Chapter 6

August 31, 1986

I reached over and turned off the alarm. As has become usual for me lately, I'm actually waking up before the alarm can sound; the drawback of having a routine for the past two years, I suppose.

I laid back and looked up at the dark ceiling contemplating my future on my 14^th birthday. The ceiling was darker than when I started this journey over two years ago. In the winter of last year, my parents had finally allowed me to paint the room a light blue over the white it had been. The white bothered me; it reminded me of the last days of my old life.

I'm an amalgam; a cross between two different people. When I'd first started this, I thought it was going to be easy. I thought I would just be Alex Markle dumped into Buck Pestle's body; all of the memories of Alex with all the physical characteristics of Buck. I should have known better.

I could fill an entire library with all that I don't know about the human brain. However, I do know this and I know it well: the brain is not isolated. It needs the body and the body needs it. I may have the memories of Alex but it's impacted by Buck's body. I'm not just one or the other in any facet. I have – or maybe had, since it's been over two years now – Alex's muscle memories but they come out wrong or at least different in Buck's body. Buck's body, on the other hand, has been wracked by the vagaries of puberty; Alex, as a 69-year old man, had long given up hope of having an erection but I can't keep the damn thing down now.

It's taken its toll. Urges that I haven't had for years are suddenly toying with my mind, fogging my thinking with lust-filled images and thoughts. Even now, even at the tail end of puberty, it hasn't stopped. It just won't stop.

There are other things as well. Things that affect me emotionally, physically and, in the end, mentally.

Alex was small, in every sense of the word except weight. He was 5'6", weighed maybe 160 (or 200, Alex stopped weighing himself long ago), with thinning if not balding hair. There is a certain psychology that goes along with shorter people, a certain straining to be seen and heard. Alex had that.

Alex was also ... well, he had a rather small ... endowment; his penis was on the small side of average – barely over 4" long when fully erect and not as thick as two of his fingers. It made him ... well, to be honest, he wasn't much of a lover. At least, not at first. Later in his life, in his first and only affair, Magda had taught him to pleasure a woman using his mouth and fingers. Of course, then she'd left as well, leaving him in a loveless marriage with a wife who just didn't even want sex anymore.

Magda's training wasn't enough, though, to overcome his terrible self-image. Again, the psychology of the situation always made him feel inadequate; less than a real man. Alex had a lack of confidence that was legendary and that, among all of the other facts and attitudes of his existence, had caused him to lose his entire family and ultimately, his life.

Buck, on the other hand, is only 14 and already 5'10" with a full head of hair. He's young, vibrant and full of energy. He also has absolutely nothing to fear in the penis department; at nearly 7 and a half inches and thicker than three fingers he will have no problems on the woman front. Plus, he's still growing.

The hard part, the part I've had the most difficulty with, is that I am NOT Alex. I am NOT Buck. I'm a strange, unpredictable merging of the two of them. A lifetime of Alex's insecurities coupled with over 2 years of Buck's physical attributes have led to me, to Chance.

Yeah, the physical affects the brain and the mind - the strange concoction of hormones and the fertility of youth lead to emotional and mental difficulties – but the brain and mind can also affect the physical. Buck was chubby when Alex first came here. No longer. Alex's insecurities and lousy self-image forced him to push Buck's body, to strain it physically; thanks to that drive and some good genes, I now have washboard abs, long lean muscles in my arms and legs, and a barrel chest that is both large and well-defined.

Alex's age and wisdom, his failed history with its unplanned pregnancy, had led to a focus in me that was unusual and startling. Thanks to Alex's memory tricks and life-knowledge planted in a fertile physical brain, I was getting straight A's effortlessly – but at the cost of a social life. I didn't date, didn't even look at girls (or even, though I shudder to think about it, boys). Alex had lost his chance at college thanks to an unplanned pregnancy – not unwanted, certainly NEVER unwanted, Alex loved the son he got from that pregnancy – and so he pushed me to ignore that part of my life.

But I was Chance. I was the amalgamation of Alex and Buck; a new creature rising from the ashes of two dead people. Alex's way wasn't working, not anymore, not with hormones flooding through me. Neither was Buck's. I had to forge a new identity in fact as well as name. I had to force myself to truly become Chance, to overcome and rise above both Alex and Buck and their inherent limitations.

Today was my 14^th birthday and it was the perfect time to make a fresh start. Everything in my life was in transition; I was moving past puberty into adulthood and next week I was starting high school. It was the perfect time to change the rules, to become who I was going to become in this life.

