Date: Tue, 4 Jun 2002 15:08:20 -0400
From: Michael Raburn <mraburn@bellsouth.net>
Subject: Dylan's Hope 11

THIS WORK IS FULLY PROTECTED BY U.S. COPYRIGHT LAWS.  NO PORTION OF
THIS WORK MAY BE COPIED OR REDISTRIBUTED BY ANY MEANS WITHOUT THE
EXPRESS CONSENT OF ITS AUTHOR.

THIS WORK DEALS WITH A FICTIONAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN TWO MEN.  IF
READING ABOUT HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS OR SEXUAL CONTACT BETWEEN TWO
MEN IS EITHER ILLEGAL IN YOUR AREA OR OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READY
ANY FURTHER.

ANY SIMILARITIES TO ANY PERSON LIVING OR DEAD ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
THIS WORK IS ENTIRELY FICTIONAL.



DYLAN'S HOPE

Michael A. Raburn


Chapter 11



"Daddy"

"Shit!" I exclaimed as my fingers tore through the side of the clay on the
potter's wheel.

"Guess I need to learn not to sneak up on you, huh?" Dylan asked, giggling.
"Did I ruin it? He asked.

"It's no big deal.  I'll just add it to the wonderful art I've created
already this morning."  I sighed as I crumpled the wet mass in my hands and
pitched it towards the recycle bucket.  "What's up?" I asked, looking up
towards my lover.  He leaned over to kiss me and placed another mug of
coffee on my worktable.

"Just wanted to check on you.  You've been out here for hours.  Lunch is
almost ready.  Getting anything done?"

Sipping the coffee, I frowned and gestured towards the ever-growing pile of
mangled lumps of stoneware clay.  Each passing hour demonstrated how out of
practice I was.  Eye hand coordination obviously had gone straight to hell
over the years.  That frustration coupled with the exertion of using
muscles that had long lay dormant had me sweating like crazy in spite of
the chill in the spring air.  I stood up from the stool and walked over to
stand in the opened doorway.  Dylan moved towards the woodstove so he could
stay warm.

"It'll all come back I'm sure." I moaned.  "It's supposed to be like riding
a bicycle, but I'm getting tired of falling all over myself." I laughed.

"Remember, Jon.  It's all about having fun."

"And I am.  Well, okay, I'm not.  But I will!  Come here, you." I reached
out for him.

"Yuck, you'll get me dirty."

"Didn't you see "Ghost"?  It'll be fun.  Come here, little boy, so I can
smear a little mud on you."

"Don't think so, big guy." He danced away from me as I approached.

"Okay, you win." I smiled, moving towards the sink to wash my hands and
forearms.  "Mark and Jake will be here soon anyway.  Wouldn't want to scare
them."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen.  I don't think they would be
scandalized to find us going at it here on the studio floor."

"Nah, it's not like they don't do it too.  What've you got planned for the
afternoon?" I tossed the towel back at the sink and took him in my arms.
He melted into my embrace, moaning that Dylan sound when I kissed behind
his ear and nibbled on his neck.

"I think I'd better feed you before you eat me." He breathed in my ear.

"Oh, dessert!"

I stirred the embers in the stove and added another log so it wouldn't get
too cold while we were in the house, grabbed his hand and escorted him out
the door.  I stopped near the woodpile and pulled Dylan to my side.
Glancing back towards the studio, I marveled at how little was left to be
done before the project would be finished.

Mark and Jake had started the Monday after out meeting and made amazing
progress in just a couple of weeks.  They leveled and poured the concrete
pads for both new buildings the first day and left those to dry.  The next
day they started to build the extension on the back of the barn so we could
move the farm equipment and clean out the main area of the new studio since
I knew that the supplies would be delivered quickly.  Dylan and I had
barely gotten the last tractor moved before the delivery truck pulled in
the driveway laden with my purchases.  We managed to stall the driver long
enough to sweep out the space before he started unloading the two tons of
clay, the wheel and the two kilns I ordered.  That and the endless boxes of
chemicals and glazes almost filled the space I was supposed to work in.

