Chapter 10

September 15, 1986

Now that we were heading for our first game, morning practice was different. For one thing, it was longer; coach had expanded morning practice from one hour to an hour and a half, starting at 6:45 and running until 8:15. The first half hour was exercising and stretching followed by a half hour of instruction targeted specifically for whatever team we were preparing to play that week. The last half hour was running laps – 5 miles worth.

I hated exercising and stretching on the grass but it wasn't the exercising or stretching that was objectionable to me; it was the grass. Temperatures overnight had fallen to the low 30's and the rich, green grass started out with a soft, white sheen of frost on it; it was beautiful, in a way, like an artist had taken a wide brush and stroked a glistening layer of color onto the blades but by the time we were finishing our exercises the temperature had risen and rather than frost, we were wallowing in dew. The grass was wet with it – and so were our sweats. Even with damp clothes, none of it really stressed me but I did limit my pre-dawn run and weight-lifting now and I planned to skip the whole thing on the Fridays of a game; there was no practice on Friday morning either, so I got to sleep in a bit.

There was a bright side to the earlier practice, though. Dawn was just after 7am and, while busy, I was basically laying on grass, looking up at the sky when it came. I was amazed at the rich colors that faded into view as the sun cleared the hills to our east. Black faded to blue faded to purple and pale, fluffy reds and oranges dappled the sky as the sun's majesty rose over the edge. It wasn't the first time I'd seen the dawn – not by far, working on a ranch you're up and working long before the sun comes up – but it was the first time I'd had time or taken the time to really watch it. My body went through the tasks set by Coach Holcomb leaving my mind free to awe at the amazing beauty of a simple sunrise.

I was still kind of bemused an hour later as we walked off the field. It wasn't to last, however; Freddy caught up to me as soon as practice was over.

"Hey, Pestle!" he called as I trotted toward the locker room, vainly trying to both gather my wits and dry my feet; the grass on the field was sopping wet with dew and even the five mile run hadn't been enough to dry my tennis shoes. I almost pretended I didn't hear him but remembered just in time that he 'owned' me for the rest of the week. With a sigh, I stopped and turned around.

"What's up, sir?" I asked, rolling my eyes. 'Sir' was what we had to call our 'masters'; it's too bad no one thought of that last week – or maybe someone did and that's why we were suffering this week.

"I need you over my house at 3pm on Saturday," he answered as he walked up to me.

"Sorry, but you don't 'own' me past game time on Friday night," I grinned. It was easy to grin; other than some minor stuff like tying his cleats during practice and getting him a cold glass of water – and the whole Saturday evening thing with the twins and Ally, of course – Freddy had pretty much left me alone, just like I'd done with him when he'd been my slave.

"So, you'd turn down a 'repeat performance' with the twins?" he asked quietly, looking around to be sure no one heard him. He needn't have worried; we were the last ones out on the field. I was still feeling an awe from the now long gone sunrise and hadn't really rushed to get in. Besides, I didn't really like taking showers with the other guys. It wasn't a body modesty issue, not really, it was just that there tended to be a lot of grab-assing during the team's showers; getting snapped with a wet towel once was more than enough for me.

"Jane and Jamie?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Have asked me to get you back on Saturday," he explained. "Now, are you going to be there at 3pm or am I going to make your life a living, miserable hell for the rest of this week?"

"I thought they were pretty much through with me," I said as we started heading for the showers. "They seemed kind of hung up on ... well..." I looked around to make sure no one was in ear shot and then just decided not to chance anyone overhearing anyway. " ... someone else..."

"Evidently they're not done quite yet," he said, chuckling. "You've been pretty much all they've talked about for the past few days."

"I ... I thought they ... you..." I stuttered, trying to find a polite way of voicing my thoughts.

"They love me," he said quietly, looking around again. "They lust after you. Besides, they're my sisters and I've got Ally. I love them very much ... enough to know they have to ... you know ... find their own..."

"Yeah," I replied, understanding.

Did I really want to get involved with this mess? Was I really even contemplating further complicating this incestuous relationship? Didn't I have enough problems of my own?

