My Summer Vacation, Chapter 3
It was during the middle of my second week of residing in paradise that an event happened which would make a profound change in my life.
I was driving toward town on the two-lane blacktop when I came upon a white Suburban that was moving slowly but erratically. My thought was that either the person was texting or drunk. I had no way of knowing what the driver even looked like because I couldn't see anyone's head above the headrest. I was afraid to try to pass it lest the vehicle swerve into my lane about the time I was beside it.
Repeating the license number into my recorder, I was about to alert Sheriff Ward when I saw a body on a bicycle flying through the air. Naturally, I slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting it if it landed in front of me. The white vehicle kept moseying on; the driver evidently oblivious.
Scrambling down into the ditch, I found a young man lying on his back beside his crumpled bike, looking a bit dazed but, seemingly conscious.
"Wow, you're alive!" I exclaimed, a comment rather insensitive and inarticulate for a writing professor.
"Yeah, the pain has confirmed that I'm responding to external stimuli," he said with a wry smile.
"Lie still and let me call an ambulance, assuming there is one in Red Lodge to call."
"No, don't. I'm not sure my student health plan will cover that and I can't afford to pay it out of pocket."
"You can't afford to end up paralyzed either!"
"Just help me up, please."
"Not yet. Please don't move until call Doc Marsh and ask his advice."
"Look, I've crashed a number of times doing Motocross in my youth and I'm pretty much in touch with my bod. I hurt, but I'm not in shock and I'm sure nothing's broken."
"Okay, but please let me talk to the doctor before we move you. I've had first aid training, but I'm not certified for EMT work and I don't want you to suffer permanently from having me do the wrong thing!"
I identified myself to Dr. Marsh, and he talked me through a cursory examination of the young man's body. It involved firmly feeling his legs, arms, and torso. I did my best to maintain a professional demeanor, but that was only possible because of the seriousness of the situation. Had I not been concerned about his wellbeing, I might have thrown wood. Thank God he had on jeans instead spandex!
He was fit and lean, with muscles which appeared to have developed from use, and were not simply for esthetics. But for the color of his skin, he might have been a Greek god. As it was, he resembled a Nubian warrior, but one of mixed heritage. His skin was a medium mocha hue, but his eyes were the most amazing shade of green.
According to Dr. Marsh, the only local ambulance was out on a call for an elderly heart patient and wouldn't be available anytime soon. He felt it would be best if I transported the injured guy to the clinic in my SUV so that he could be checked for a concussion. Even though he'd been wearing a helmet, it was possible that his brain might have been jarred by the impact.
The doctor asked me to put him on the phone and they discussed the benefits and risks of not waiting for an ambulance. In the process, I learned that my new acquaintance was named Vernon Washington.
"Do you feel strong enough to climb the bank if I help, Vernon?" I asked after he ended the call.
"I sure do, and please call me Vern like my friends do."
"Okay Vern, I think it would be easier over here where you can grab onto some of these small trees."
He was strong and agile despite his injuries, and managed to make it up without much help on my part. I mostly held onto the backs of his legs to steady his feet so they didn't slip on the damp vegetation. Once he was settled in the passenger seat, I rummaged around and found a slightly warm bottle of water which he drank slowly, and with much appreciation.
"I'll go back and get your backpack and what's left of you bike," I called on my way down.
"Um, could you look for my phone? It doesn't seem to be in my pocket."
"Here, call your number from mine," I suggested as I tossed it up to him.
He caught it easily, making me feel that he must be okay if he reflexes were that good.
It took a couple of minutes, following the sound of his ringtone, before I located the device wedged below a clump of bushes about 10 feet from where he'd landed.
With all of his possessions accounted for, we headed for the clinic.
At one point, I glanced over toward him as we turned onto the main highway. There were tears streaming down his face.
"Are you in a lot of pain, Vern?"
"It's tolerable. I'm sorry about the waterworks; I tend to get emotional."
"You have every right to be, having had a brush with the Grim Reaper!"
"It's not about what happened to me, it's about you and what you're doing. The concept of the Good Samaritan still lives, and it gives me hope for the human race."
"Thanks, but I'm not doing anything unusual."
"Yeah, you are. With the tensions between blacks and whites in recent police shootings and all, you never know who'll care and who would rather see you dead."
"Dude, you're my BROTHER, and I AM my brother's keeper."
"We don't exactly look like siblings," he grinned, holding up his left arm against my right.
"In here we do," I countered, touching his chest. "Your heart beats like mine, and when you bleed, I'm sure your blood is as red as mine."