All four of us worked the next couple of days constructing shelving and
trying to organize everything into its rightful place.  They left us to
that task and started the construction of the kiln house so we could move
those beasts out of the way.  Electricity still needed to be run to that
building so we could connect the kilns but at least they were out of the
studio for now.  It's not like I was producing anything worth saving at
that point anyway.

The only remaining construction was all finish work, hanging the last of
the doors, running the electrical service to the outbuilding and installing
the central heat and air and special HEPA filters to capture the silica
dust and other particulate matter.  I still wanted some skylights in the
studio and a few more lighting fixtures but those would get fitted in as
time allowed.





"Got it all planned out?" I asked looking at the drawings spread out on the
table.  I was trying to make us a place to eat lunch while Dylan finished
our beverages.

"Yeah, pretty much.  What do you think?"  He asked as he brought the
glasses to the table.

"Farmer Dylan.  I like the ring to that." I grinned at him.

"Funny, funny, old man."

"Seriously though, when will it be time to plant?"  I started in on my
sandwich and continued to scan the drawings.

"The almanac says not till after..."

I burst out laughing.  "You, with an almanac?  I thought you were the
scientist in the family not into this old wives' tale stuff." I giggled.

"Hey what do I know about gardening?  The proprietor at the feed and seed
told me it was the most accurate way of knowing." He looked a little put
out that I was making fun of him.

"Baby, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to laugh at you." I tried to soothe him.

"Yes, you did.  It is kinda funny isn't it?"

"So after...when?"

"A couple of more weeks they say."  He shook his head at me.

"I'll be glad to help if you want me to." I offered.

"Sure, sounds like fun.  I've got to practice driving the tractor some
more.  Don't want to wreck or anything when I plow the fields." He altered
his voice to imitate some of the accents we had heard in the area.



The sound of Mark's diesel truck coming up the road roused us from our
dreamy gazing at each other.  We had retired to the sofa after lunch for a
cuddle and a little rest.  Dylan was lying half on me with his head nestled
against my neck and his hand lazily stroking my chest hair.  We would have
dozed off it the guys hadn't returned when they did.

We quickly gathered up the lunch dishes and rinsed them for the dishwasher.
By the time we got outside the guys were already hanging the doors for the
kiln shed.  Dylan and I pitched in to help.





I knew something was wrong but wasn't sure what it was.  The images that
haunted my sleep were getting stronger, yet I still didn't understand what
they meant.  A pattern was beginning to be develop I was sure but I
couldn't quite make it out.  The shapes were still too unfocused, too dim
for me to recognize.  They reminded me of photographs being developed where
the subject would slowly emerge on the white paper, the tones darkening
with each passing minute.  And yet, it was almost on an emotional level as
well; I could feel the terror growing from just glimpses, quick flashes of
fear.  Every night it seemed that those seconds would grow longer and I
could feel them more acutely.

Most nights I would stand drenched in the sweat of my terror and look out
the window at the night sky trying to analyze, dissect the dreams.
Standing there knowing everything was all right outside would comfort me,
help me calm down enough to sleep.  As the images intensified those hours
staring out at the night changed into something more, a vigil against the
coming storm.  I felt that if I could see it before it came into reality
that I could stop it somehow.

Eventually I would either release enough where I could feel sleepiness or
distract my mind enough to put the nightmare away, take a quick shower and
then climb back in bed to the loving arms of my husband.  He and I never
talked about it but he knew about the dreams and would pull me more tightly
to him when I returned, as if to ensure me of his love and his protection.

I was beginning to get quick glimpses of it during the day as well.  I
would turn in the studio and see only a fragment of something flash behind
my eyes.  I would get just a snippet of something like smoke vanishing and
it would be over.  I had several times looked up from washing my hands in
the bathroom or washing dishes at the kitchen sink and seeing movement
outside the window.  I would blink and it would be gone, but I was sure I
had seen something there, something vaguely familiar.  I never mentioned
that to Dylan, I was afraid that he would think I was going crazy.  I just
hoped that I wouldn't regret that I hadn't warned him, prepared him for
something that I knew was coming.

