I usually don't
remember my dreams; however, I remember the one I had that night like
it was only a few minutes ago. It was more real than the dreams
of any night before. I was up in the air, on a platform of some
kind, maybe two or three hundred feet high, looking down on Katy at
night. The full moon was giving the landscape a cool blue
light. Everything was absolutely crystal clear. My vision
was as sharp as it was when I was twenty. I saw bats wheeling in the
air over the lights, feasting on insects drawn into the presumed safety
of darkness. Owls soaring, plunged silently, their claws finding
voles and mice by the score to carry off to their nest of young.
My house was
dark, as was Jerry and Elva's and most of the others. I saw the
crisp details of Andy's cruiser parked behind Charlene's, the number
"565" in black letters on the white roof. A cone of light opened
from Charlene's house, I saw Andy leave, get in his cruiser and slowly
head out to Gove. A bell tolled twelve midnight, except we don't
have a bell like that in our church belfry. This was a deep, ‘Big
Ben’ kind of bell that reverberated to the bottom of my soul. I
looked north and saw the occasional fire-fly glow from a car or truck
on the Interstate in the distance. I saw the shadowy sky-glow of
Salina barely discernable to the East-northeast. A plane sailed
far above and way North, probably a transcontinental flight from
Chicago or St. Louis.
Turning
clockwise I looked for the pale glow of Wichita on the horizon, two
hundred miles to the Southeast. It was too far away, although I
could distinguish the horizon and a less-dark patch above it. I
could see nothing at all to the South or Southwest, just a couple of
lights in farmhouses, where someone probably nodded off without turning
them off. I couldn't make out the horizon. To the West, I
could make out a couple of lights where Gove awaited Andy who was
halfway there, his headlights now casting only a small cone of
light. Completing the turn, I looked down again and barely made
out the dark depression that was the place where Groth's plane rested
for a while. I looked three or four miles to the Southeast where
the hangar, ‘Harry's Folly,’ it was called for years, stood mute
testament to his stubborn pride. It was a good three times as
long and twice as wide as the depression Groth’s plane left in the
orchard.
As I watched
over the countryside I could see nothing moving except Andy’s
cruiser. I dreamed I saw a pale shimmer in the moonlight, a spot
of not-quite-the-right stillness just above the Southwest horizon
moving to the East. Now it was due south of me, then Northeast,
around town, maybe ten miles out, coming towards me from the East,
plunging lower, so it was below the horizon, just a ripple in the water
of the landscape, barely noticeable. It slowed as it approached
staying beneath me then stopped in front of the hangar like it was
waiting for the doors to open and let it in. It was like looking
at an amoeba under a microscope when I was in high school. All
you could see was an almost transparent outline of the body as it
seemed to shimmer like it was trying to form itself from waves of
energy of some kind.
‘That's why
nobody never sees 'em.’ I thought idly, ‘Must drive them
Iraqi sheiks crazy.’
"We want to help
you." said Groth's voice in my right ear. I jerked my head
around to see him, but he was too close. I ended up with my face
right in his, and when I opened my mouth a little to say something, he
was kissing me. It was so sudden, so unexpected, I folded into
his arms, his strong arms, and it felt so natural for me to hug him to
me, kissing him back, crushing him against my chest, feeling myself
getting aroused, feeling him getting aroused, my heart beating like the
wings of a hummingbird, knowing he wanted me, and how surely I wanted
him. We fell together to the horizontal, landing on a soft cloud
just as,—
Chester!
Oh, Lord, Chester crowed, and I opened my eyes. Why did that
stupid bird have to crow right then? He’s really pushing his
luck. If he ever interrupts another dream like that, I’m taking
my axe and permanently adjusting his snooze button. I looked at
the clock and the glowing hands showed four thirty-eight. I had
my arms around a mass of pillow and quilt, and my,— my penis was hard
as a rock. It was throbbing so hard it hurt. My left hand
went to verify that my erection was real. God help me, it was
real and stout as an young ox. I closed my eyes again as I moved
my hand back and forth under the covers. My foreskin was slippery
with my own secretions from the sensations of shivers in my thighs so
long missed and now so unbearably sweet. My orgasm built rapidly,
almost without bidding, then something burst inside me, sending waves
of pleasure through my body not felt in years, shooting out the head of
my penis onto the sheets. I didn't give a damn if I soiled my
sheets, I'd have to wash them eventually anyway. It felt too damn
good to worry about. All the time I thought of Groth,— not of
Mary nor any other woman. I thought of Groth, kissing him and him
kissing me back.