Then, I started thinking back to Saturday, to the lusty fun of exploring the twins' and Ally's bodies. It had been fun. It had even been relaxing, once I got over the whole 'tied up' thing. It was about that time that I realized that maybe I was asking the wrong question. It came down to the same merry-go-round I'd been on for the past few years – defining who I was and what I wanted. Well, I was tired of constantly pushing that. I needed a break. I needed to be free for once in this life.

"I'll be there," I said, my voice hesitant and unsure. I wasn't sure this was the right decision ... but I was so tired of making decisions. I was tired of always being crippled by trying to figure out the right thing to do. I had had fun on Saturday and the skies hadn't opened, the world hadn't ended and I hadn't been struck down by lightning. I deserved to have some fun with this new life.

It was still on my mind as I walked through the school early that morning ... but I had another problem as well. I wished I'd never listened to Mikayla. I noticed now. I noticed the girls looking at me, their eyes glancing at me even when they couldn't possibly know I was coming, turning completely around to find me as I passed behind them. I saw their nipples hardening as their faces went slack, a look of interest and a strange sort of hunger crossing over their features. It was ... creepy ... and now that I'd been made aware of it I just couldn't un-know it. Nor could I explain it.

In the end, I finally decided I didn't have to. Saturday had given me a new perspective on things. I wasn't in love with the twins or Ally and yet I'd thoroughly enjoyed having sex with them. It hadn't been the same as when I'd been with Mikayla – there just seemed to be something missing with the three girls that I had felt when I'd been with Mikayla – but it had still been ... fun. Pleasurable. I thought I'd feel guilty afterwards, like I'd cheated on Mikayla – but I didn't. She didn't want to take a chance on being happy with me. That hurt but this past Saturday had gone quite a ways in taking the edge off that hurt. I still loved Mikayla and I was willing to fight to get her or keep her or whatever – but not if this was something she didn't want ... and I really couldn't tell from one minute to another exactly what she wanted.

Music class was ... different. We got to pick our instruments ... but I wasn't allowed to pick the piano. Mr. Windham said we had to pick a concert instrument, the piano was only for him to play while teaching us. I argued with him but he was adamant. I returned to my seat – but by then most of the instruments were already taken. I had my choice of the violin – no one wanted to be compared to Monique, who'd already shown that she was exceptional – the Tuba or the xylophone. I'd been playing the xylophone for a while now and was more than ready for a new instrument. In the end, I chose the violin; I just couldn't see myself carrying that tuba.

The school had a few instruments but nothing that was very good. I'd have to buy my own bow but that wouldn't be very difficult; if mom and dad couldn't afford it, I could always have Molly pick one up and ship it to me. As a matter of fact, that might be the best idea – just have Molly use the trust to buy a new violin. I'd have to ask her the next time we talked – which should be within a week or two.

Molly and I talked about once a month. She was my rock – when the rest of the world was going crazy, I could still rely on Molly to keep me centered. She was my confidante, my advisor and my friend; I felt like I could tell her anything – well, almost anything – and she'd accept me without judging, instead offering me advice and her perspective.

I won't lie; her being so far away was difficult for me. I was used to being able to just pick up the phone and talk to her; I probably still could but the long distance phone charges would be horrible. I could just reimburse them from the trust but eventually my parents would notice and I wasn't ready for that conversation right now. Maybe not ever.

Our conversations covered anything and everything but we always took time to discuss the trust. She would go over the latest statement and we'd discuss any investments I wanted to make or change. I'd had them buy as much Microsoft stock as I could on March 14th and I had plans to purchase Apple shares in the 1990's; Apple was an amazing stock that I could pick up for less than $10 in the 1990's and end up being worth hundreds by 2010. I'd had few other sure stock tips but I'd occasionally get a feeling after reading the stock page in the newspaper; these weren't based on memories – at least, not conscious memories in my memory palace – but I'd found them to generally be good advice.