Whatever it was, it was near and somehow I knew it would take all of us to
survive.  If we could.




"Oh, hey." I said, looking up from the wheel.  Dylan had convinced me to
turn my workstation around so I no longer had my back to the door and so he
couldn't startle me so much when he came in to check on me.

"Jon, it looks great." He exclaimed as I wiped my hands on the towel and
grabbed the cut-off wire.

Grinning back at him I cut the piece loose then removed the massive bowl
from the wheel and placing it with the ten others that matched it.  Over
the last weeks my proficiency had returned and I was now feeling like I
understood or at least my fingers understood what to do.  Ware carts stood
around the studio filled with bowls and pitchers in different stages of
drying.  Feeling the clay move to my touch instead of me fighting it was
reward enough for my efforts but now I also had all these pieces that had
to be finished then fired.  I was beginning to think I might just make it
as a potter after all.

The green shoots of our first plants, well, Dylan's first plants, were
sprouting above the rich soil of our plot.  We had gotten the garden
planted in spite of our hilarious efforts at plowing straight rows with the
tractor.  He had never driven one before moving here and I had only helped
my grandfather a few times with the garden.  I accused Dylan of trying to
run me down the first time he started across the yard.  He only laughed and
asked where the horn was located as he chased me around the house.

We spent endless hours weeding and enlarging the beds that Granddad planted
around the house.  Andrea and I had basically ignored them all the years
since his death since we were rarely at the cabin more than a couple of
days throughout the year.  Now they were cleared and replanted with
azaleas, all sorts of lilies that would bloom in the late spring and
everything else we could find at the garden center that interested us.  I
wanted gardenia bushes to remind me of my grandmother and mother and Dylan
wanted some camellias, his mother's favorite.  Our last trip to town we
returned with ten fern baskets that now hung from the ceiling between the
columns on the wide front porch.

Our lives, like our garden was coming along.  We continued to grow closer
in our newly acknowledged love for each other.  We never argued and only
occasionally had any sort of disagreement; usually that was only limited to
where to locate the newest child in our ever growing plant family.  We
rarely were far from each other and we both seemed to know exactly where
the other was even if we didn't see him.  Mark and Jake and occasionally
Sarah were our only real contact with the outside world.  We did go out to
shop for groceries and our faces were beginning to be known around town,
but we pretty much enjoyed our lives away from everything and everyone
else.  We were so busy with the things we were trying to accomplish and
with each other that our focus really changed that first few months in
North Georgia.




I heard the car coming up the hill and walked out from the studio to see
Dylan coming out the backdoor of the house.  We walked together towards the
front of the house to see who was visiting.  Andrea and Robert were just
getting out of their car as we rounded the side of the house.  The phone
rang and Dylan waved and ran off towards the house.

"Daddy!" She came running towards me.  "I've got great news"

"Hey pumpkin.  It's so good to see you." I pulled her into my arms, kissing
her on the cheek.

"I'm pregnant!" she screamed in my ear.

My breath caught in my lungs, I couldn't swallow and tears began to run
down my face.  The news took a few minutes to get past my gut emotional
response to being a grandfather.  I swung her around me kissing and
caressing my daughter.  As I sat her back on her feet I looked over her
shoulder to congratulate Robert.  The grimace on his face stopped me cold.
Thunder rumbled around us, rattling the windows.

"Jon!" Dylan screamed, running out of the house, tears streaming down his
face.  "Oh God, Jon." He sobbed.  I released Andrea and headed toward the
steps to get him.  Something whizzed past my ear, shattering the glass in
Robert's car.  Dylan stumbled, falling from the steps into my arms.


TO BE CONTINUED (sorry guys, you know I love cliffhangers)