I drifted back
into a half sleep, petite mort, not bothering to wipe up, to clean
myself, amazed I came so quickly and so powerfully. I avoided
thinking about this sudden switch in my sexual fantasies, from nothing
at all to another male, all in one day. I wasn't prepared to face
the truth that lay underneath my thoughts waiting to rear its head when
it seemed too late to do much about it. Chester again insisted he
was not wrong. The sun was about to come up, and for me to get my
ass out of bed. Once Chester starts there’s no going back to
sleep. I threw back the covers and the light chill of morning was
just the stimulus to get me moving. I looked down at Roger
ruefully.
That’s what I
should call him, ‘Rueful Roger.’ I was expecting him to be all
puckered up and exhausted after his outing. He was still
semi-erect. Damn! What’s happening to me. Here I am
well into my sixties still with a semi-hard thirty minutes after
orgasm. Something’s going on, that's for damn sure. I
wondered if it was something I ate? Maybe, it’s those new
mulivitamins I bought at Walmart I’m taking. I put on my slippers
and padded to the toilet, getting there just in time to let loose a
geyser of pee. I even got the finish-off shivers I used to get
all the time when I was a kid.
‘Haven't had
that feeling in years,’ I thought to myself as I flushed the old tank
toilet and went to the bathroom across the hall as the water roared
down the pipe to the bowl. The big tank on the wall almost to the
ceiling made an almost obscene sucking sound as it emptied out.
I felt my chin
for whiskers, and was dismayed to find a thick crop on my cheeks and
neck, feeling like a four-day growth. I opened the medicine chest
mirrored door over the sink, pulled out my razor and shave cream,
toothpaste, plate adhesive, laid them on the shelf, closed the door,
loaded up my toothbrush and started brushing the abominations.
I'd left them in the glass the night before but without the cleansing
tablets. I looked into the mirror for the first time, and
stopped, frozen.
Something was
not right. My beard was dark, chestnut brown like my hair used to
be before I went grey, and it was thick like it never was before.
It covered my face almost to the cheekbone. It grew on my neck
almost to my adam's apple. I never had a beard that heavy
before. I don't think I ever had dark hair on my cheeks. It
was always light brown except for my darker sideburns, around my
chin and top lip. My nose looked different, too. I can't
tell you how but I knew it was different.
“What in the
hell’s going on?" I said aloud, almost startling myself with my own
volume, reverberating in the tiled room. "What’s GOING ON?"
I installed my
teeth with the usual amount of adhesive but they hurt badly.
‘Shoot,’ I thought to myself, ‘now I’ve got
gingivitis. My whole damned body's gone haywire.’ I spit
out the plates and saw a little blood. ‘It’s gingivitis, all
right.’ I thought. All us old guys are susceptible to
it. I have to go into Salina to Abe Friedman, my dentist,
sometime soon. I put extra adhesive on my plates figuring that
would help a little.
I looked at my
hands as I rinsed my toothbrush in the sink, and even they looked a
little odd. The veins still stood out like always, but they
weren't as dark blue or wrinkled.
“Get a
grip," I told myself out loud.
I slowly shaved
because the hairs resisted the attack of my razor. I had to
change the blade in the razor for the first time in weeks. Under
my beard something definitely was going on. My skin was flushed a
little, almost puffy, and maybe even a little smoother. I
couldn't figure it out. My beard was never that thick, not even
when I was in my twenties.
I couldn't take
my eyes off the top of my head. Could hair be growing back in
there, too? What was that stuff? Regain?
Rogain? I never took any pills. I wondered if someone snuck
something into my food as a bad joke? I couldn't imagine
Charlene doing anything like that, or Ralph either. My scalp was
red as a cooked crawdad. Must have gotten a really bad sunburn
because it itched like crazy.
My armpits were
rank. I stripped to jump into the shower while waiting for the
hot water to make its way down the pipe to the shower head. I
looked down at myself and got a little dizzy. My front was
different. My belly was sunk, so I could see all the way down my
front. My hipbones were back where they were before I was much
younger, before when I was married.
It didn't look
like my body. When I got under the shower I got another
shock. The hair on my chest and abdomen washed off. It just
fell off with the hot water. It fell off and swirled around the
drain clogging it up. I stood under the water watching the hair
clog the drain, watching the water back up, rise to cover my toes, grey
hair now floating on the surface of the water, and if that wasn’t
enough, my feet looked considerably different. The angles of the
toes were gone. The nails were blackened at the base like the
time I stubbed my toe real bad and the nail fell off a few weeks later.
My knees weren’t
so knobby and my shins had no more soft puffiness like they had for the
last few years. My thighs didn't look as skinny as they’d
been. There was far more muscle development showing. Dear
Lord, the wrinkles were gone from my skin. It was stretched and
taut.