I hopped out of bed and dressed quickly, eager to begin. I threw on shorts, socks, shoes and a t-shirt and then dropped down and did my normal 100 push-ups and 250 sit-ups. I liked the physical part of me so I would keep it; I liked feeling big and strong. I liked that once I set myself to doing push-ups or sit-ups or running, I could let my mind wander on other things, other plans. I just wouldn't let the drive for physical perfection over-whelm me like it had over the past two years.

The studying and dedication to homework would stay, too, I decided as I started my run. I just wouldn't be as religious about it as in the past. I still needed to get the best grades I could in order to get into college but I wouldn't let it take over my life as it had these last 2 years.

I returned an hour later and threw on some jeans and boots; my dad was a stickler for dressing appropriately for work. I had a few chores to do before church today so I did them as usual before taking a shower. It meant I was sweaty even before heading to the barn but I was more than used to that. The animals didn't seem to mind how I smelled.

I'd started working with Dad shortly after becoming Chance. Alex had not had a good relationship with his father – his father had beaten him and his mom too often for there to ever be hope of forgiveness – but it was something that he'd wanted to work on in this life. I would continue that as best I could but not in an attempt to make amends for Alex's failed life. Rather, Robert and Sarah, my Mom and Dad, seemed to be genuinely good people and deserved my respect and love. I also knew how important a support network was and how important parents were to a support network.

Things between Dad and I were strained at the moment, though. Dad had lettered in football in high school and had earned a college scholarship because of it; it was, I think, the reason that he bought me that weight bench for my 13^th birthday. At the time, I thought he'd just seen how dedicated I was to physical fitness and wanted to help me but now I saw things differently. It was my Dad's pride that made me change my view on that gift; when the coach stopped by to recruit me to play on the high school team, my Dad was ear-to-ear smiles. His pride almost blinded everyone in the room as he slapped me on the shoulder.

"Chip off the old block," he'd grinned happily.

It wasn't well received, then, when I told him that I didn't want to play football. We'd eventually argued about it and the argument had lasted several days. My Mom stayed out of it for the most part but she did ask me why I was so dead-set against it. Of course, I couldn't tell her that I had a new chance on life here and I didn't want to potentially waste that chance slamming my body against guys that were just as big as me and actively trying to hurt me.

"I just don't see the point of it, Mom," I'd said to her, trying to be reasonable. "I mean, why take the chance of getting hurt playing a silly game."

"Because that 'silly game' is important to your father," she'd reproached mildly. "I never told anyone this and if you say anything to anyone I swear I'll tan your hide but your father was ... well, disappointed might be making too big a deal of it but he wasn't over-joyed that Lena turned out to be a girl. All through my first pregnancy he was telling everyone how he was going to show the baby how to throw and catch a football, how to swing a bat, how to play sports. No one had the heart to ask him what he was going to do if it were a girl; he was too convinced it was going to be a boy.

"When Lena was born," she continued, pausing to look off into space. "He wasn't ... unhappy. He loved Lena and was so amazed by her. A part of him, though, a part maybe only I could see, was just the littlest bit sad that she was a girl."

"When I took again," she said, smiling at me with a slight, little smile. "Well, your Dad had learned his lesson the first time. He didn't say anything – always said he'd be happy with whatever God gave him – but there was a sense of satisfaction and happiness when you came out a boy. He bought you a baseball, baseball glove, bat and football before you even came home from the hospital; I had to move them out of your crib before I could put you down. So, this 'silly game' means a lot to him ... and I thought you should know some of the reasons why..."

I'd thought about that an awful lot over the past few weeks. I still let Alex's fear keep me stubborn and I'd continued to refuse which had strained things between my Dad and me more than a little bit. Now, thinking about it outside of Alex's fears, I realized just what my Mom was saying. The coach had been talking about me playing wide receiver – Dad's old position – or maybe even tight end because of my size. That whole thing, playing dad's old position where he could help me and playing football where he could be proud of me ... I could see that maybe I was making a mistake.

It was time to put away Alex and Buck and just concentrate on being Chance.

I found my Dad saddling his horse when I finished feeding the pigs and feeding and counting the cattle. They were the jobs he'd given me as my morning chores when he'd finally realized my help wasn't a limited time thing and I planned on assisting him for the long haul. The jobs weren't that hard, though I'd turned them more physically demanding by carrying the feed and loading and unloading the hay bales by hand, but it freed a few things off my Dad's daily checklist.

