinner walk at present. Let me think about that and talk with you tomorrow. Seriously?? Yes, I now realize you're a serious person about this subject. No, I do not know that address. I will look for your text. Afternoons are good. 3:30 is fine. Ah, informal is good.....I'm fine with iced tea, thank you. I'll look for your text. Thank you for your call, Madeleine."

Marc concluded the call. We were beneath the canopy of a huge maple tree on 10th and Washington St. He turned to face me, a perplexed look on his face. I nudged his boot with mine.

"Dare I ask....?"

"I'm asking myself the same question. That was Madeleine Heusen."

"Oh, this oughtta be good....."

"Define 'good'. No, kidding. It's.....on the surface, it's inconvenient, Jozef. Jon Black and Ethel Ann Blinken were removed from the school board. Disqualified due to residence issues for one and contractual malfeasance for the other."

"Oh, I remember them and their tricky shit. And ironically, they're wanting to make sure the superintendent foments a moral compass heavily magnetized to the far-right. I guess crimes closer to home don't count, as long as the kids don't have to learn history, civics, health and sex ed and who knows what else. Given enough time, those two would come after the sacred readin', writin' and 'rithmetic. So? How does this involve you, Marc? At least as far as Mrs Heusen interprets 'involve'?"

"Apparently a petition has been circulated under the radar for someone to replace those two."

"And they want you for one of those?"

"Yes."

"Probably want you for both of 'em. I know I would."

"Yeah, well, you just liked that suit....."

"Smart-ass! Of course I liked that suit! And the stud brainiac wearing it! Truly, though: you're being campaigned before you even considered the school board yourself?"

"She said it's a mandate. Of course I can decline, but as far as the town citizens are concerned, at least some of them are insistent that I join the school board."

"Wow. WOW! I am not surprised by their intentions, but they're employing some aggressive means to an end. On the surface and with all you know thus far, would you even consider this, Marc?"

"The timing is inconvenient. The Grandies are returning, you're going to school while still farming, there's this whole 'Us Thing' we're growing, and yes, I would consider this. I meant what I said in the meeting slash interview: the school board and the superintendent are obligated to the students, staff and community. I can't say I changed my mind about that, just because that meeting was a fiasco."

We resumed walking, but I steered us along a quiet street with few houses on it. One of the few un-paved streets in town, and thus one that didn't attract a lot of nice, new houses in development. My mind was at once considering the ramifications, but I had to then remember that I was---and our families were---supportive entirely of him having a much more involved obligation. School boards meet far less to do their jobs than the superintendent is required to do theirs, but both branches have their responsibilities. I helped my overactive mind step back so we could step forward back home and discuss this further. Sounded to me, though, like plenty of residents didn't need to discuss anything; they wanted Marc, and they would have him.

Damn, that sounds familiar.....I think I might've thought the same thing since the morning neither Marc nor I could sleep, and ran and drove until we finally met. Saw Marc, talked a few times, and yeah: he moved to town and right into my family's and friends' hearts. The people in town were going to run Jon and Ethel Ann off the board and Marc onto it. Don't argue, Marc; resistance is futile. The people here know a good thing when they see it, and that includes the suit that The Good Thing wears.

Marc furrowed those lovely brows of his and said, 'hmmm.....'

"'Hmmmm.....' what, Boyfriend?"

"Lana said something curious. She said the community was behind a promising individual for the school board. Do you think.....?"

"Knowing Lana, I would bet it was her idea, she's running your campaign and circulating petitions, and might very likely also be responsible for the information about Jon and Ethel Ann. She's tenacious when a little digging turns into the Berkely Copper Mine in Butte. If so, she'll write about that, too, as part of the work she'll do on your interview. Did Mrs Heusen give any hint about who could be tapped for the other school board position?"

"That woman doesn't trade in hints. Shanna's mom is under consideration."

"Heh.....'under consideration'. More like 'under pressure'. No less for you, Boyfriend. Accept your fate; Lewistown has accepted you, and it seems you're also the local Favorite Son."

We were back at the house, and once inside, we washed our hands and moved toward ice cream-----and lots of it. We sat at the little table in the back yard, enjoying the slight breeze among the trees surround the property and affording a forest-like ambience and privacy.