"Oh, dear God,
what’s going on? What's happening to me?" The water was
three inches deep, the surface covered with a fine mat of my gray hair
like little worms. I got out of the tub and turned off the water
shaking like a leaf. I hesitated before plunging my hand into the
water to clear the drain. I had to clear it three times, throwing
handfuls of matted hair into the plastic trash basket each time.
"Whoever’s put
some’um in my food's gonna pay dearly!" I swore to myself.
"This joke's gone too damn far!"
I grabbed a
towel and dried myself. There was little hair left on my chest to
speak of, and absolutely none left on my belly. At least my pubic
hair was still there; however, even some of that seemed to be
gone. My legs seemed to have lost all of the hair above the knee,
and most of what was below the knee. I looked in the mirror, and the
hair on my head seemed okay. Maybe it was a little thinner, but
that looked normal. Who ever heard of a drug that acted both as a
depilatory and a hair restorative?
"There you go
with big words again, Graham." I mocked myself. I noticed I
was shaking.
After I cleaned
out the drain for the fourth time and wiped the tub like always,
there was more hair in the waste basket than I thought I ever
had. I got on the scale, figuring I must’ve lost a few pounds or
something. I was surprised to see I'd actually gained five
pounds. That, at least, was a relief because you don't gain
weight when you have Cancer.
My gums still
hurt so I took an aspirin even though it was morning and I had work to
do. I padded into the bedroom and got dressed, throwing on my
jeans and a clean shirt over my plaid boxers and white tee-shirt.
I pulled on my old work boots over white socks to complete my dress of
the day. I didn't even wheeze when I leaned over to pull on my
boots. My jeans were definitely loose around the waist, but not
so loose around my hips.
"Once a fat ass,
always a fat ass.” I said aloud, trying to take up some
tension. My shirt felt a little tight across the shoulders and
chest. I had to take up another notch in my belt. The
buckle tongue went into a hole I'd never used before. How was
this possible? I’d gained five pounds but my waist was
considerably smaller.
I took the
pickup into town instead of Jeep after I fed the flock and gathered the
eggs. I figured on doing a little looking over the hangar
and workshop that was to house my new business venture.
This time I didn't forget my hat. I didn't want anybody making
any smart remarks about me losing more hair. What the heck was I
going to use for a explanation if somebody saw my naked chest?
What would Doc Andy say about all this. Oh, Lord, I just remembered,
I’m due for my annual exam in a few weeks. Geez, why does life have to
be so darned complicated?
I was running a
little late, so I took Gove Road right into town, barely making it in
time. Dan poured me a mug of coffee just as I opened the
door. It was his subtle way of letting me know he knew I was a
little late, but he didn’t want to draw anyone else’s attention
to it. Dan's considerate that way. We all said
‘howdy.’ I looked over to the first booth, but Andy Trothwell
wasn't there.
‘Must have the
swing shift tonight.’ I thought absently, nodding to Karl
Carlsson and his son Phil. They farmed double plots South and
West of mine. They don't come into Katy too often for breakfast,
because they live in Totteville. I noticed all the booths were
filled as well as the seats at the counter. Charlene's was
bustling with business which was nice to see. I figure she's had
enough troubles in her life, she deserves a good run of business.
Charlene had
already given Pete his cake. She didn't bat an eye, just asked if
it was bacon or sausage. I told her bacon since yesterday was a
sausage day. By the time I got my breakfast with bacon in the
center and sausages on the side, Ralph and Gary arrived. The
diner was filled with familiar buzz about the town, weather and
crops. Talk was the Carsten boys down at the river were selling
futures on their alfalfa this year for the first time, but not on corn
or soy. Pete was saying how he'd made a extra fifteen cents a
bushel by selling early.
I ate my
breakfast, but my gums hurt when I chewed on the sausage and the
bacon. Damned dental plates! I pushed away the platter
without eating all my food. I ate maybe half, and sat with my
coffee talking with Dan, Ralph and Gary about Sweeneys. The whole
of Sweeneys’ garage went up in flames right to the I-beams. Some
reckoned it was probably because they stored too much oil in
drums. The showroom was gutted. The ceiling fell in on all
the equipment when the wall to the garage burned through. The
hint of arson was behind everything Gary said. He said he got his
information from his wife's sister-in-law, whose brother was a
volunteer fireman in Oakley and helped fight the fire. That's
where his wife Diane was all week. Her brother and sister-in-law
just had twins.
"Graham?"
came a voice over my right shoulder. I looked around and it was
Phil Carlsson.
"Ayuh?" I
acknowledged him.
"Finished
eating?" He asked kind of fidgety like.
"Ayuh," I
said, looking into his grey eyes. The mystery of why the
Carlssons, Karl and his son Phil, were in Charlene's was solved.
