Date: Sun, 04 Jun 2000 10:14:56 EDT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Beneath-It-All-2.txt

It's been a while, but here's part 2.  Admittedly I was afraid to write it
-- when I saw part 1 and the amazing reaction it got (and is still
getting), I became extremely worried about living up to the standard that
was set.  More so to the standard in my own head that in the eyes of the
readers -- but I'm a tougher critic than most.  (That's what an English and
Creative Writing double major does to your brain.)

I have given up on that standard.  Part 2 doesn't have to be better -- it
doesn't have to be more emotional.  It just has to be.  The story
progresses.

So here it is -- thanks again to DLS for his amazing help in the original
brainstorming that set the scene, and for his assistance in editing.
(Partial blame for the time taken in the instalment is that he forces me to
let him read it before it goes to Nifty.  It means more quality for the
reader, but it takes some time. :)

I'm doing another Mirrors instalment after this and then back to this story
-- alternating between the two.  I'm not even going to attempt to give you
a time frame for the next Beneath It All, but hopefully it won't be too far
off.

Enjoy!

thepoetboy@hotmail.com

***

Part 2

Eventually it grew too cold to stay on the porch.  Nick held off as long as
he could, shivering in the darkness, but he knew things had to come to an
end.  All things do.

"I think I'm gonna turn in, John."

John's head turned to Nick.  He'd been lost in thought for a while, content
in the companionable silence.  It had surprised Nick, the comfortable lull
shared with someone he'd just met.  Still largely a stranger.

"Sleep well.  I'm going to wait up for Michael to get back, but I'll see
you in the morning for breakfast."  He was scratching Denny's ears.  The
old dog didn't wake up long enough to acknowledge the bliss.  "Pancakes in
the morning.  And some eggs and sausage."

Nick's stomach turned slightly -- quietly.  His plans only included toast.
Toast and water.

"Sounds good," Nick said, and he walked into the house and up the front
stairs.

***

All of the windows were still open, filling the air with the scent of earth
and country.  The door to the balcony was propped open with a suitcase.
Nick was listening closely, waiting for the sound of Michael's return, for
John's voice to talk to Denny.

He couldn't understand blindness.  Blindness and activity.  For most
people, blindness would be enough of an excuse to do nothing -- reason
enough to fail.  That's all anybody was looking for -- a good reason why
they weren't successful.  An excuse for not being all that they could be.

But when you have success, what are the excuses for?  Eventually careers
trail off.  Fans flock to someone else.

You're forgotten.

And it's so much work just to be remembered, to keep people coming back.
After success is a void -- a black hole that swallows you up.  A
nothingness.

And that's how Nick fell asleep.  A figure in the dark, wanting to be
remembered.

***

Half-light.  Nick could hear the birds, but that isn't what woke him.  It
was the music.

Coming in through the windows, through the open door to the balcony, was
music.  A simple two guitar arrangement coming from outside, from
downstairs.

Simple, but elegant.  A well practiced partnership.

Nick stretched and found his bathrobe, wrapping it around and tying it at
the waist.  He rubbed his eyes and went into the hall and down the front
stairs, avoiding the ones he already knew were creakers.  Soon he was in
the front hall, staring out the open door.

John and Michael were sitting on the porch stairs with guitars on their
laps.  Denny was limping her way around the front lawn.  No-one seemed to
mind that the sun was just coming up, that their day started before the
sun.

They really did look like brothers, with their eyes closed and Michael's
stress lines smoothed over.  Their instruments were worn and scuffed,
obviously old and loved.

Nick sat down on the front stairs, wrapping his arms around himself against
the cool morning and closed his eyes.  He leaned against the wood panelled
wall and just listened, letting himself doze off.

***

"Nick?"

There was a hand on his shoulder.  A slight shaking.  He forced his eyes
open against the sleep, looking into the brightly sunlit hallway.  Michael
was standing in front of him with a smile.

"We didn't want to wake you," he said with a smile.  "But it's nice to know
we play well enough to put you to sleep."  He laughed and turned away,
walking back into the kitchen.  "But you're the professional.  Breakfast is
ready."

Nick blinked and wiped his eyes.  He stood and stretched widely, making his
way into the kitchen.  The table was set for five, with plates of eggs and
pancakes.  John was by the stove, piling sausages onto a smaller plate.  He
turned when he heard Nick enter and a broad smile spread across his face.
Both of the men were fully dressed, and it looked like they'd showered.

"Morning, Nick.  Sleep well?"

Michael took the plate from John and they both moved over to the table.
Nick mumbled something incoherently and slipped into one of the extra
chairs.