"Babe.....I don't think I can do this. I don't think I fully considered the ramifications of going after the superintendent position, either. As much as people here seem to have accepted me and made me feel welcome, that could all be revoked faster than the seats from beneath Jon Black and Ethel Ann Blinken."

"I don't see how."

"I think you can, if I lay out some basic facts, the most glaringly obvious if only to our family and friends and us. I am 29 years old."

"I know that."

"What is your age?"

"Sevent.....oh."

Oh, fuck. Goddamnit. What the hell.

"Marie, Aleksy, Eva; everyone. The Grandies. They all see you happy, and see themselves happy, too. You and I just.....we just 'work'. I think that's because they know us and love us. It wouldn't have mattered to anyone if I was some paycheck-to-paycheck wage-earner who, while having a heart of gold, had very few prospects. My career isn't what attracted you to me. You being a successful farmer wasn't the reason you turned my head, either. We have something more complex and much deeper going on, Jozef. We belong to each other for reasons even we can't fully understand yet. None of anything I just said would matter to a lot of the people here, particularly since the job is about kids. Overnight, I'd be held in an esteem far below Junior's. It could ruin you and your family, too."

"Our family, Marc. Get that through your head, right now. Yeah, they're into you; hook, line and sinker. For all the reasons you mentioned. You and I are happy, and for The Grandies, Team W, Team Sanger (I had not yet explained 'Team Jozef' to Marc yet), that's allll that matters to them. The last thing they're thinking about is an age disparity. I'm not exactly seventeen within the matrices that have determined what is typical of people my attained age. But you're right, that won't matter outside of us and ours. Fuck. I hate people."

We were not exactly talkative after that. I had no doubts in my mind about Marc and me. My silence wasn't that. I was still in 'mourning mode', I guess. It started with my father's death, and now I was watching any tangible career here for Marc just pass away, too. At least as far as a career in academic administration was concerned. I smiled ruefully at the thought of my great-grandparents, married at the age of 25 (August, the first 'Gus') and 16 (Yrena). They were far from being the only people on my line who weren't 18 when they got together. It's what they also were not, which Marc and I are, that solved all their problems before they arose. They had that whole XX and XY thing going for them. Two letters on an alphabet, representing 23 chromosomes each, and not a one of 'em could guarantee a union resulting in a love any better or stronger than what was grown and shared between these two XYs.

Central Montana, for all its majesty, beauty and deep history, could count among its residents a sizable number of people like Grace and James at the furniture store in Billings. The disgust was palpable already for gay folk, and they didn't know our ages. The reaction in Fergus County, in Lewistown, would not be nearly as mild by comparison. At least for a few. I could not get out of my mind how Junior was received after he attacked Eva at the fair. It was not a stretch in my noggin to imagine the reaction of a member of the board of directors was discovered to be a seventeen-year-old's man. No explanation could win over many people. No one would care, nor accept, that Marc and I loved each other. We were, at least to me, the subjects of the song Sting wrote about his own relationship in the song 'The Secret Marriage'. A relationship that enjoyed no less commitment and love than any acknowledged marriage between a woman and a man, but could not be recognized in the same way with the same privileges.

There was nothing to dwell on. We could not rationalize our family's love for us and expect the residents of Lewistown to just feel the same way because we were, well, Jozef and Marc. All Marc's education and qualification, as well as his vision for and commitment to the future of Lewistown's students and school staff, could not surmount the villagers coming for him with torches and pitchforks, but in this case to chase him away; not to assertively encourage him to accept the open school board position.

I felt sad and angry at the injustices of even the 21st Century in rural Montana. Marc seemingly could read my face.

"Babe, when I was much younger than you, I spent a couple of months with a widely-accepted mantra. Within the reminder for keeping all things relative was perhaps the part of it that made the most sense then, as it does now: 'change what I can and accept what I cannot'. The truth is, there are some serious ramifications to the reality of our life together. They can't change us, and some can't accept us. We can't change them, and while we don't have to accept them, we have to understand Reality. Nothing I feel for you and nothing you feel for me would matter. The reactions would affect the school district and the board, but it would also most certainly impact Eva and her business, the farm's business dealings in the community, and even as far as what Tom and K might have to endure.

I'm not suggesting we need to hide, nor change, nor apologize for us being us. I AM suggesting that right now, perspective is everything. Ours is much more broad in scope than some of theirs. And we can't change that. We can, though, grudgingly accept that now is not the right time to try to be helpful when what they might try is to be hurtful to you and me, and our family. Does that make sense?"