They wanted to talk to me about something. They were trying to
buy a single or double plot for Phil's kid brother Charles, somewhere
between Karl's spread and Katy. Charles was share-cropping over
in Gove, and the last I heard he wasn’t married. Good women want
a man who has more than a two-year share-crop contract. I told
them last year my second parcel was first optioned to Gil Carver so I
knew that couldn’t be what they wanted to talk to me about.
"Could we,—
maybe,— talk to you a few minutes?" he asked.
"Sure,
Phil. Lemme’ get some more coffee. Be right over." I
replied.
I snagged the
pot from the hotplate in front of Gary, poured some more coffee in my
mug, and walked over to the booth and sat down next to Phil. I
knew his dad, Karl, would be the one doing most of the talking.
"Mornin'
Graham." Karl muttered, paying more attention to the biscuit he was
buttering than to me. “Word has it you might open your own business
over at Harry's hangar."
"Ayuh," I
said, “word gets ‘round pretty quick.” I answered and
chuckled.
"Think you could
handle our group?"
"You mean,
you’n Phil?"
"Naw,— well, us
an' the rest of our Torris Co-op." The Torris Co-op is a group of
fifty middle-size farmers who do a lot of common buying and
selling. I didn't know Karl and his son signed on to the
Gove-based Co-op." We been using Sweeney. Don't look like we can
count on 'em no more."
"How
many?" I stalled for time by asking a question I already knew the
answer to. This could be good for me. Maybe even too good.
“They's
forty-eight of us, and we got,— lessee,—” he fished a wad of
paper out of his shirt pocket. "We got us fifty-two Deeres,
forty-three IHs, thirty-two Cats what could come to ya,' and about half
that number a’ harvesters’n bailers. Fer those ya'd need to
come to us to fix."
"I can handle
that." I said confidently. "S’long as your schedules don't
call for it all in the same cycle, and I can do a maintenance run what
lets me do six or eight jobs a day when I'm on the road."
"How long afore
ya' have yer shop up and running?" asked Phil, as his dad gummed
his biscuit. He didn't have a tooth in his head but refused to
wear plates. I wondered if that was going to be my fate with my
lips caved into a mass of creases. Made me shudder just thinking
about it.
"Only signed a
lease with Gary yesterday." I spoke to Karl, figuring he was the
one who made the decisions. "Gary's givin' me the keys this
mornin.' I'll drive over to the hanger, get an idea a’ how much I need
in tools and equipment, and what kinda buildin' I gotta do. I
figure I'd best have a couple a’ weeks afore I can take on more'n
emergency work."
"Can you gimme’
a bid by tonight, then?" asked Karl. He spit a couple of
crumbs halfway across the table when 'then' came out, and apologized as
he wiped them off the plastic tablecloth with his napkin.
"Call me after
eight this evening." I told him. He handed me a batch of
damp paper. Everyone but the top sheet was a computer listing
from Sweeney's with every machine covered under their contract,
including make, model, year, and even the annual contract price.
"Don't need to
call me." I said to him after seeing the prices Sweeney's
charged. They used the recommended standard industry rates for
everything. "My price will be eighty-five percent of what Sweeney
charged for in-garage work, and ninety percent of what they charged for
field and emergency maintenance. Nights and Saturdays, the charge
will be double, but not double-fifty. I'll provide emergency
service on Sundays and holidays, but only after church services for me
or my mechanics, 'cept at harvest time. Charge double-fifty for day
work, triple for night work. Night means eight P.M. until six
A.M. year round. No work on Christmas, Thanksgiving or the
Fourth, no matter what."
"Sounds fair to
me." allowed Karl.
"I might be able
to shave some off in-house work in the off season, if it looks to be
reasonable. Won't know 'til I see how much business I bring in."
"Done.
Gimme’ yer hand on it."
We shook, and I
had my first contract. Our contract was more iron-clad than
most. We're pretty thick 'round here. A man's handshake
still counts for something, not like in places where lawyers are always
hovering, looking for ways to make money out of somebody's honest
mistakes and others’ greed. I still can't believe some dumb old
twit got thousands of dollars out of spilling hot coffee all over
herself opening a fresh container in a moving car. She didn’t
order cold coffee? Didn’t make a lot of sense to me.
Business done,
we jawed for a minute or two on rain prospects for the week, the new
state agriculture inspector's incompetence, and the primaries. We
broke so they could get to their fields, and I could get to the
hangar. I got a big smile and wink from Charlene as we got up to
go. I figure she was behind Karl knowing I'd signed a lease with
Gary. I winked back, and left on a cloud. Karl's group
would keep me in business. I'd make enough on the contract to pay
me and at least one mechanic if I could fine a good one. All I
needed was one jouneyman apprentice, maybe a trainee and a book keeping
service.