John's smile spread wider, taking on comic proportions.  "Your friends
didn't get in until four -- so I think we're letting them sleep."

Nick nodded, taking his glass of orange juice and draining it.  He leaned
back in his chair with a hand on his stomach, trying to look as if he
wasn't hungry.

Michael looked up over his own meal at Nick.  "You alright?"

John reached out, his hand searching for maple syrup.  Michael slid it into
John's hand without taking his eyes off Nick.

"I'm fine.  Just not used to eating so early."

"He probably just ate too much at dinner," John said, spreading the syrup
over his pancakes and sausages.  "Turned out it was only the two of us."

Michael smiled.  "Depending on how late those two sleep, it could just be
the two of you for lunch too.  The Carsons down the street are having a
barn raising today -- Howie and AJ didn't sound interested yesterday."

"Barn raising?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, just like the old days.  The family provides the food and the
supplies, and, in exchange for a good meal or two, locals provide the
labour.  It should be fun."

"What about the east field?"  John reached out again, searching for his
glass.  Again, almost without realizing he was doing it, Michael slid it
into place.

"I'll get it tomorrow, or the day after.  A few days shouldn't matter much.
What've you got planned today, Nick?"

Nick watched the brothers moving methodically through their meals.
"Nothing.  Just quiet day.  Maybe I'll wander over to the barn raising
later on to see what it's like."

Michael smiled broadly.  "The local girls would love that, but I doubt
they'd get much work done."

Forcing a smile, Nick said, "Everyone needs to take a break some time."

"You and I can take Denny for her long walk, Nick."  John was wiping up the
remaining syrup with a piece of bread.  "Once a week she likes to make her
rounds of the farm, keeping an eye on her kingdom."

"Sounds good to me."  Nick reached out for a piece of bread.

"Then it's a date," John said with a grin.

Nick was just glad he wasn't eating the bread at the time -- he was certain
he would have choked.  He forced a smile and looked across the table at
Michael's dark eyes.

***

Nick and John set out an hour later.  The rubber boots John was wearing had
Nick worried, but he tried not to give it much thought.  His old runners
had served him well thus far.

Denny was standing at the back door, slowly wagging her tail and waiting
for them.  They walked slowly to give her a chance to wander ahead,
checking everything she decided was worthy of a sniff.

"Nick?"

Nick turned around and looked at John, who was holding out a hand.

"I need to borrow your eyes, kiddo."

There was a flutter in Nick's heart as he stepped back and took John's
hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow.  As they set off again on the
walk, Nick was spending more thought on the warm hand than on the wide
fields.

"I get lost easily," John said quietly.

"I don't know how you find anything."

"Memory.  You learn to remember."

Denny was running ahead, actually running.  For a moment Nick forgot how
old and stiff she was and watched her as if she were a pup.  She barked and
dove in and out of the overgrown fields, wagging her tail and chasing a
dream.

"When I was a kid," John continued, "I wandered out of the house.  To
explore."  Nick carefully altered their path to avoid an old stump.  "And I
got lost.  Spent an hour trying to find my way home."

"What happened?"

John laughed.  "Someone looked out a window.  I wasn't more than a hundred
feet away."

Nick smiled and moved back to the original path, putting his hand on
John's.
  The skin was soft and smooth, but he could see the scars.  Dozens of
little nicks from kitchen knives and various tools had left their marks.

"I got lost once," Nick said and then trailed off.  John didn't press for
information.

Nick had wanted to tell the story about when he was seven and had wandered
off during a trip for groceries.  About the long afternoon under the hot
sun on the crowded streets.  The faces and alleys that had taken on
horrific dimensions from the eyes of a terrified child.

But he found himself thinking of now, not the past.  Of how far he was from
where he should be.

"Nick?"  John finally took a moment to pull Nick back from his thoughts.
"Do you see the stones?  They should be in the middle of a field somewhere
near here, with some wooden beams sticking out."

Nick looked around, finally settling his eyes to the left.  It wasn't a
pile of stones - - they were still shaped into walls.  Oddly shaped rocks
held together by cement rather than bricks.  Old grey wood lay settled on
top.

"Over to the left, yeah."

"That was the barn, original to the land.  It was put up by the family that
broke the land.  It was their third barn, and their first with a solid
base."

"It's seen better days."

John smiled.  "It fell in a wind storm when I was a kid.  Michael loves to
tell the story.  He was out here with Dad when it came down, trying to lead
the animals in.  He said there was no warning -- it just went over.  Scared
the hell out of him - - but he said it was the most beautiful thing he'd
ever seen."

