Date: Wed, 17 Feb 2016 22:35:36 +0000
From: David Lee <dlee169@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Summer Vacation, Chapter 3

My Summer Vacation, Chapter 3

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was during the middle of my second week of residing in paradise that an
event happened which would make a profound change in my life.

I was driving toward town on the two-lane blacktop when I came upon a white
Suburban that was moving slowly but erratically.  My thought was that
either the person was texting or drunk.  I had no way of knowing what the
driver even looked like because I couldn't see anyone's head above the
headrest.  I was afraid to try to pass it lest the vehicle swerve into my
lane about the time I was beside it.

Repeating the license number into my recorder, I was about to alert Sheriff
Ward when I saw a body on a bicycle flying through the air.  Naturally, I
slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting it if it landed in front of me.  The
white vehicle kept moseying on; the driver evidently oblivious.

Scrambling down into the ditch, I found a young man lying on his back
beside his crumpled bike, looking a bit dazed but, seemingly conscious.

"Wow, you're alive!" I exclaimed, a comment rather insensitive and
inarticulate for a writing professor.

"Yeah, the pain has confirmed that I'm responding to external stimuli," he
said with a wry smile.

"Lie still and let me call an ambulance, assuming there is one in Red Lodge
to call."

"No, don't.  I'm not sure my student health plan will cover that and I
can't afford to pay it out of pocket."

"You can't afford to end up paralyzed either!"

"Just help me up, please."

"Not yet.  Please don't move until call Doc Marsh and ask his advice."

"Look, I've crashed a number of times doing Motocross in my youth and I'm
pretty much in touch with my bod.  I hurt, but I'm not in shock and I'm
sure nothing's broken."

"Okay, but please let me talk to the doctor before we move you.  I've had
first aid training, but I'm not certified for EMT work and I don't want you
to suffer permanently from having me do the wrong thing!"

I identified myself to Dr. Marsh, and he talked me through a cursory
examination of the young man's body.  It involved firmly feeling his legs,
arms, and torso.  I did my best to maintain a professional demeanor, but
that was only possible because of the seriousness of the situation.  Had I
not been concerned about his wellbeing, I might have thrown wood. Thank God
he had on jeans instead spandex!

He was fit and lean, with muscles which appeared to have developed from
use, and were not simply for esthetics.  But for the color of his skin, he
might have been a Greek god.  As it was, he resembled a Nubian warrior, but
one of mixed heritage.  His skin was a medium mocha hue, but his eyes were
the most amazing shade of green.

According to Dr.  Marsh, the only local ambulance was out on a call for an
elderly heart patient and wouldn't be available anytime soon.  He felt it
would be best if I transported the injured guy to the clinic in my SUV so
that he could be checked for a concussion.  Even though he'd been wearing a
helmet, it was possible that his brain might have been jarred by the
impact.

The doctor asked me to put him on the phone and they discussed the benefits
and risks of not waiting for an ambulance.  In the process, I learned that
my new acquaintance was named Vernon Washington.

"Do you feel strong enough to climb the bank if I help, Vernon?" I asked
after he ended the call.

"I sure do, and please call me Vern like my friends do."

"Okay Vern, I think it would be easier over here where you can grab onto
some of these small trees."

He was strong and agile despite his injuries, and managed to make it up
without much help on my part.  I mostly held onto the backs of his legs to
steady his feet so they didn't slip on the damp vegetation.  Once he was
settled in the passenger seat, I rummaged around and found a slightly warm
bottle of water which he drank slowly, and with much appreciation.

"I'll go back and get your backpack and what's left of you bike," I called
on my way down.

"Um, could you look for my phone?  It doesn't seem to be in my pocket."

"Here, call your number from mine," I suggested as I tossed it up to him.

He caught it easily, making me feel that he must be okay if he reflexes
were that good.

It took a couple of minutes, following the sound of his ringtone, before I
located the device wedged below a clump of bushes about 10 feet from where
he'd landed.

With all of his possessions accounted for, we headed for the clinic.

At one point, I glanced over toward him as we turned onto the main highway.
There were tears streaming down his face.

"Are you in a lot of pain, Vern?"

"It's tolerable.  I'm sorry about the waterworks; I tend to get emotional."

"You have every right to be, having had a brush with the Grim Reaper!"

"It's not about what happened to me, it's about you and what you're doing.
The concept of the Good Samaritan still lives, and it gives me hope for the
human race."

"Thanks, but I'm not doing anything unusual."

"Yeah, you are.  With the tensions between blacks and whites in recent
police shootings and all, you never know who'll care and who would rather
see you dead."

"Dude, you're my BROTHER, and I AM my brother's keeper."

"We don't exactly look like siblings," he grinned, holding up his left arm
against my right.