Gary was
standing next to his pickup, in front of mine, waiting on me.
"Graham, didn't
want to talk business inside. You need any help on settin' up
shop?" he asked as I crossed the street to him.
"Don't know just
yet." I grinned. "Power an' Light's asking fer a licensed
electrician's certificate all the wirin' is up to code. Guess I
need to call Matt over to Gove to come look at it. The phone
people got no record of the wiring. Seems that's all the trouble
I could find yesterday."
"No worry on the
wiring," Gary said. He looked a little strange, like he
wasn't completely awake. "Matt's dad did all the wiring, co-ax
all through, even got two-twenty hooked up into all the maintenance
bays, all over the hangar. Hangar's still got the original
military spec wiring fer lights and stuff, and we put in new breaker
boxes."
"Still got the
drawings?"
"Yeah, I'll get
a copy to them today. Gotta go to Gove this afternoon anyhow,
I'll get a copy made at Sloan's." Gary looked at me a little
strange. "Yer friends asked me to watch over you, ya' know? Make
sure you didnt' get stepped on or nothing."
"Who's
that?" I asked. For some reason I was almost dreading the
answer.
"Only Charlene’n
everybody what eats her biscuits; Andy Johnson, Andy Trothwell, Gil
Carver, Diane,— even my own mother, fer criessakes. Hal called,
so did Bill Sweeney. Oh, yeah, I even got a call from some guy in
Kansas City, said he heard you was opening a new garage in my hangar,
wanted to know if there was nought he could do to help you get
started. Said his company needed a good repair shop in these here
parts, and you was the best mechanic they'd seen. Told me he and
his company was willin' to financially stand behind you and guarantee
your first two years in business."
"Who,
Deere?" I asked. I know this guy John something-or-other
from Deere had recommended me to Sweeney.
"Don't rightly
remember," Gary looked askance. "Name just slipped my
mind. Guy's name was Soup, Goop, Broth, or Stew maybe.
Something like that."
Groth.
Groth had talked to Gary? How did he find out? How did he
know? My head was reeling about a little like the blood rushed
from my head. Why would he have further need of a good
mechanic? A few more questions flew through my mind I won’t write
about here.
"Was his name,
Groth, maybe?" I managed to sputter out almost afraid to have my
suspicions confirmed.
"Yeah,— that’s
it! That's the name he gimme.’ Had a deep voice. Sounded
like a radio announcer;— almost no accent a’ tall, couldn't tell where
he was from." Gary said, looking down at his boots and the
blacktop. I only heard about half his answer. Willing to
stand behind me financially? What company? The
government? Black ops? Groth was in Kansas City? How
could he be in Kansas City? I thought he had to go to that place
in New Mexico or Nevada where they keep all those Skunkwork
planes. I must’ve turned as white as a sheet.
"You okay,
Graham? You look flushed all of a sudden." asked Gary, he
put his hand on my arm in concern to steady me. His voice clearly
showed concern.
"Yeah." I
said. "Why?"
"You turned kind
a’ pale and were sort a’ weaving a little like you was gonna' pass out
for a minute." Gary said. "Sure you're okay?" he
asked concerned.
"Yeah, of
course, but thanks for your concern." I said as casually as I
could. "Just ate my breakfast too damn fast, s’all."
"Right,—
well." Gary looked at his boots again and shuffled his
feet. I don’t think he believed me. Probably thought I was
going a little senile. Old folks tend to do that. "Here's
the keys. The silver ring is for all the doors and locks in the
hangar. The brass ring is for the workshops, the office, and the
doors leading to the hangar. The red ring is for the entry gate,
the power cabinet, and the utilities room. This here's the ring
of keys fer the A.P.U. and the tug."
"Tug?
A.P.U.?" I inquired.
"Yeah, dad
bought a used tow tug and an A.P.U. off Brannif when they went
under. He was gonna’ use them to service the planes what never
come. He bought ‘em just before he shut 'er down. I thought
he was goin' a little soft in the head buying stuff what was used fer
jets and all when he didn't have but four prop planes landing at the
field. If’n we said anything about them he wouldn't listen to
none of us,— not even my mom. He put 'em up for sale, but didn't
get but a few offers. They’d fetched what he paid fer 'em, but he
figured they was worth more, and turned down the couple of offers he
got. Put 'em on blocks after that, figuring to sell 'em
later. Never did."