Nick stared at it, trying to imagine it standing again, dominating the
wide, flat horizon.  "When did it go up?"

"Long time ago.  Not quite sure.  1880, I think, but that might just be me
romanticising it."  John patted Nick's hand and pulled him toward where
Denny was standing in the path waiting impatiently.  "Denny gets mad when
she's held back."

Nick allowed himself to be lead.  "How did you know we were by the barn?"

"Time.  We'd been walking about the right amount of time.  And the smell of
cut grass was gone, meaning we were in an area Michael hasn't gotten to
yet."

"Is that the type of thing they're raising today?"

"Pretty much.  The base is more cinder blocks than stonework, and they've
probably got better wood, but it's the same idea."  John whistled and Denny
immediately turned around and barked before running off.  Her owner smiled.
"She's just an overgrown pup."

Nick smiled and squeezed John's hand, carefully watching his face to make
sure he didn't mind.  "I'm surprised she has the energy."

John laughed.  "After this we won't see her for a day.  She'll find a
corner and sleep."

"Depending how far we go, I might do the same thing."  Nick said with a
smile, taking in the clean air and the bright sun.

It wasn't the same as city sun.  He was comfortable without his sunglasses,
and it was tempered by a cool breeze unhindered by buildings.  City sun
comes from all angles, flashing off everything.  City breezes are shuffled
through countless side streets and corners, guided by the buildings and
picking up the chaos of the population as it goes.

Even the dark out here was different for Nick.  It was darker.  In city
dark you can still wake up in the middle of the night and get to the
bathroom without turning on lights.  In the country, night is like coal.  A
solid black object that is everywhere.

And the stars -- somehow there are more of them.  Nick had been in awe of
them the night before, staring at the billions of them.

That's why country folks didn't have big city egos, he'd decided.  It
wasn't the lack of money or cars or high pace.  It was that they had to
face the size of the universe every night.  City folk had built up a wall
of light for security.

And here, on a path between wide fields with the morning sun and the long
grass shifting in the wind, there was a whole other world.  Something so
wide and massive that two men and a dog were nothing.  Just elements of the
scenery.

Somehow, for some reason, the insignificance didn't matter.  Nick kept
walking, holding John's hand to his side.

***

John stopped in the path, forcing Nick to stop.  He whistled, waiting for
the reply.

It didn't come.

He whistled again, and waited.  Then he yelled the old dog's name.

Nick's head spun around, trying to remember where he'd last seen her, but
he didn't know.  He'd been lost in thought for too long, away from thoughts
of Denny and the path they were walking.

With a twist, Nick slipped his arm away from John's grip.  "Wait here,"
Nick said, already running back the way they came.  He heard John call his
name, but Nick was already moving, already calling out to the dog.

This was the good part -- the part Nick knew he could do.  After all the
eating, all the weight, he'd always had the concerts and videos.
Underneath it all he was still fit, still strong.

Every so often, when he thought he heard a noise, Nick would crash off of
the path and through the fields.  It left a trail behind him of broken
grass and it whipped at his legs, stinging even through his jeans.

But then he heard a bark -- a reply to his yell.  He stumbled to a stop,
nearly up to his waist in the grass -- or whatever it was in this field.

A quick whistle got the expected response and Nick set off towards it,
playing Marco Polo with Denny.  Each bark was louder and nearer.

Finally he found the golden retriever, deep in the grass.  She was lying on
her side and staring up at him with sad, dark eyes.  Nick knelt down and
scratched her ears and she moved to stand but as she put pressure on her
front paws, she yelped and fell back down on her side.

Again she stared at him, calmly and sadly.

"What's the matter?" Nick said, the worry pulling back the adrenaline that
was just starting to fade.  His hands quickly ran over her fur, looking for
a burr, some muscle cramp.  Then they slid down her front legs, to her
paws.  "There it is," he whispered, hoping to calm the dog that already
looked rather serene.  So he said it again, this time for himself.

His fingers traced the sharp piece of wood that was coming out from between
the pads of her foot, coming away warm with blood.  He stood and looked
around, back to where he'd left John -- but it was too far.  A long stretch
of field stood between them so he knelt back down.

"Here's hoping you don't bite," Nick muttered, trying to get a good hold on
the long sliver of wood.  Denny let out a small whine -- a plea for
caution.  Nick's eyes closed and he tugged, feeling the wood slide out and
waiting for another yelp from the dog.

Denny was silent.

Nick's eyes opened and met Denny's gaze.  Her tail thumped once against the
ground.

"Well that was anticlimactic," Nick muttered, running his fingers across
the paw and coming back with more blood.  He slipped off a shoe and one of
his socks, wrapping the sock around the dog's injury and praying it would
hold.