"In here we do," I countered, touching his chest.  "Your heart beats like
mine, and when you bleed, I'm sure your blood is as red as mine."

"I'm glad you feel that way too!  You're a true Christian."

A bit embarrassed by Vern's words, I changed the subject and suggested we
call the sheriff to report the incident.

"Maybe we shouldn't.  I don't want to be sued for scratching someone's
fender."

"We have to!  That person was weaving around and could have killed you."

"But what if they charge me for biking while black?"

"Man, do you have an attitude about white people or what?"

"Nope, just some bad experiences, and I'm not sure how I'll be received in
a small western town."

"Well, I'm gonna do my best try to change your perspective on that."

My call to Sheriff Ward went through quickly and I had Vern play back the
description of the vehicle and the license number.

"Oh shit!" he cussed.  "Edna knows better than that.  I wonder why she
strayed out into the country.  Her children assured me that they had talked
to her about not driving out of town anymore!"

"So, I take it you know the driver."

"Yes.  How is the victim?  Will he be okay?"

"I'm in some pain, but I'll live," Vern piped up.  "Thanks for asking."

"That's a relief!  I'm not sure she has valid insurance, but I know her
family will take responsibility for your bills if she doesn't.  I hope you
can find it in your heart not to sue the poor old thing."

"I'm not out to get anyone.  I'd like to be assured she won't hurt anyone
else."

"I'll see to it!"  the sheriff replied before he signed off.

----------

We had to wait for the doctor because he was getting the heart patient
stabilized.  He saw Vern right after the helicopter lifted off,
transporting the man to Butte.

"Well, young man, you look pretty good considering what you've been
through."

"The brush along the road broke my fall."

"Fortunately it didn't break any ribs in the process," Dr. Marsh quipped.
"You don't even have many scratches."

"I landed on my back and I was wearing a backpack, so that cushioned me, I
guess.  My Levis prevented road rash.  It was providential that this
morning was cold so I put them on instead of my biking shorts."

"Your guardian angel must have rushed in too."

"Yeah, he did as quickly as he could scramble into the ditch," Vern agreed,
looking over at me with a grin.

I'm sure I must have blushed at his comment.  I was self-conscious, but I
liked the fact that Vern appreciated what I did.

Dr. Marsh gave Vern a few samples of a pain medication instead of writing a
prescription.  He was aware that the young man was concerned about bills.

"I don't think I need to keep you overnight, but I want you to rest and I'd
like someone to keep tabs on you."

"I'll do that," I volunteered.  "It will help me earn my wings."

----------

I was going to take Vern to the café for a late lunch, but he turned the
offer down, saying he looked too scruffy to be seen in an eating
establishment.  Therefore, I left him in the vehicle while I ordered two
burgers with fries to carry out.  He told me that I didn't need to do that,
and offered to pay for both meals.  When I wouldn't let him, he graciously
allowed me to treat.

"Since I'm already in your debt, could you take me to get my key from the
realty office if it's not too much trouble?  I can crash in my little
apartment and unpack the stuff I shipped, as soon as I feel better.  The
place is called Forsythe Realty and supposed to be around here somewhere."

"That would be Fred's establishment and I know it well; it's only a block
away."

----------

I introduced the men and told Fred what had happened in the morning.  He
nodded and then turned to Vern.

"Son, you'd better sit down because I have more bad news.  Gabe can testify
to the big fire the day he arrived."

"Of course, don't tell me...," I exclaimed.

"Yup, there were six apartments above the hardware store.  Five were
occupied and they all were gutted.  We've placed everyone who was there at
the time, but there's not another dwelling available in the whole town
currently unless you want to hunker down in a musty basement.  Maybe in a
couple of weeks something will open up."

"Damn." Vern murmured as he put his head in his hands.  "I suppose the
boxes of clothes I shipped were in there too."

"No, you've been saved on that one.  It's the one time that you can be
thankful that `snail mail' lived up to its nickname and didn't get your
packages to their destination quickly.  They're stored here in the back
room."

"May I leave them here until I find a place to stay?"

"Of course."

"Wait, I have a solution," I interrupted.  "You can move into the cabin
with me.  There are two bedrooms and it's large enough that we wouldn't be
right on top of each other."  (In my mind, I was considering how nice it
would be if we took turns being on top of each other!)

"I think your day just got a lot better!" Fred enthused.  "It's a beautiful
place, and this guy seems amiable enough."

"Okay, I appreciate it and I'll move in on a trial basis, but only on the
condition that I pay half the rent," Vern agreed.

"That's fine with me.  I think you'll like splitting the bill," I grinned.

"What?" Vern asked.

"How much is half of zero?  You do the math."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously.  The place belongs to my great uncle and I'm staying there
gratis.  Now you are too."

"What can I say?"

"How about asking for help loading your boxes of clothes into my SUV?"