As usual, when class ended Mr. Windham headed for the teacher's break room. His next class was a study hall so I suppose he felt he was safe to be gone for a few minutes longer. When I saw him head out, I moved down to the front of the room and lifted the fall to the small studio piano sitting at the front of the room. I sat on the bench and just let my fingers drift along the keys, allowing myself to strike one every so often. I couldn't really help it; I liked the way the notes sounded in my ear and the colors they produced in my head. I closed my eyes, letting my mind see the colors and my ears hear the pure tones.

"That is not a toy, Mr. Pestle," Mr. Windham's voice broke me from my reverie. I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me, a patient, expectant look on his face.

"Sorry, sir," I said, closing the fall, my face blushing at being caught. "I just ... I like the sounds the piano makes. They're so ... I don't know ... pure." His face turned sympathetic and I continued quickly. "I'm sure I'll like the violin just as much."

"I wish I could let you learn on the piano, Chance, I really do," the teacher replied. "I only have one piano, though. There have already been numerous requests to learn on it and I can't show preference to any student. You understand, right?"

"Yeah," I said at last. "Just ... do you think I might be able to come in and play on it during lunch sometimes? I have lunch fifth period and I'd like to just ... play it once in a while after I finish."

Mr. Windham looked at me speculatively for a moment before speaking. When he did speak, his voice was soft and reluctant. "I told you, Mr. Pestle, it's not a toy; no musical instrument is a toy. I can't just let someone with no training or experience..."

Something tore at me, then; I'm not sure quite how to explain it. Part of it was anger – anger towards Mr. Windham, but mostly towards myself. For the past few years I'd been struggling to find my identity. I'd been struggling to figure out just who I was and I'd hit road blocks at every turn. I was tired of that all-consuming search; I was tired of finding a path only to have something or someone – even if it was my own past life – block it. I was tired of searching for Chance and I was just ready to be Chance.

Part of it was frustration for largely the same reason. I'd tied myself in knots limiting what I wanted to do and what I could let others discover I could do. I'd hidden most of myself under a shell, afraid of allowing others to see me. The strain of having a double or even a triple life was crushing me and I just wanted to throw off that disguise and be free even if just for a moment.

Part of it was arrogance; I was tired of others telling me what to do. I was – or had been – a grown man. I knew enough to be a man again but I was locked into a war with the body of a boy. Everything I did was filtered through this body; I was experiencing things I couldn't control the first time I'd been through them as Alex and I was having no better time of it now. Oh, I had the knowledge; thanks to Alex's memory palace tricks I was fairly fucking swimming in raw knowledge. Every time I tried to use that knowledge, though, every time I tried to bend that knowledge to my will, it was being bent by the hormonally stricken body of a boy I was having difficulty controlling. My dick, a dick that – as Alex – hadn't been truly hard for more than a decade, was suddenly popping up every time the wind blew. My dreams, when I wasn't dreaming of Buck's damned life, and even my daydreams were filled with sex and sexual thoughts I hadn't had in ages. Yeah, I had the knowledge but it was hazed over by the wants, desires and needs of a fucking teenager – and I was tired of it all.

"I know it's not a toy," I snarled at Mr. Windham as I fairly threw the fall open. "Could a toy do this??"

I played. I let the music wash over me, the color of the notes course through me, and I played. I'm not sure what it was; I was lost in the grandeur of it, the melody pushing me to great highs and then crashing my spirit down through incalculable lows. I played of loss and sacrifice and pain; I played of ecstasy and ebullience and peace. I played the music that was in my soul, that I had held trapped there since I started this whole messed up life. I don't know the name of it; I'm not positive it has any name. For all I know, it was just random snippets of dozens or hundreds of other works; I have no clear recollection of playing. I wasn't doing it for the piece of music itself; I was doing it for me. I was doing it to throw off the oppressive yoke I had burdened myself with if even for just a few moments.

"My God," Mr. Windham whispered when the final notes had finished reverberating through the concert hall. He was staring at the ceiling with the look of a man who'd just seen the second coming of Christ. "That was ... divine. Perfect." He turned his gaze to me, tears rolling down his stricken face. "Where did you learn to play like that? The questionnaire I handed out at the beginning of the year said you had no previous experience ... that you had no previous music teacher..."