"I'm glad you feel that way too! You're a true Christian."
A bit embarrassed by Vern's words, I changed the subject and suggested we call the sheriff to report the incident.
"Maybe we shouldn't. I don't want to be sued for scratching someone's fender."
"We have to! That person was weaving around and could have killed you."
"But what if they charge me for biking while black?"
"Man, do you have an attitude about white people or what?"
"Nope, just some bad experiences, and I'm not sure how I'll be received in a small western town."
"Well, I'm gonna do my best try to change your perspective on that."
My call to Sheriff Ward went through quickly and I had Vern play back the description of the vehicle and the license number.
"Oh shit!" he cussed. "Edna knows better than that. I wonder why she strayed out into the country. Her children assured me that they had talked to her about not driving out of town anymore!"
"So, I take it you know the driver."
"Yes. How is the victim? Will he be okay?"
"I'm in some pain, but I'll live," Vern piped up. "Thanks for asking."
"That's a relief! I'm not sure she has valid insurance, but I know her family will take responsibility for your bills if she doesn't. I hope you can find it in your heart not to sue the poor old thing."
"I'm not out to get anyone. I'd like to be assured she won't hurt anyone else."
"I'll see to it!" the sheriff replied before he signed off.
We had to wait for the doctor because he was getting the heart patient stabilized. He saw Vern right after the helicopter lifted off, transporting the man to Butte.
"Well, young man, you look pretty good considering what you've been through."
"The brush along the road broke my fall."
"Fortunately it didn't break any ribs in the process," Dr. Marsh quipped. "You don't even have many scratches."
"I landed on my back and I was wearing a backpack, so that cushioned me, I guess. My Levis prevented road rash. It was providential that this morning was cold so I put them on instead of my biking shorts."
"Your guardian angel must have rushed in too."
"Yeah, he did as quickly as he could scramble into the ditch," Vern agreed, looking over at me with a grin.
I'm sure I must have blushed at his comment. I was self-conscious, but I liked the fact that Vern appreciated what I did.
Dr. Marsh gave Vern a few samples of a pain medication instead of writing a prescription. He was aware that the young man was concerned about bills.
"I don't think I need to keep you overnight, but I want you to rest and I'd like someone to keep tabs on you."
"I'll do that," I volunteered. "It will help me earn my wings."
I was going to take Vern to the café for a late lunch, but he turned the offer down, saying he looked too scruffy to be seen in an eating establishment. Therefore, I left him in the vehicle while I ordered two burgers with fries to carry out. He told me that I didn't need to do that, and offered to pay for both meals. When I wouldn't let him, he graciously allowed me to treat.
"Since I'm already in your debt, could you take me to get my key from the realty office if it's not too much trouble? I can crash in my little apartment and unpack the stuff I shipped, as soon as I feel better. The place is called Forsythe Realty and supposed to be around here somewhere."
"That would be Fred's establishment and I know it well; it's only a block away."
I introduced the men and told Fred what had happened in the morning. He nodded and then turned to Vern.
"Son, you'd better sit down because I have more bad news. Gabe can testify to the big fire the day he arrived."
"Of course, don't tell me...," I exclaimed.
"Yup, there were six apartments above the hardware store. Five were occupied and they all were gutted. We've placed everyone who was there at the time, but there's not another dwelling available in the whole town currently unless you want to hunker down in a musty basement. Maybe in a couple of weeks something will open up."
"Damn." Vern murmured as he put his head in his hands. "I suppose the boxes of clothes I shipped were in there too."
"No, you've been saved on that one. It's the one time that you can be thankful that `snail mail' lived up to its nickname and didn't get your packages to their destination quickly. They're stored here in the back room."
"May I leave them here until I find a place to stay?"
"Of course."
"Wait, I have a solution," I interrupted. "You can move into the cabin with me. There are two bedrooms and it's large enough that we wouldn't be right on top of each other." (In my mind, I was considering how nice it would be if we took turns being on top of each other!)
"I think your day just got a lot better!" Fred enthused. "It's a beautiful place, and this guy seems amiable enough."
"Okay, I appreciate it and I'll move in on a trial basis, but only on the condition that I pay half the rent," Vern agreed.
"That's fine with me. I think you'll like splitting the bill," I grinned.
"What?" Vern asked.
"How much is half of zero? You do the math."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. The place belongs to my great uncle and I'm staying there gratis. Now you are too."
"What can I say?"
"How about asking for help loading your boxes of clothes into my SUV?"