----------

On the way to the cabin I got my curiosity satisfied as to why Vern was
spending his summer in this rather remote location.  I kept up the
conversation by asking leading questions.  He seemed eager to share a
number of things about his situation.

He had been offered a summer internship that he couldn't turn down.  Not
only would he receive a salary while practicing his craft, but he would
also be forgiven part of his student loan since it was a government job
that was beneficial for national security.

The work was right up his alley because it involved creating a computer
program and overseeing its use for a few months until others were trained
on how to operate it.

The federal government had chosen this remote inland area as a kind of
"dooms-day" repository for various seeds to be stored in case of some
future natural or man-made disaster that might wipe out food plants.  Red
Lodge was a perfect location because of its isolation.  An attack by a
foreign government or terrorist group would be hard to pull off in a
community where roads made access difficult and everyone knew everyone else
– all of whom kept a number of firearms for hunting and self-defense.

Another plus for the region was the abandoned coal mines, one of which had
been easily retrofitted into several vaults where the temperature and
humidity could be controlled with little, if any, need for mechanical
devices.

In order to save money and see part of the country at the same time, Vernon
had traveled west by rail, taking his bicycle along.  The closest train
station was in Billings, about 60 miles away from Red Lodge.  As an avid
biker, he might have made that trip in a single day, but he had chosen to
camp one night along the way.

This area was not only more rugged than going across Iowa on the annual
RAGBRAI trip, but the higher elevation affected one's breathing.

So, that was what had brought him to the place where he'd been struck by
the elderly motorist at the very time I was passing by.

When my questioning of him wound down, he realized that I had told him
essentially nothing about me.

"I take it you must work for the University of Iowa."

"Um, yes, but how did you guess?"

"Possibly it was the Johnson County license plates and the U of I parking
sticker," he grinned.  "It doesn't exactly take a great detective to deduce
that."

"Okay, then that makes me suspect that you're a student there too."

"I am.  This summer's internship will help me toward graduation in the
spring.  I'd really like to stay in Iowa when I finish because I've come to
appreciate the friendliness of the people and the political/social outlook
of the area."

"That's pretty well limited to the I-380 corridor," I said.  "You know how
conservative the western part of the state is.  Congressman King is a
little right of Attila the Hun!"

"True."

"If you feel comfortable in Iowa City, then what was that bit about bad
racial relations this morning?"

"I haven't always lived there.  I've done my best to forget about the South
and make sure my accent blends in, but I haven't forgotten the prejudice
and hate.  Every time I'm feeling a bit of hope, events like Ferguson come
up and I wonder if anyone actually believes that black lives matter."

"I guess I can understand how you feel, on an intellectual level at least.
I know I've lived a charmed life where race is concerned.  I've never had
to worry about being accepted for the color of my skin.  However, I did
suffer some bullying in school."

"I can't imagine that!" Vern exclaimed.  "You're good-looking and fit.  Who
would pick on you?"

"I worked out and took karate lessons to give me confidence, so it pretty
well stopped by my junior year in high school.  I kicked a bully's ass that
fall and suddenly I got respect.  The fight wasn't of my choosing...

Adolescents can be cruel, especially to someone they consider weak.  My
love of literature and other arts didn't help create a macho image at that
age."

"I can relate to that.  Imagine being a black kid in a society that assumed
you were an ignorant thug.  Then your peers called you `Uncle Tom' if you
did well in school.  They told me I was a white boy in a black boy's skin.
My eye color proved I had white blood."

"Your eyes are beautiful!" I exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

"Thanks, but they're not like your blue ones.  Those are perfect!"

His exuberance made my heart skip a beat.  I had feared that I might have
offended him by remarking about his eyes in the way I did.  Now he was
returning the compliment in a manner that was just as effusive.  Perhaps he
was simply being polite.  I had to remind myself not to become too hopeful.

----------

The pain medication Vern had taken was evidently beginning to work.  He got
out of my vehicle much more easily than he had entered it earlier.

We made short work of bringing his things into the extra bedroom to get him
settled.  I did most of it because I was concerned that he not injure
himself further by lifting too much.

I suggested that we leave his mangled bike on the rack to take it to the
shop in town the next day.  It didn't look fixable to me, but we might as
well ask an expert.  I had already made up my mind that I would front him
the money for a new one until he could get some kind of settlement from the
old lady.

After I helped him unpack and find places for his clothes in the closet and
a bureau, I invited him to have a shower and nap or try out the hot tub.
He chose the former, and I didn't see him again until he eased his way, a
bit unsteadily, into the kitchen area, following the aroma of the chicken
breasts I was cooking for dinner.

"Are you okay, or do you need another pain pill?"

"I'm good.  The effects of the codeine along with zonking out so hard have
made me groggy.  I hate not being in control.  I'd rather feel a little
pain than be a zombie."