"I didn't," I said quietly, closing the fall by touch. Now that it was over I felt ... drained; not empty inside, just devoid of anger and frustration. It was as if the music had allowed me to purge myself of all the darkness and depression that had been piling up inside of me. I was strangely at peace. "I don't. I've ... that's only the second time I've ever played the piano. I've ... I've been playing the xylophone at home ... trying to learn to play better."

"Well, it must have worked," Mr. Windham said weakly. It was his attempt at levity, at lightening the air ... but it didn't. It was almost an accusation. "That was..." His voice drifted off, words failing him as his eyes grew distant. Then, they snapped back and focused on me. "If you have truly never played before ... that was amazing. Hell, even if you've played your entire LIFE that was amazing. You're a ... a ... a phenom. One of those once in a generation musicians who come along. I've ... I've been teaching for 13 years and I've ... I've never ... now three? In one class..."

For a moment, he was off again, his eyes carrying him to places I couldn't see. When he returned, there was a fire in those eyes. "Of course, I still can't have you play in class. I just ... I can't. Even if I let you show the class ... it would look too much like favoritism ... especially after I've already turned down three others. No. No, you'll have to learn on the violin ... it ... it has to be that way..." Then, he looked at me intently. "If you were serious about coming to lunch, though ... not every day, of course, but a few times a week ... I could ... you could play and I'd eat lunch in here ... listen to you ... maybe ... maybe help you or ... or ... teach you. I have lunch fifth period also, so it wouldn't be so bad ... you'd ... we'd have to ... to have a structure ... say, every Tuesday and Thursday ... but ... but ... not tomorrow because I have another commitment..."

I smiled. "Yes, sir!" I said, enthused. I'm not really sure why playing the piano was so important for me; maybe it was a holdover from my previous life. Alex hadn't been very good at the piano but it had always been something that connected him and his children together. He used to play for them occasionally before bed. "Thank you!"

"Of course," the bell rang as he smiled at me, but his smile was still distant and tentative. "Now, you're going to be late for your next class so let me give you a tardy slip."

I was still in lunch purgatory. I sat with the jocks again, still not welcome at Mikayla's table. Strangely, it wasn't as painful as before. Yes, I still missed having lunch with Peter and Danny – we'd been friends forever and to watch them laughing with Mikayla, Sally, Jesse and Anna was hard ... but, in the end, I couldn't blame them. They were average 14-year old boys, just discovering the joys of girls; if I'd been normal, I doubt I'd have stuck with a pariah – even a best friend who was a pariah – if I had the chance to sit with girls. I know, as Alex, I definitely wouldn't have. So, I could forgive them; forgetting about it wasn't quite that easy.

We were joined today by Josh-and-Sue. The Josh part of the equation was Josh Cotter, our quarterback. Sue was Susan Broyles, his girlfriend of the past four or five years; maybe longer. Outside classes or the football field, they were truly inseparable. As a matter of fact, it was so rare to see one without the other that they just became Josh-and-Sue ... as in 'Here come Josh-and-Sue' or 'I saw Josh-and-Sue at the movies on Friday night'. If there was one, inevitably there was the other.

Josh wasn't built like your typical quarterback. He was tall and thin, nearly 6'8" and maybe 200 pounds – and that's likely being generous. He was cut but wasn't overly muscled; basically he was lean and hard. He had dark hair he wore in a crew cut and a long face that was almost never without a smile. His brown eyes had a twinkle to them, as if he knew a joke that you would never be able to get. It wasn't that he was laughing at you – at least, I didn't think he was; I really didn't know him that well – it was just that he was a quiet, confident young man that never seemed to take anything, including himself, too seriously.

He took Sue seriously, though. She was tall and blond, 6' to Josh's 6'8", but she never seemed to be that awkward, tall girl. I guess she didn't have to; she had been with Josh forever so she knew how attractive she was and didn't have to worry about it. She wasn't the string bean that Josh was, though; she had curves to her that told anyone that had any question that she was all girl. She wore her hair to her shoulders and had one of the cutest round faces; not beautiful, really, her head was slightly too small for her body, but it was definitely cute with flashing blue eyes, sloped nose and a quick smile.