We talked for a
minute or two more on the Sweeney closure and the primaries, how McCain
didn't stand a chance, then I got in the pickup and turned around
towards the hangar. It was visible right from town, at least the
top of it. Funny how you never take note of things until they're
important to you. I drove quickly out to Post Road and down to
the gate. The lock opened easily with the key Gary
provided. I drove the half mile to the entrance to the
maintenance shop on the south side. Up close, the hanger is huge,
but it kind of gets whittled down to size at a distance. It's
almost six hundred feet long and nearly two hundred feet wide.
It’s more than a hundred feet tall at the center. It has to be
the biggest damn Quonset hut ever built.
Inside, the
maintenance shop was huge. Gary was right, the equipment was old,
but there was a lot of space for the bays I'd need. There was
even a hydraulic lift I could use for some of the in-house work.
I wandered through the maintenance bays, looking at the tools, drill
presses, borers, and lord knows what else. It was all covered
with dust-laden oilcloths, but still bright and shiny underneath.
If Gary was strapped for money I couldn't figure out why he didn't sell
it off at auction. After a few minutes looking around I decided
there was little else I'd need aside from the diagnostic equipment for
the newer engines. That could wait awhile, seeing as how most of
the equipment was less than five years old.
I wrote down
some stuff I needed to get from the farm, then drove home to get
it. I loaded everything in Jeep as the day was warming up to be
good topless weather, and drove back to the hangar. I unloaded
the toolbox, a Sawzall, a Makita Percussion Drill, a small gas
generator and the lights. It only took a few minutes to set up
the first bench with power and lights. It even had an independent
safety circuit breaker at eye level to isolate it from the rest of the
wiring. They went first class when they built this baby. I
spent the rest of the day going through everything with a clipboard
and pen, figuring what equipment I'd need to add, what I'd have
to move out of there, what tools I’d need, what striping had to be done
for OSHA, where safety equipment would have to go, and all that.
I wouldn't need
any wiring done, that was certain. The place was as well-wired as
the best garage I'd ever seen in Salina. Every bench had one-ten
and two-twenty power outlets. It had telephone lines and a secure
ground to the frame of the hangar and breaker box. Brilliant set
up, but it must have cost Gary's dad a pile. What a waste, to get
it ready to sit idle. It certainly turned out to be a boon for
me. The main breaker box had a five hundred amp main
breaker. I don't figure Katy has a line big enough to carry that
much juice.
After spending
the whole morning in the maintenance shop which ran a good two hundred
feet of the length of the hangar I pulled open the fifteen foot square
sliding doors into the hangar itself. They were perfectly counter
weighted, and the grease had apparently been liberally applied.
They opened as easily as a sliding glass patio door. They opened
together. Slide one and the other would move exactly the same
distance but in the opposite direction. That kind of engineering you
don't see very often. The cherry doors from my parlor to the
dining room are like that, but they’re only seven feet across and use
rope. These doors must of used steel cable.
My jaw dropped
open involuntarily at the space of the hangar once I’d opened the
doors. Biggest damn space I ever saw under one roof with not a
pillar anywhere. The echo of my steps was spooky as I walked to
the centerline still yellow under the dust. I looked straight up
at the roof split down the center with an open space for air
circulation. There was a second roof above the main roof
covering the open space. I’d never noticed it before from
outside. The sun beamed into the huge area making wide and
narrower beams at almost a forty-five degree angles. The light
was streaming with tiny motes of dust in the air. It was like
being in an ancient cathedral,— quiet, huge, massive, and
awesome. It was almost overwhelming. I must have stood
there for ten minutes, looking, and drinking in the sensations.
It was an awe inspiring sight.
I noticed it was
a little late in the afternoon. I'd missed dinner being
completely absorbed with my lists. I roused myself and looked
around not really able to take in the size of its totality. The
maintenance shop covered a quarter of the length of the South side of
the space, and from where I stood it was rather small-looking.
The shop was a hundred-plus foot long room with a twenty foot ceiling,
and yet, it looked small. There was a lot of stuff setting
on top of the ceiling of the shop so I guessed it was pretty
strong. The biggest piece I saw was the fuselage of an old
duster. There were stubs where the wings used to be but no
landing gear.
The tug and the
A.P.U. were at the Northwest corner of the hangar looking like Tinker
Toys under black plastic sheets. I walked over to them and looked
under the sheets. They seemed to be in good condition, but there
was no way to know until I fired them up. I wouldn’t do that
until I changed the oil, filters, lubricated them, and purged the gas
tanks. That was a project for another day. I wandered a
little through the space overwhelmed by the size of it all, then went
back into the maintenance shop and finished up my list. It was nearly
six pages long. It was starting to get late in the afternoon, my
stomach was beginning to growl, so I closed up and walked to Jeep to
head home. When I locked
the outer gate and got back into Jeep, I saw the fuel gage was past
"E." I was running on fumes. I'd forgot to fill him up at
the house, so I headed back into town to fill up at Pete's gas
pump. Better gamble on making it one mile than six. Good
thing, the engine gasped and died just before I got to the entry.