On the way to the cabin I got my curiosity satisfied as to why Vern was spending his summer in this rather remote location. I kept up the conversation by asking leading questions. He seemed eager to share a number of things about his situation.
He had been offered a summer internship that he couldn't turn down. Not only would he receive a salary while practicing his craft, but he would also be forgiven part of his student loan since it was a government job that was beneficial for national security.
The work was right up his alley because it involved creating a computer program and overseeing its use for a few months until others were trained on how to operate it.
The federal government had chosen this remote inland area as a kind of "dooms-day" repository for various seeds to be stored in case of some future natural or man-made disaster that might wipe out food plants. Red Lodge was a perfect location because of its isolation. An attack by a foreign government or terrorist group would be hard to pull off in a community where roads made access difficult and everyone knew everyone else – all of whom kept a number of firearms for hunting and self-defense.
Another plus for the region was the abandoned coal mines, one of which had been easily retrofitted into several vaults where the temperature and humidity could be controlled with little, if any, need for mechanical devices.
In order to save money and see part of the country at the same time, Vernon had traveled west by rail, taking his bicycle along. The closest train station was in Billings, about 60 miles away from Red Lodge. As an avid biker, he might have made that trip in a single day, but he had chosen to camp one night along the way.
This area was not only more rugged than going across Iowa on the annual RAGBRAI trip, but the higher elevation affected one's breathing.
So, that was what had brought him to the place where he'd been struck by the elderly motorist at the very time I was passing by.
When my questioning of him wound down, he realized that I had told him essentially nothing about me.
"I take it you must work for the University of Iowa."
"Um, yes, but how did you guess?"
"Possibly it was the Johnson County license plates and the U of I parking sticker," he grinned. "It doesn't exactly take a great detective to deduce that."
"Okay, then that makes me suspect that you're a student there too."
"I am. This summer's internship will help me toward graduation in the spring. I'd really like to stay in Iowa when I finish because I've come to appreciate the friendliness of the people and the political/social outlook of the area."
"That's pretty well limited to the I-380 corridor," I said. "You know how conservative the western part of the state is. Congressman King is a little right of Attila the Hun!"
"True."
"If you feel comfortable in Iowa City, then what was that bit about bad racial relations this morning?"
"I haven't always lived there. I've done my best to forget about the South and make sure my accent blends in, but I haven't forgotten the prejudice and hate. Every time I'm feeling a bit of hope, events like Ferguson come up and I wonder if anyone actually believes that black lives matter."
"I guess I can understand how you feel, on an intellectual level at least. I know I've lived a charmed life where race is concerned. I've never had to worry about being accepted for the color of my skin. However, I did suffer some bullying in school."
"I can't imagine that!" Vern exclaimed. "You're good-looking and fit. Who would pick on you?"
"I worked out and took karate lessons to give me confidence, so it pretty well stopped by my junior year in high school. I kicked a bully's ass that fall and suddenly I got respect. The fight wasn't of my choosing...
Adolescents can be cruel, especially to someone they consider weak. My love of literature and other arts didn't help create a macho image at that age."
"I can relate to that. Imagine being a black kid in a society that assumed you were an ignorant thug. Then your peers called you `Uncle Tom' if you did well in school. They told me I was a white boy in a black boy's skin. My eye color proved I had white blood."
"Your eyes are beautiful!" I exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.
"Thanks, but they're not like your blue ones. Those are perfect!"
His exuberance made my heart skip a beat. I had feared that I might have offended him by remarking about his eyes in the way I did. Now he was returning the compliment in a manner that was just as effusive. Perhaps he was simply being polite. I had to remind myself not to become too hopeful.
The pain medication Vern had taken was evidently beginning to work. He got out of my vehicle much more easily than he had entered it earlier.
We made short work of bringing his things into the extra bedroom to get him settled. I did most of it because I was concerned that he not injure himself further by lifting too much.
I suggested that we leave his mangled bike on the rack to take it to the shop in town the next day. It didn't look fixable to me, but we might as well ask an expert. I had already made up my mind that I would front him the money for a new one until he could get some kind of settlement from the old lady.
After I helped him unpack and find places for his clothes in the closet and a bureau, I invited him to have a shower and nap or try out the hot tub. He chose the former, and I didn't see him again until he eased his way, a bit unsteadily, into the kitchen area, following the aroma of the chicken breasts I was cooking for dinner.
"Are you okay, or do you need another pain pill?"
"I'm good. The effects of the codeine along with zonking out so hard have made me groggy. I hate not being in control. I'd rather feel a little pain than be a zombie."