I tried not to stare at the two of them but it was hard. They almost glowed together, like the bond they shared was so strong and so deep that it needed a physical component to complete it. You could just tell that they were in love. Even when they were talking to different people, parts of different conversations, you could almost feel the connection between them. It was in everything they did, the way their eyes glanced at one another during lulls in their conversation, the way they touched hands and leaned into one another. There was no doubt that their nickname was earned; they were halves of a single whole.

I admit I was embarrassed by it, although that might not be the right word. I felt ... inadequate ... when faced with their obvious love for one another. Maybe jealous was a better word; I wanted what they had. I wanted to be them, to love so deeply that there was no doubt that the two of us belonged together. Mikayla and I could be that; I sensed it in her, a companion presence to my own. We weren't, though; for some reason, she was afraid of encompassing what we could be together.

Thoughts of her drove my eyes across the lunchroom to her table. I watched her, watched them all really. With Josh-and-Sue and their obvious love for one another, I looked across the room and wondered if I'd ever feel that. I wondered if I'd ever have that with Mikayla or if I was just deluding myself.

I've never had an epiphany before. I've never had my eyes suddenly opened or the fog abruptly lifted from my vision. As I looked over at my friends' table, though, I suddenly saw everything with a clarity that took my breath away. Maybe it was the shadow of Josh-and-Sue's love or maybe I was just able, for that moment, to think beyond my own thoughts and feelings. Whatever it was, I was slapped in the face by a sudden truth.

For the first time, I knew – absolutely, unequivocally KNEW – that Mikayla's limits to our relationship were a farce. She'd been lying to me ... maybe lying to herself as well ... but there was a reason behind her limitations, a reason she probably hadn't even realized herself.

"Son of a bitch," I whispered as the sudden shock of the revelation came over me. I noticed the table suddenly went silent and most of the people at the table were staring at me, chuckling. Although many of the jocks could cuss up a blue streak, I wasn't known as one of them so I guess my outburst caught everyone by surprise.

"Sorry," I said, a slow blush coming over at me as I turned to my plate. I played with the over-cooked brussel sprouts and tasteless instant potatoes, my appetite suddenly gone.

"Don't worry about it," giggled Alicia Greymark. Alicia was one of the varsity cheerleaders who always seemed to gravitate to our table. She had also been flirting with me for the past week or so, even though she was a sophomore and I was a lowly freshman. Though she was very pretty – dirty blonde hair hanging midway down her 5'6" frame and a gymnast's tight body – I'd not responded at all to her flirting. Then again, maybe she didn't mean anything by it; she flirted a lot. "I'm sure we've heard worse."

I wasn't my best at practice that evening. I was still reeling by what I'd seen; by what my mind told me had to be true. I was in denial, just a bit, trying to delude myself; trying to pretend I hadn't seen what I know I had. As it was, it took Coach McRory pulling me aside and threatening laps before I finally pushed it to the back of my mind.

My Dad was waiting for me after practice that evening which was unusual. Normallly, my Mom picked me up; my Dad was generally just washing up from a full day of ranching when I got in the door. Sometimes he was even still out and my Mom made me go fetch him for dinner.

"I've got to talk with Dan Meadows about a feed delivery," he said to my inquisitive glance. "Dan's trying to up the price since grain's gone up so high lately."

"He can't do that," I said after a moment's thought. "The contract is good through next April. It's one of the reasons we went on an annual contract instead of month-by-month. We've already paid him through April."

"He's trying to do it anyway," Dad said with a shrug. "Anyway, I'll talk to him and see if I can't figure it out."

"Want me to go with you?" I asked. Honestly, I'd set up the contract so I had a vested interest in it.

"Nope," Dad smiled at me. "Nothing I can't handle."