When Nick stood to put his shoe back on, Denny rose hesitantly to her feet.
She kept the wrapped paw off the ground for the most part, but wagged her
tail again.

"Let's go, pup."

And Nick set off again for John.

***

John stood where he was left, his memory trying to guide him.  But he'd
never been there alone.  There had always been someone to his side, within
arm's reach.  He'd never had cause to take this geography into himself, to
form a mental map.

And he was lost.  On his own farm, in his own fields, under the familiar
sun and sky, he was lost.

The sun was nearly straight up, making it impossible to find a direction
with the heat on his cheeks.  Today, just to be difficult, even the breeze
was useless.  At the moment it had faded to nothing.

"Nick!"

John yelled the name as loudly as he could, trying to keep his voice calm.
Somewhere out there was the dog, and the man who was supposed to be a
helper.

He wanted to take a step -- to pick a direction that could be known as
behind.  Something marked as back -- but that was just as likely to lead to
the creek or a neighbouring farm as it would be to home.

Waiting was all there was.  Calm, deep breaths and waiting.

With every sound, John called out again.  "Nick!"

Eventually there was an answer.

A bark from the darkness.

***

Nick laughed at the sight of the dog as she tried to run up to her owner.
Her three-legged dash was awkward, but didn't slow her down too much.

But his laughter died when he looked up into John's face.

"Nick?"

"She's alright.  She had a big splinter in her paw but I got it out."

John's face showed some concern -- it brought some colour back to his pale
features.

John's voice had none of the lightness it usually carried.  "We've got a
new rule, Nick.  Never leave a pile of bags in the middle of a room, and
never leave the blind man alone in the middle of a field.  Got it?"

Nick's throat closed.  "I'm sorry, John.  I never even thought of it!"

John's hand closed around Denny's collar and she set off back the way
they'd come, back towards the house.  "Between the people who don't think
of it and the people who never stop thinking about it, somebody's gonna
kill me."

Nick stood under the hot autumn sun and watched the limping dog lead her
owner home.

***

Instead of going back to the house, Nick set off down the street to the
Carson farm.  He didn't feel ready to see John again.  The apology had been
spoken, Nick felt he just had to wait for it to be heard.

It wasn't hard to find the right farm.  Signs were posted and the side of
the road was crowded with parked cars.  Nick turned up the driveway towards
the pale yellow bricked house.  The house was almost rundown -- but it
looked quaint and comfortable.  The long porch was slowly losing its skin
of white paint and the discolouration of the brick clearly showed where the
eaves troughs were in need of repair.

Nick pulled down the brim of his hat and put on his sunglasses, entering
into a disguise he didn't expect to keep.  If he wasn't discovered, Michael
would probably reveal his identity to whoever was around.

Rounding the house Nick could see the structure that was slowly becoming a
barn.  It was two fields back and the people swarming the base were too far
away to be recognized.  They were still setting things up on the ground
before the walls went up.

Closer to the house were the young girls and the older women -- the
grandmothers and granddaughters -- who were busily preparing lunch for the
hungry workers.  Blankets were spread with paper dishes piled around the
food on an old picnic table.

Fortunately they paid little attention as Nick walked by.

***

Michael pulled Nick into action as soon as he'd arrived.  The rope was
thrust into the blond man's hand and someone shouted out the order.  Dozens
of people started pulling on a series of ropes and slowly the wall started
to rise.

The heavy timbers creaked under the strain, wanting to lie down again, but
as more and more people grabbed onto the ropes and pulled, the first wall
rose.

Others quickly jumped in with temporary supports, nailing them into place
so that the wall could stand on its own until the others were added.

Nick was amazed at the work, at the old method and the way all of these
people were working together.  It was like a show, where all the techies
and sound guys were working together just so that the band could perform.
All minds and bodies bent towards one goal.

"Okay!" someone yelled.  "Break for lunch!"

The ropes went slack and Michael slapped Nick on the back.  "Hungry, Nick?"

"Not really," Nick smiled.  "I grabbed some lunch back at the house."

"Nick -- my brother may be a good cook, but this food comes from country
women.  There's nothing better.  Make some room."  Michael was grinning
broadly at the increasing number of faces turning towards them.
Recognition was spreading.  "And all those women will be fawning over you
in a few minutes."

It was unsettling.  Nick felt defenceless without the band staff that was
always hidden in the crowd, or the other four guys by his side.

In every set of eyes Nick thought he could find judgement.  He was being
measured against his media portrayal, and was probably being found lacking.

Lacking the commanding presence, the boyish charm, the pre-chosen wardrobe,
the slim body.