"I'm like that too, but sometimes a guy has to give in and take his
medicine to stay ahead of the pain.  I don't mind waiting on you if you
feel dizzy.  I don't want you to fall and suffer more injury."

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

I got him a big glass of ice water with a slice of lemon on the rim.  His
smile was adequate recompense for being waited on.

"I feel like I'm at a five-star resort.  I've had a long nap on a very
comfortable bed after taking a shower with wonderfully scented shower gel
and now I'm awaiting a gourmet dinner."

"I'll admit the cabin has amenities, but you may have a long wait for a
gourmet meal.  This is a new recipe from the Internet that I haven't tried
before.  The ingredients do sound good.  It's hard to miss with chicken,
cream cheese, tomato, and bacon."

I had roasted Brussels sprouts, baby carrots, cauliflower pieces, and onion
slices which were tossed on olive oil and sprinkled with minced garlic, sea
salt and pepper.  The aromas were delightful.

Vern ate slowing, raving about the taste between every bite.  I felt like I
was basking in his praise.

Despite his protests, I didn't let him get up to help clear and tidy up the
kitchen.  I agreed that he could take a turn at cooking later when he felt
better.  However, I reminded him that in a few days he would be a working
man and I didn't have to keep any particular schedule.

----------

"Do you want to try out the hot tub," I asked after our dinner had had a
few minutes to settle.

"I'd love to, but I didn't think to pack a swimsuit.  I guess I was trying
not to bring anything I wouldn't use and I assumed my exercise would be
biking or hiking."

"No worries.  I don't wear one because the chemicals tend to fade the cloth
and cause the dye to get deposited on the walls.  I might have a pair of
white boxers somewhere if you're uncomfortable going bare-ass."

"No, I'm cool.  If you go skinny, I'll do it too."

I led the way out to the deck where we both stripped.  I told him I was
going to rinse off under the outdoor shower because I felt sweaty after
cooking.  He said that he should probably do the same.

Try as I might, I couldn't help checking out is beautiful body as he stood
under the stream.  Ancient statues of Greek athletes with their broad
shoulders tapering to trim waists and pert butts came to mind.  The
similarities didn't end there.  His strong calves narrowed down to petit
ankles – the perfect form for hiking and biking.  In a word, he was
BEAUTIFUL.  I tried not to stare!

He, in turn, appraised my body as I washed away the sweat.  He seemed to be
embarrassed when I caught him staring, and he averted his eyes.

I turned the shower off and stepped slowly into the warm roiling water.  He
joined me, moving at the same pace.  For a moment, our eyes met as we sat
down.

The bubbles helped to hide the evidence of my admiration.  If I had found
him attractive at first sight when he was clad in jeans and a light jacket,
seeing him naked was almost overwhelming.

I had a feeling that we both wanted to say something about the other
person's body, but were afraid to do so.  I didn't want to look like I was
hitting on him lest he feel like I expected him to "pay" for his lodging by
pleasing me.  Besides, I really didn't know him well yet.  Perhaps he
wasn't feeling like I was and I didn't want to complicate things if we were
going to be living under the same roof.

----------

Vernon appeared to be sleepy again after getting out of the spa.  I handed
him a large towel to dry with after he showered off the chemicals.  I did
the same, and we each went off to our respective bedrooms with a towel tied
loosely at the waist.

Sleep eluded me for a while.  Perhaps I had retired too early, but that
didn't account for all of my restlessness.  I kept thinking about how nice
he was and hoping that we might eventually hit it off in an intimate way as
well as an intellectual one.

I wasn't considering a one-night stand, but something more lasting.  Sure
he was hot, by anyone's standards, but he was also a pleasant person to be
around, someone to come home to at the end of the day.

Here I was fantasizing about a domestic scene, and I didn't even know for
sure that he was gay.  My gaydar was normally very sensitive.  I couldn't
figure out why it wasn't sending off a clear signal tonight.

As I daydreamed, I considered the ethical issues of dating an undergrad in
the university where I was teaching.  I knew there were no rules that
prohibited it when there wasn't a direct teacher/student relationship.  It
was highly unlikely that he would register for one of my courses.  If he
did, that might put things into a gray area.  Again, I was getting ahead of
myself.

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Author's notes: Thanks to all who emailed this past week: Jim H, Wayne,
Nick S, Tom A, Bill T, Peter M, Jim L, Ott H, Walt S, Vern, Charles G, Jim
W, Bill k, Tony F, Larry S, Jim M, Jeremy R, Mendy D, and Dick M.  As you
know, your emails are my only compensation for posting.

As always, I'm indebted to my editors, Tom and David for their hard work.
I also appreciate Nifty for posting.  Please help to keep this free service
going with your donations.

David