"I'm like that too, but sometimes a guy has to give in and take his medicine to stay ahead of the pain. I don't mind waiting on you if you feel dizzy. I don't want you to fall and suffer more injury."
"Thanks, I appreciate that."
I got him a big glass of ice water with a slice of lemon on the rim. His smile was adequate recompense for being waited on.
"I feel like I'm at a five-star resort. I've had a long nap on a very comfortable bed after taking a shower with wonderfully scented shower gel and now I'm awaiting a gourmet dinner."
"I'll admit the cabin has amenities, but you may have a long wait for a gourmet meal. This is a new recipe from the Internet that I haven't tried before. The ingredients do sound good. It's hard to miss with chicken, cream cheese, tomato, and bacon."
I had roasted Brussels sprouts, baby carrots, cauliflower pieces, and onion slices which were tossed on olive oil and sprinkled with minced garlic, sea salt and pepper. The aromas were delightful.
Vern ate slowing, raving about the taste between every bite. I felt like I was basking in his praise.
Despite his protests, I didn't let him get up to help clear and tidy up the kitchen. I agreed that he could take a turn at cooking later when he felt better. However, I reminded him that in a few days he would be a working man and I didn't have to keep any particular schedule.
"Do you want to try out the hot tub," I asked after our dinner had had a few minutes to settle.
"I'd love to, but I didn't think to pack a swimsuit. I guess I was trying not to bring anything I wouldn't use and I assumed my exercise would be biking or hiking."
"No worries. I don't wear one because the chemicals tend to fade the cloth and cause the dye to get deposited on the walls. I might have a pair of white boxers somewhere if you're uncomfortable going bare-ass."
"No, I'm cool. If you go skinny, I'll do it too."
I led the way out to the deck where we both stripped. I told him I was going to rinse off under the outdoor shower because I felt sweaty after cooking. He said that he should probably do the same.
Try as I might, I couldn't help checking out is beautiful body as he stood under the stream. Ancient statues of Greek athletes with their broad shoulders tapering to trim waists and pert butts came to mind. The similarities didn't end there. His strong calves narrowed down to petit ankles – the perfect form for hiking and biking. In a word, he was BEAUTIFUL. I tried not to stare!
He, in turn, appraised my body as I washed away the sweat. He seemed to be embarrassed when I caught him staring, and he averted his eyes.
I turned the shower off and stepped slowly into the warm roiling water. He joined me, moving at the same pace. For a moment, our eyes met as we sat down.
The bubbles helped to hide the evidence of my admiration. If I had found him attractive at first sight when he was clad in jeans and a light jacket, seeing him naked was almost overwhelming.
I had a feeling that we both wanted to say something about the other person's body, but were afraid to do so. I didn't want to look like I was hitting on him lest he feel like I expected him to "pay" for his lodging by pleasing me. Besides, I really didn't know him well yet. Perhaps he wasn't feeling like I was and I didn't want to complicate things if we were going to be living under the same roof.
Vernon appeared to be sleepy again after getting out of the spa. I handed him a large towel to dry with after he showered off the chemicals. I did the same, and we each went off to our respective bedrooms with a towel tied loosely at the waist.
Sleep eluded me for a while. Perhaps I had retired too early, but that didn't account for all of my restlessness. I kept thinking about how nice he was and hoping that we might eventually hit it off in an intimate way as well as an intellectual one.
I wasn't considering a one-night stand, but something more lasting. Sure he was hot, by anyone's standards, but he was also a pleasant person to be around, someone to come home to at the end of the day.
Here I was fantasizing about a domestic scene, and I didn't even know for sure that he was gay. My gaydar was normally very sensitive. I couldn't figure out why it wasn't sending off a clear signal tonight.
As I daydreamed, I considered the ethical issues of dating an undergrad in the university where I was teaching. I knew there were no rules that prohibited it when there wasn't a direct teacher/student relationship. It was highly unlikely that he would register for one of my courses. If he did, that might put things into a gray area. Again, I was getting ahead of myself.
Author's notes: Thanks to all who emailed this past week: Jim H, Wayne, Nick S, Tom A, Bill T, Peter M, Jim L, Ott H, Walt S, Vern, Charles G, Jim W, Bill k, Tony F, Larry S, Jim M, Jeremy R, Mendy D, and Dick M. As you know, your emails are my only compensation for posting.
As always, I'm indebted to my editors, Tom and David for their hard work. I also appreciate Nifty for posting. Please help to keep this free service going with your donations.
David