But the faces were smiling, so Nick looked away.

***

An hour later the rounds had been made.  Dozens of people had come forward
and had been introduced, and Nick promptly forgot their names.  He tried to
remember, he always tried, but the numbers made it impossible.

He remembered the names of a few.  Clara, the ninety year old woman with
the potato salad and boisterous laugh.  Cindy, the four year old girl who
never left his side and never said a word.  And Lewis, the seventeen year
old from up the street with the greenest eyes and most charmingly practiced
smile Nick had ever seen.

Nick found himself following Lewis around, trying not to stare, and
wondering why his thoughts continually went back to John.  After all, Lewis
was younger and stronger.  And Lewis could see.

But Lewis was straight.  That much was clear by the way he kept pointing to
the prettier girls when their backs were turned, telling Nick who was easy,
and who was worth dating.

Soon enough they were back to the ropes and the work on the barn, pulling
up the second wall, and then the third and fourth.

When the dinner break finally came around, Nick bowed out politely, heading
towards the road and back to the house, back to where he could lie down and
get rid of the lightheaded feeling that had been hitting him all afternoon.

Lewis waved briefly before heading for the food, and the trail of girls
following Nick finally tapered off a few minutes later.  Nick waited until
he was out of sight of everyone before he fell to his knees, exhausted and
hungry.

He sat on the side of the road for twenty minutes before he could finally
force himself to his feet and continue his walk.

***

Nick slipped into the kitchen and leaned heavily on the counter.  He
listened and heard nothing -- it was no surprise.  AJ and Howie were gone
again since the car wasn't in the barn, and Denny would probably be hiding
somewhere and resting up from her walk.

That left John to be somewhere in the house, and Nick was glad that the
somewhere wasn't the kitchen.

He reached the refrigerator and pulled out the water jug, filling a glass
and draining it twice before he finally felt the thirst leave.  It filled
his stomach, making the hunger disappear for now.

The glass was discarded in the sink before the trek up the stairs.  Nick
had to pull himself up by the banister, forcing his tired arms and legs,
weakened from hunger and the heavy work done on the new barn, to get him up
to bed.  And to rest.

The going was slow.  His legs burned from having to perform yet one more
exertion, but the mountain was climbed.

His eyes slowly turned from the bedroom door to that of the bathroom.  The
thoughts sluggishly worked their way around his mind, trying to stay
coherent in the face of so much tired static.

Finally the idea of a bath won out and he stumbled to the bathroom.  He
pushed the door closed and began shedding his sweat soaked clothing.  The
blue shirt, the khaki pants, the Nikes and one dark sock, the white boxer
briefs.

He sat heavily on the toilet seat cover and rubbed his hands across his
face.

Things weren't going right, he decided.  There was nothing right in having
no energy, in existing in an increasing state of . . . this.  The trade
between energy and appearance was unbalanced.

"I can't live like this."  It was something he'd said so many times, about
so many things.  All of those situations that had gone out of control,
beyond his reach.  His career options belonged to the band -- to Kevin and
the management.  The songs were written and chosen and arranged by other
people.  His days were organized, he was prompted on how to answer
interview questions, even his haircuts were someone else's whim.

And now there was nothing he had left to control.  Nothing left to . . .

The door opened and Nick pulled his head back from his hands, his eyes
darting to the door.  John stepped to enter and then stopped, obviously
sensing someone else was there.

"Nick?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, reaching for his shirt to cover himself -- but then
he stopped, realizing the pointlessness of it.

"Am I interrupting?"

"No," Nick said, wiping his face.  He carefully controlled his voice,
keeping it steady.

A concerned expression creased John's face.  "Are you crying?"

"No.  I was just going to have a bath."

"I'll go downstairs then," John said, backing away.

"Stay, John."  The quiver escaped, making Nick's voice break.

John took a step forward, leaning on the door frame.  "Look, Nick -- don't
worry about it.  I was upset earlier.  It's gone.  It's not your fault."

The bathroom fell into silence.

"That wasn't it, was it?" John asked, cautiously.

Nick stared up into John's milky eyes through his own tear-blurred ones.
He was looking for the disgust, the squint of discomfort or disdain, but
found nothing.

Concern.  Worry.  Friendship.

With a deep, ragged breath, Nick looked down at his chubby thighs.  At the
stretch marks that had formed across his knees.  Then he looked back up to
that face of love and let the crying go free.

He relaxed and let the tears and the sobs come.

"John," he said after a few minutes, in a calm moment of the crying, "I
need to talk to someone."

"I'm here, Nick."

And so it began.

***

End Part 2