"Hey, Dad," I started, helping him tighten his cinch.

"Hey, Chance," he said quietly. He wasn't giving me an inch and all of a sudden I just wanted to turn around and head back to the house – but we couldn't both be stubborn here. One of us had to give.

"I was thinking that, if it wasn't too late, maybe I'd see if coach had room for me on his team," I said, looking him right in the eye. That was a habit left over from Alex's life I was definitely going to keep. People seemed to respect you a bit more and listen harder to what you're saying when you're looking them right in the eye.

"Is that so?" he asked. He was trying to remain aloof but I could hear the faint beginnings of a smile in his voice. "Is that what you want to do?"

"No, sir," I said truthfully. I lied when I had to ... but this wasn't one of those times. "But ... it's important to you and I want you to be proud of me."

Dad let out a sigh and stepped around the horse. "Son, I already am proud of you," he said. "Look around. Look at yourself. Look at what you've done. You've been doing your morning chores since you were 11 years old; before I or anyone else even asked you to. You've been driven about developing those muscles and good looks, good looks that I'd like to take at least partial credit for by the way, and you've never faltered in that goal. You're smart as a whip; you get straight A's in school when you don't even try. Hell, you help Lena and Susie with their homework and Lena is 2 years older than you. I already am more proud of you than any parent has any right to be."

"Then why are you set on me playing football?" I asked, a bit of my frustration showing through.

"Because it's a part of you that I can share," he said, his words suddenly thickening. "You don't know that I see it, but you're growing up, Chance. You're already more independent than someone twice your age. You set yourself a goal and you strive toward it and you reach it. Every time."

"Remember when you were 8 and we went to the flea market?" he asked, continuing. "I was looking for a new gear handle for the old tractor and I'd heard that there was one there for sale. I remember leaving you alone for a second and when I looked back you had bought all this stuff, these broken radios and 8-track players and electronic gizmos, with change you'd been collecting. I laughed when I saw it all and was going to make you take it back but you were so serious. 'I can fix some of these, Dad, and sell them' you'd said. I thought it was a pipe dream but I was willing to let you make your own mistakes."

"I realized just who'd made the mistake two weeks later when you brought the radio you'd fixed into the house to show me," he continued. "You'd taken some spare space in the barn where I was just storing junk and turned it into this little workplace for yourself ... and you fixed it. You fixed the radio. You'd bought it broken for a dime and sold it, working, for a dollar. I was so proud of you I could bust ... but I couldn't share that with you because I had no idea what you'd done, even when you tried to explain it to me."

"It's been like that a lot here lately," he said and I could see the tears in his eyes. "When you started working on the ranch, I thought that we'd found something that would bring us closer, something I could teach you, something we could share. Instead, you just listened and learned and went off to do it on your own."

"When I saw you pushing yourself physically, and doing sit-ups and push-ups in the morning..." He paused at the surprised look on my face. "Ah, didn't think I knew that, did you? Your floor squeaks just a bit when you're moving around and it woke Ma and me up a few times over the years. But when I saw you doing that, I figured it was something you'd need me for. I even bought you that weight set with that bench because it was something I knew and could help you with ... but you didn't need me for that, either."

"Then there was last year, when you did that 'market day' project – the one where you and your friends made those reminder refrigerator magnets," he continued. The 'market day' was an 8^th grade project in social studies. We'd been learning about the economy and how it worked after finishing up with the industrial revolution. Mr. Forner broke the class into teams and you had to make and market a good or service, keeping track of how much you spent for the materials to make the good or service, the advertising and so on. The object was to break even or even get a little ahead; any money made above the cost of materials was distributed to the team members.

Most of the kids went for the easy stuff, like paper airplanes or telegrams or massages, but we'd decided to make and market a clip with a magnet on it that could be attached to a refrigerator; you could clip notes and reminders to it to remind yourself or another person in your household. It hadn't been my idea or even my design, but I ran with it. Jim Cazel, a classmate but someone I didn't know very well, had a catalog from his father's work that showed you could buy a thousand strong, square magnets for $10.00. He'd come up with the idea to mount a metal clip like he'd seen in another of his father's catalogs to make a refrigerator magnet reminder holder. He'd even built one for his Mom and Dad from materials his Dad had left-over and his parents liked it so much, they wanted him to build more.