I had to push Jeep the last ten yards. I started the pump and
waited for the old dials to spin to where they showed that I'd bought
ten gallons exactly. As I reached for the slips we use to tell
Pete how much gas we took, I saw a Deere two by four come round the
corner. It looked like young B.B. Taggert's rig. It sounded
like it needed a new distributor. I could hear it missing one
firing in four every fourth cycle. It also sounded like there
might be a stuck exhaust valve. That’s a common problem with
Deere's that are older than ten years. It’s not a
life-threatening problem. Deere's can live forever with a little
decent maintenance.
I noticed it was
B.B., waved to him, and he pulled into the station next to me. He
open his door then climbed down.
‘God, that boy
is a looker!’ I thought to myself. About my height, maybe
an inch taller, long and lanky, with slim hips and a pair of wiry legs
topped by a fine butt. Long, slim torso bursting into wide
shoulders and chest, long arms and perfect-length neck, holding up a
perfect head, flawless skin on a wide square face bone, wide-set eyes
with a deepness to them like actors. He has beautiful sandy blond
hair with a slight curl up front. It’s soft looking but strong at
the same time. So much beauty in a single person. I guess
when you're homely like me, you appreciate it more. It had been a
while since we saw each other, so we shook hands. I got a funny
tingle in the back of my neck. We talked some, mostly small talk,
about how I was opening up my business soon; that kinda thing. I
offered to look at his tractor the next day. I had a couple of
distributors at the house, and I could grind the valves using the
portable generator if I needed power.
He followed me
out to the hangar on his Deere, and we put it in the maintenance
shop. I showed him the main hangar. If anything, it was
even more impressive than before. The sun was getting fairly low,
and the beams of sunlight were coming under the top of the roof making
the dust hang like gauze. At one point his arm brushed mine, and
I felt a shock run up my arm. He felt it, too, and I swear if I was
twenty years younger, I'd a grabbed him right there and swapped
spit. I barely managed to get myself under control. What the heck
was going on with my head, anyhow? First Groth, and now Billy
Junior? I must be crazy. I kind of gave him the bum’s rush
to get him out of there. We talked a little on the way out to the
gate.
I took him to
his ma's house, and ended up eating supper with them. We talked
about all sorts of stuff. I couldn't eat much my gums hurt
something awful whenever I bit down on anything. I sort of went
through the motions. I at least ate all my mashed and gravy, and
was able to cut small pieces of meat I could swallow whole. I
could feel him watching me most of the time like he couldn't believe an
old guy like me had anything interesting to say. I didn't dare
look at him too much. I figured he or Charlene would know right
away I thought he was sexy. I did think he was sexy, sure enough,
like a mare in heat is to a stallion in rut.
Charlene thinks
the world of him, of course. I think she embarrassed him with all
her praise, but a man needs to hear that once in a while. You
could see her beautiful features in his face, as well as her long
fingers on his hands. He was really intelligent, too. He
was very knowledgeable about crop cycles, weather patterns hereabouts,
and the water tables in the county. I ended up driving him home,
the second farm past mine on Gove Road, maybe ten miles outside
town. He was quiet most of the way. Then he blew me away with a
question about his dad, whether or not he'd killed himself. I
didn't know what to say, what to tell him, so I told him his dad
would’ve been proud of the way his son turned out, good, strong,
handsome and intelligent. I couldn't look at him while I was
saying it for fear he'd see through me. Oh, shit and shinola, was
I turning queer?
I told him any
time he got lonely on the farm, to come have a drink on my porch.
I hope he didn't think I was being a dirty old man. I hoped I
wasn't. I hoped he wouldn’t think I’d try something
foolish. I never would, no matter how I might feel about him
otherwise. I thought about what was happening to me all the way
home. I'd never so much as thought about going with another woman
before Mary and me decided to get married. I never considered it
with a guy since I was a kid. I pretty much stopped thinking
about ever doing it with another person after Mary died.
So what’s
happening to me? I turn sixty-five, I accidentally run across
some queer,— sorry, not politically correct,— some gay Air Force pilot
who kisses me and gets me all hot and bothered. Now I'm lusting
after a kid one-third my age, probably straighter than an cooling
board, whose father was a kid when I was all ready married. I
wondered how I could stop the progress of the disease.