I frowned but I had no reply to that so I nodded and looked out the window. My eyes weren't seeing the darkening fields we were passing, though. Instead, I was back in that lunchroom, replaying exactly what I'd seen. I was stuck replaying the touches, the closeness ... the glow.

By the time we reached Mr. Meadows' store, I couldn't deny it anymore. Mikayla had lied to me and probably lied to herself. It hurt, knowing what I did, but strangely that hurt was almost detached. Mikayla and I had just started and perhaps she'd been as honest as she could be; if she was lying to herself then she couldn't help but lie to me. I just wasn't sure it was honest enough, though.

As dad walked into Mr. Meadows', I walked into Mama's Diner. I needed to escape my problems for a few minutes; just stop thinking about what I'd seen. I thought being anywhere but in that care – anywhere there were people – would be better than driving myself nuts alone. I was wrong.

The diner was brightly lit but the lot outside was darned near empty so I figured it was a Patricia day. At that point, I almost turned around but the pain of my own thoughts kept me from moving anywhere but inside. I wasn't going to try out any food anyway; I figured I'd just have a milk shake. How badly could anyone mess up a milkshake? Mrs. Marell – Linda – came up to me as I sat on one of the stools at the counter.

"What'll you have?" she asked, her eyebrows hidden somewhere up in her hairline. I guess she was surprised anyone would stop in on a Patricia day. I guess I was just a glutton for punishment.

"Just a vanilla shake, please," I said with a forced smile. Mrs. Marell was a gossip and busybody but she was good people. Besides, it was a good idea to get on her good side; especially if I wanted to know whether Patty or Mama was cooking sometime in the future.

I was halfway through my shake when I was surprised to see the Tefol's come up from one of the booths in the back. Actually, I was doubly surprised; first, because they had apparently eaten on a Patricia day and were still capable of walking and second because I hadn't really seen them when I came in. I must have been pretty lost in my thoughts not to notice them.

"Hi, Chance!" little Claudia chirped happily as she skipped up to me.

"Hi, Claudia," I replied with a genuine smile. Claudia was so effervescent and bouncy it was hard not to smile at her.

"I was gonna say hi earlier but Momma said it wouldn't be polite to intupt you," she said, her eyes wide. "I dint think you'd mind but I gotta do what Momma says."

"Very smart," I laughed. "You should always do what your Mom says."

"Yeah," she said with a frown. "It's not always as much fun, though."

"Claudia," Mr. Tefol called as he stood at the cash register. "You go on with Momma and your sisters. I'll be out right after I pay, okay?"

"Okay," she said back to her Dad before turning back to me. "I gotta go now. It was nice seeing you again."

"You too, Claudia," I laughed, watching her skip out the door behind Mrs. Tefol, Eliza and Melinda.

"Sorry about that," Mr. Tefol said as he waited. Mrs. Marell was evidently busy in the back.

"I didn't mind," I said, honestly. "Claudia's a cute kid."

"Yeah, 4 going on 24," the older man sighed. "I just hope she's got a better head on her than Eliza or Melinda." Up until he said that, his face had been open and honest. As he said those words, though, it was like he changed just a bit. He grew ... closed, I guess. More secretive. For a moment, he'd been ... not oily. As he said those words, though, all of the oil seemed to seep into his face again.

"Speaking of Eliza and Melinda," he said, his voice oozing. "You're quite a topic of conversation at home."

"Oh?" I asked, suddenly feeling very exposed and ill at ease. I found myself wanting to run out of the diner and I wasn't quite sure why. It was almost like there was a hidden component to his words, something beyond the message in them.

"Yep," he smiled, a greasy, sickening smile. "Alice, too, to be honest. They can't stop talking about you. Are you still with your little girlfriend?"

"Uh ... Mikayla?" I stuttered. "Uh ... yeah." Which wasn't exactly a lie. We were still together ... as much as we were ever together, anyway ... at least, for now. I wasn't really sure what the future held.

"You should bring her by sometime," Mr. Tefol said with a dark, slippery smirk. "We can ... discuss things, you know? Maybe ... have some fun ... together..."