"Of course it does. You just verbalized everything running through my mind while my spoon swirled around in this little bowl, trying to create more by magic, if only for the painful diversion ice cream can bring to a brain. I need to ask you something. Does my age bother you?"

Marc looked at me blankly.

"I'm sad you'd even ask that. Your age hasn't been a consideration for me. Maybe it would've been, if the first thing you told me was your age. If you were even younger? We would not be having this conversation. However, the fact of the matter is: you're so mature, so well-spoken, so perfectly behaved as a man, you and I could be the same age. You don't look what I think a seventeen-year-old looks like. Do you remember when you told me you were 130 years old, because that was your family's history, and your family are culminated in you?"

"Yeah."

"I've remembered that and probably everything else you've ever said because someone your physical, attained age wouldn't have even known to conceive that statement. Babe, this makes me feel awful."

"Now I need to ask YOU something, Boyfriend. Are you having regrets? Do you think you will have any? This is compromising you already. The fact we're even having this conversation indicates a significant shift for what you want to do with the rest of your career."

"None. No. It's not. Shift your farmer ass over here closer to me. It belongs here. It belongs to me. I belong to you. So the school board won't find me among their esteemed number, but really; think about that. Is that really how I'd want to get that job?"

"You already interviewed for it."

"Not precisely. I've no doubt they want me, and I love feeling wanted---by you and our family---for what I've done and what I can do. What I won't do is compromise myself or you or our family by subverting the very essential Part Of Me That Is My Babe Jozef. It was a nice thought, but a very dark, gray lining to a silver cloud would be waiting for me. For us."

"Scandals always impact other people. No one gets away unscathed. So maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I've been right about you, about moving here, about the rest of our lives together. Unfortunately, I'm also almost certainly right about how my participation could cause a lot of problems, because people go looking for them so they can distract from their own."

"Oh, that's interesting. I had not considered that sometimes, people need scandals to be scapegoats so fingers point away from themselves. Regardless....."

"Jozef. Look at me, please. Nothing has changed for you and me, and nothing is going to change for the people who look for problems rather than look at love. That's what we have. I don't need to have a seat on the school board."

"We have love. True. What are you going to say tomorrow, though; when you meet with Mrs Heusen?"

"That I've had time to think about it, and that since the superintendent interview, I'd decided to focus on my family. That was a good day to be introspective about what's important, priorities, and where the most good I can do should be focused. On my family."

"I am sure she'll respect that, but also feel regretful. So will Ms Delphine and Mike MacWorter. If at least Sheila Gagnon, Shanna's mom, accepts a seat, the four of them can ward off any more malicious influence by one person who might end up making Jon and Ethel Ann seem down-right friendly by comparison."

"Oh, damn....."

"What now??"

"Grammy."

"Yes, I know her....."

"Well enough that when she finds out about a seat vacancy, she and Grampy will forget all about a silly vacation they now know they don't want and fly back here by tomorrow morning? Or if not then, sometime very soon?"

"Oh. OH! HECK, yeah, Grammy! Do you have your phone? Is it charged?"

"You think we should call? They might be in the clubhouse, engaged in a round of Bitchy Bingo."

"Or Crabby Cribbage."

"Gossipy Grand Theft Auto!"

"No, not that one....I'd be surprised if any of them know how to hold a console controller. But if they could.....I shudder to think."

"I shudder to think what Grammy and the rest of the board would ask candidates for the superintendent job."

"Oh! Forgot to tell you. Madeleine Heusen said Emil Boldonovic will stay on as Interim Superintendent, with full privileges and capacity. That means reviewing and signing contracts, hiring teachers and administrators, and really, everything he was already doing. He said his commitment is open-ended, but not infinite. There still needs to be an active search for his replacement."

"While it seems 'All's Well That Ends Well' for the school board and the community, it's glaringly obvious you can't at this time be involved. Let me ask you, though: would you consider it after October?"

"Why Octo.....oh. Y'know, I don't think so."

"Why? 95% less of an issue then."