I sat on the
porch for a bit, even though it was already almost ten at night, and
sipped a couple of fingers of prime bourbon. This was getting a
little too complicated for me. Crazy dreams that didn't make any
sense, visions of things that couldn't be real, newfound lust and
sexual energy, and lastly, changes in my body, in the opposite
direction, that shouldn’t be happening to me. I thought about the
ship, and how easily it might slip into the hangar undetected.
'Where the heck did that thought come from?' I wondered.
Shaking my head
to clear the webs, I went into the kitchen, washed the glass, put it
back under the table, then went upstairs to get ready for bed. I
changed the bedclothes, went into the bathroom to scrub my teeth and
put them into a glass with the blue pills that fizzed them clean.
I took an aspirin for the pain in my gums. I looked at them in
the mirror, to see if they were infected or something, but they were
just red and swollen a little. A quick shower confirmed all my
chest hair was gone, nothing remained, not even around my nips. I
looked at myself in Mary's long dressing mirror inside of the closet
door before I put on my pajamas. I didn't look the same without
the grey hair on my chest. My pubic hair was reduced to just a
small triangle above ole Roger. My hips looked slimmer than I
ever remembered. My face was definitely different, but I couldn't
quite make out what it was.
I got down the
last photo taken of me when Mary and I was in Salina a few months
before she passed. We found a professional photographer's studio
inside the Sears store. She was looking her best, and I had on a
white shirt and a string tie. I went back to the bathroom, held
the picture up next to me and looked into the mirror. The
differences were obvious at once. My nose was smaller and less
bulbous. My eyelids weren't as droopy, and my eyebrows weren’t as
bushy. My cheekbones looked higher. My chin didn't seem to
recede as much. My beard was completely different. I had a
darker beard, where none was visible before, and it was all over my
lower face, not just on the chin, lip and sideburns like before.
I was better looking than I can ever remember being; not handsome, but
certainly not as homely as the man in the photo.
I looked into my
eyes, but found no answers to my questions I could formulate from
thoughts or ideas. I shook like I had ague. I put on my
pajamas, slipping under the bedclothes, almost afraid to go to sleep,
but afraid not to. I was asleep at once. I dreamt of B.B.,
whose name Charlene adopted as a shortened form of "Bill's Boy,"
because she didn't want him to be called "junior' all his life. I
don't think more than two or three people aside from Charlene and I
know that. Everyone thought it referred to his size when he was
born, Big Bill. He was a whopping eight pounds twelve ounces;
however, that wasn’t why his mother called him B.B.
In my dream I
saw him perched on his Deere staring up into the sun. He was
naked as a jay, but I couldn't quite make out the details of his
body. I saw his face, his brown eyebrows, his golden hued hair
framing his forehead, his strong jaw and sensuous lips. He looked
down at me and smiled. It was the same kind of smile Mary gave me
when she married me,— tender, soft, and knowing. He held out his
hand to me, I reached for his, afraid he would pull back, but instead
he grabbed my hand firmly, pulling me up onto the tractor next to
him. I was naked, too, but I wasn't ashamed. He looked so
beautiful naked I almost couldn't breathe. I looked up, following
his gaze, and saw Groth’s ship floating a few feet above the ground,
incredibly beautiful in its perfection, gradually moving towards
us. The weeds underneath were being crushed by an invisible
force. We held hands and watched the hangar doors slowly open in
time for the ship to enter, move slowly through, and disappear into the
maw of the hangar. The doors closed, the sun went down, he turned
his head to me and said,
"I love you,
Graham." His hand went to my penis and he held it lightly in
his. Mine went to his member and I folded it gently around his
manhood feeling his warm silkiness in my hand. His strength and
power overwhelmed me. We kissed, and I felt emotion like I never
felt before with anyone. I never felt this way with Mary, God
rest her soul. My heart was full to the brim, and I felt myself
come in his hand because he was holding me. I awoke in a cold
sweat, my right hand full of my own semen. It was dark outside
with not yet a glimmer of dawn. As I moved to get out of bed to
clean up my mess Chester announced imminent glimmers of dawn. The
day was upon us. My dream lasted only a minute, but the whole
night passed smoothly. I was in shock. My eyes were full of
tears. I don't know why. The clock said four A.M.
I got up and
cleaned myself, dressed, then wrote out almost everything above I
hadn't already written. It took almost two hours, even though I'm
pretty good at typing. I took typing in school, so I could do
term papers in college; however, I never got to go to college. I
did go to agriculture school. Whoever thought typing might come
in handy for personal computers? They didn't even exist when I
was a kid. It was morning and time to get the hens fed and eggs
gathered for Charlene. God, she'd kill me if she knew I looked on
B.B. that way. I wish there was somebody I could talk to; someone
to help me figure out how to get this out of my system. I don't
want to be this way. I don't want to hurt anyone.