That's how it started. $10.00 for a thousand magnets, a $2.00 bottle of special epoxy resin to glue the magnet to the clip and then $10.00 for a thousand metal clips. Other than the cost of putting them together – which was just two hours over at Jim's house since his dad had a huge workbench for Jim, Megan Anders, Amy Radcliffe and me to use – they cost us just over 2 cents each to make. Another $5.00 for colored markers and $2 for a bunch of irregular sized poster board I happened upon at the flea market brought our costs to just about 3 cents each. Again, that didn't include the work that Amy and Megan did to put together the marketing plan – which they volunteered for – but by the week before Market Day we had posters up all over the school and had even paid $2 for a spot at the PTA meeting; I'm sure we could probably have gotten the spot for free since the PTA president was so tickled at having kids participate but we wanted this to be above-board and reflected in our marketing costs so we paid for the opportunity.

In the end, each clip cost us just over 3 cents to make and we sold them for 50 cents each. Even better, we completely sold out and had orders left over. By the end of 'Market Day', through orders from parents and kids, we'd made $469 profit; $117.25 for each of us. It was the most successful 'Market Day' project our teacher had ever seen. Needless to say, we each got an A+ for our project and the teacher asked us for permission to use our project as an example in the future.

At home, I'd used that 'Market Day' success as a springboard to help out my parents. At the time, I had over $60 million dollars sitting in a trust (taxes are HELL on gambling winnings, by the way; Fidelity had done their best to minimize the taxes the trust needed to pay but had still wound up paying over $20 million dollars in taxes that first year) and was using a bit of it to help them manage their debt, though they didn't know about any of it (they wouldn't have approved of the gambling in the first place and would have been too proud to accept money from me in the second). The problem was that the ranch kept incurring debt, bleeding money, even while I was paying down some of that debt. I couldn't understand how that could be ... until I saw their books, or lack thereof.

Mom managed the ranch and household expenses and Dad handled the ranching. It worked for them for years ... until Dad got hurt and couldn't work for a few months and things just started going to hell. The ranch had never needed much in the way of credit so Mom and Dad had never dealt with it. When they had to because of Dad's injury, they didn't realize what they were doing and were unprepared for it. They didn't really have an accounting system; Mom just made notes in a notebook and moved the balances from page to page. She'd reconcile the balances – not the checks, just the balances – once a year or so, I think. It got completely out of hand; even with my help, the ranch was in trouble – and I couldn't pay off ALL their debt because they would have easily figured that out and started wondering where the money was coming from.

So, I used my 'interest' in 'Market Day' to ask them to let me work on their books.

Of course, it wasn't that easy. They obviously wouldn't let me take over the bookkeeping - I was just a kid - but they let me keep a 'second set' of books. I studied in the library for most of two weeks before I started setting up the bookkeeping accounts. It took me another month to get them into any semblance of order and then only after continuing to study accounting principles at the library.

Things were not good. Dad was used to just going and picking up whatever he needed and using a check to pay for it. That isn't necessarily a bad system but if you bought things all at once, you could negotiate a bit of a price deal because you were buying in bulk. The key was that you didn't have to take the whole order at one time – as Dad pointed out, stuff got stale – but just place the order, pay for it, and take it over time. Dad tried the argument that he wouldn't know what he needed until he needed it but I showed him, going through Mom's notes, where we could average what he did order yearly to come up with an approximation of what he was going to need. Feed, seeds, pesticides, fertilizer, gasoline and even propane could be purchased much cheaper in bulk with a slight added delivery fee for them to give it to you when you needed it. I did one deal that way with the pig feed and realized a 10% price reduction even including the handling and delivery fees.

When Dad saw what I'd done and how easy it was ... well, after six months they were looking at MY books instead of Mom's notes. For all intents and purposes, I was doing the accounting for the ranch; and I only did it for a few hours every Sunday afternoon instead of the two days to a week it took Mom to reconcile it annually. Even better, the debt was being paid down and we were in the black on a month to month basis ... and my parents could look at the numbers and KNOW just where all their money was coming from and going to.

"You remember the 'Market Day' project, don't you?" Dad was asking me. "When you took that stuff you learned and tried to apply it to the ranch, I thought you'd fail; I mean, you were just a kid for Christ's sake. I thought Mom and I were doing it better than anyone could ever do it. I mean, we've been doing things the same way for almost 20 years, ever since Grandpa Buck gave us the land. It was the way Grandpa Buck and Grandma Lena did things and the way they'd taught us to do them. So when you asked about it, I didn't like it but I figured it was going to bring us closer together because you'd need to ask me how things worked – but you didn't even need me then. The ranch is doing well and your mom is doing things your way instead of the way we'd been taught."