"Because, I'm honest that I am focusing on my family. You are my family. We will have, somehow, more family. Also, I am still going to get started on the next book. None of that is a compromise, or a 'consolation prize'. But there's one thing I'll tell you and no one else. The superintendent and school board are in place to follow rules and make rules. I don't feel like following rules that I can't help write, and I can't write that folks around here need to look at the love right in front of them, and less at problems for them that don't exist. My love for you is not going to affect anyone else but us. The only rule I have for haters is an easy one: Kiss my hairy ass."

"Awwww, Boyfriend; you certainly do make me feel special. Can that rule also apply to someone who definitely does not hate you, but feels exactly 180 degrees from it?"

"Oh, you mean Stan? Yeah, he loves me, but I don't really want a horse kissing my ass."

"And there goes the erection that was just beginning. Oh, well."

"Don't 'oh well' me, Mister. My ass is yours to do with whatever you want. Kiss, rub, sleep on, sodomize; whatever you want."

"Hmmm.....I like that. I also like that order. Before we get started with me kissing it, I think you should call The Grandies."

"Oh, yeah."

Marc dialed their number, and then put the phone on Speaker. It rang only one time, if that. Grampy's voice was loud and clear."

"Marc! What a nice surprise!"

"Hi, Grampy; you answered awfully fast. Were you expecting another call, or were you going to order pizza?"

"PIZZA? If we eat pizza, it's because your grandmother made it herself. There's nothing good near us down here. Just chain after chain. Nothing interesting or edible. Truth be told, though: we were going to call you. Great minds think alike, and all that jazz."

"Oh? Then I agree with you! Oh, Jozef is on the phone with us. You can call him Jeffrey, if you want. Just don't call him 'Kiddo'!"

The three of us laughed, and Grampy and I greeted each other.

"You boys hold on; I'll get the pizza chef on the phone with us!"

A moment later, we were engaged in a four-person-four-FaceTime, two-speaker-phone conversation. Marc and I got up to speed on the withering world down there. I could hear in their voices how homesick they were, as well as just sick of their 'friends'. Really, though.....what I heard was how much they missed their only grandson. The end of their line. Well.....that's what they thought. I wasn't giving up on that. Anyway.....

"Oh, you boys! It's so good to hear your voices! What a nice surprise! I'm happy to say we found one of the condos for sale in that huge, old limestone hospital! We're going to make an offer on it. Would you be dears, though, and be our eyes for us? Walk through with the realtor and let us know if it's not going to work."

They both saw me shake my head and roll my eyes.

"Grammy, I can tell you right now, it's not going to work. Nothing here is going to work except for a certain house you are more than familiar with. Like sixty or so years familiar with."

"Jozef, that's you boys' home now!"

"Marc, back me up on this."

My man laughed.

"Grampy, back me up on this."

Grampy laughed, but Grammy was harrumphing, all the way from New Mexico. Marc continued.

"Please. Don't even think about anyplace else. You had this home designed for your lives, which are still very much living. Jozef and I will be completely happy in the apartment. He even had an idea which I like, and you might, too."

The Grandies were immediately interested in the idea, apparently tabling more discussion of them moving to the house in the first place. Marc began describing the thought I had with adding light and a lower level entrance to the apartment. Then he involved me, and I came in with details and particulars. Grammy and Grampy seemed to jump at the idea, suggesting they should've done that when the house was designed and built. We talked about fifteen minutes more, and then their doorbell rang. Grammy said she'd go see 'who the heck is disturbing a perfectly decent day away from the neighbors'. Grampy, Marc and I laughed. We heard Grammy in the background begging off from joining the others in the clubhouse for---of course---some game. She returned to the conversation.

"I swear, Grant is so annoying. He doesn't take the stairs or the elevator to get up to our floor; he just floats up on his own breath!"

Grampy laughed.

"Grant likes his Mai-Tais, which begin somewhere between breakfast and his morning nap. And then he cheats at cards, thinking he's so clever and no one can notice. We can barely get away from him now; when we're on that cruise and land is so far away?? I'll go 'man overboard' before we even launch from the pier!"

Grammy wasn't in disagreement.

"I'm sorry we ever did that. I'm sorry we ever did this! But it seemed like a good idea at the time. Really, though.....it's not about a roof over our old heads. It's about missing our family, and you two are it."

I nudged Marc's knee with my own and smiled. He smiled back and put the palm of his hand on my face, pressing just enough to be a hug by proxy. I liked those. He was still smiling when he responded.

"Just out of curiosity: did you buy vacation interruption insurance?"

Grampy said they had done that, in case something happened that would prevent them from going, like an illness or accident.

"That insurance covers you if you decide not to go. You'd lose the cost of the insurance and maybe a small percentage of the fare, but maybe not. Depends on the conditions in the insurance contract. I'd read it and see if you have any 'out'. Then let me know, and I'll make flight arrangements for you to come back to Montana. As for your things....."

"WE'LL DONATE THEM TO THE SENIOR CENTER'S THRIFT STORE!!!"

Well, that was that. Grampy continued asking about the house and anything else we thought would make it more of a home for us. Before Marc could speak, I jumped on that.

"Right now, it's just a house, Grampy. But it's YOUR home. Come back and live in it, and everyone can pretend the past month or so were just a weird dream. Marc and I are fine in the apartment. We did nothing upstairs. Well, not entirely true: we bought some new towels for the bathroom."

"You boys!"

Grammy was back on the line.

"I'm reading the fine print on the cruise ticket! We can get out of this with a clause for 'family-related concerns'. Well, we're concerned for our family, because they want old people for roommates. I'll call the travel agent the moment this call concludes!"

Grampy was happy now, too.

"And I'll tell the management office for this stupid Senior city and tell 'em we'll rent our unit out. There's a long waiting list for renting! I think we'll hold onto it, though. It's still a nice place to visit....."

"BUT WE WOULDN'T WANT TO LIVE THERE!!!", said all four of us at once. What fun!

Marc segued the conversation to the school board vacancies, and him being approached (if not commandeered) to fill one of them. He mentioned the details as he knew them from the phone call with Mrs Heusen.

"When do you start??"

"I don't, Grampy. After some conversation with Jozef, I don't think it's good for us. I told you I'm writing a series of books, and that has to be part of my focus, too. It wasn't my primary rationale, though. That's a job for someone who has more history here than I have, and whose entire family will be a known quantity. To be honest, the extent of my family here isn't quite open knowledge for most of the people in the community. All things being equal, let's just say all things are not equal. However.....Grammy, we all know you're perfect for one of the board seats. Madeleine Heusen just needs to hear you're interested---which we four know you are---and when you'll be back in Montana."

Grampy cleared his throat.

"Oh, she'll do it. If you were here right now, you'd see her transitioning from matter to energy. Your Grammy is positively vibrating."

We all laughed, but Grampy returned with a comment about logic and reason.

"You've maybe come to the right conclusion-----as far as the rest of the community is concerned. I suppose no one thought about that when you went for the superintendent job, but everything was so new for you. Everything. Now, though.....you know your priorities, and none of them is more important than family. You have a good family, Marc; Jozef. And plenty of other family who're so happy you two are working toward your own. I'm sorry Fergus County is so resistant to the progress of Life, Liberty and The Pursuit Of Happiness---for everyone. Oh, my gosh.....your Grammy is now red. I think she's angry.

"PISSED OFF is more like it! Not that you're not going for the open seats, but because there are people who'd like to stop you from just using your education and experience to help a school district. I WILL call Madeleine, and we'll talk. Even before I call the travel agent!"

Marc and I laughed, and I moved a little closer to the phone.

"So everyone is in agreement that your house is still your home, and that you'll have grandsons very near-by who'll be grateful for you and all that 7-UP and Root Beer still in the garage?"

They both laughed at me.

"AGREED!"

And that was that. The usual pleasantries concluded the call, and with his phone still on, Marc called Mrs Heusen. That was not a speaker-phone call. Marc expressed his deep appreciation for being considered, but said his focus needs to be on his family first, and his writing commitments second. Mrs Heusen sighed, but accepted the response. She said she didn't have a big pool of 'good, qualified people' to draw from. Marc told her to keep her phone within reach, because sometimes a good, qualified person will be there before she knew it. That all depended on how fast a plane could get that person and her man from New Mexico to Montana. For Marc and me, it couldn't happen soon enough. We welcomed a previous generation back to where they were happy and belonged, and I so longed for the day when we could welcome the next generation, too. There were two grandmothers and a grandpa who weren't getting any younger, nor healthier. My kids would know them and love them, and be born to Love from a growing family.

First.....I had to get Marc pregnant.

Where'd that can of Crisco go....?