Date: Sun, 14 Dec 2008 05:26:07 -1000
From: S turner <scotty.13411@hotmail.com>
Subject: Lessons Taught, Lessons Learned-3

Lessons Taught, Lessons Learned
By Scott Turner

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: This is a story of fiction that occasionally contains
depictions of sexual activity between consenting adult men.  If it's
illegal for you to possess such material, or if you parents don't want you
reading it, then please find another site to visit.  What follows is
copyrighted by the author, 2008, and all rights to the story are reserved.
This may not be reprinted, reposted or reproduced in any fashion without
the expressed written consent of the author.



      On Sunday afternoon, Scott was sitting on the couch by himself.  He
and Greg had said their tender goodbyes on the downstairs landing early
that morning, and then Stephanie had made the guys a late breakfast of
buttermilk pancakes with all the right fixings.  He gave them a quick
run-down of his conversation with Greg the previous morning about the
future of their relationship, or lack thereof, and he assured the young
couple that there was no harm done, and no ill will.  Then Steph hugged
them both, gave Craig a slow and tender kiss, and left for her parents'
place in Rockford to begin getting ready for the move up to Madison.
      It was a cloudy day, rather cool for late August, and the skies
threatened rain.  The top branches of the trees were showing a trace of
yellow in their leaves as they danced in a gusty wind, and the lake across
the street lapped sizable waves against the shoreline at James Madison
Park.  `Perfect,' Scott said to himself as he slumped on the couch and
shuffled through the mail that had come on Friday and Saturday.  He opened
an envelope and took out a form letter memo under the heading of the "New
Allsted Education Association," the local chapter of the state teacher's
union.  The mailing informed him of a local meeting on Tuesday afternoon.
It read, in part, "As you well know, the board of education continues to
dig in its heels on contract negotiations.  We served the children of New
Allsted the entire last year despite their unwillingness to settle a new
contract.  As the new school year approaches, we face the specter of
returning to work under the terms of a contract that will be going on two
years old if the district refuses to settle."  It closed with the appeal:
"It is absolutely crucial that all NAEA members attend this meeting!!!"
Scott stuffed the mailing into his book bag and resumed his sorting.
      After five minutes he sighed, looked out the window and turned to
Brett the Dog.  "Getcher leash!"  The dog slipped on the wood floor as he
scrambled toward the door to what had been Brett the Roommate's room, the
knob of which still served as the leash-holder.  The anxious lab returned
to the living room with the leather strap in his mouth, sat his butt down
in the entrance to the living room and thumped the floor with his
tail. "Wanna go for a walk, boy?"  The tail thumped faster.  Scott hooked
the leash to the collar, slid into a light nylon jacket with a hood in case
it started raining and pulled his cell phone off the charger.  "Takin' the
mutt for a walk, Craig," he said loudly.  Craig's door was half open, and
Scott could hear the sound of boxes sliding and wire hangers clanging. "K.
Have a good one.  He's gonna miss the park.  Don't let him roll in any dead
fish!"
      Brett had a bad habit of that.  Recently the city council had given
in to the pet owners lobby and designated five public parks as "dog
friendly," meaning that dog owners could now legally walk their precious
mates in those parks, as long as they kept them leashed.  Under the old
system Brett could only visit James Madison Park in the dark of night, but
at least Scott would set him free to run like the wind across the park's
wide-open expanse.  On a good night, he'd find something smelly and roll
around like a wild animal possessed.  In many ways, Brett the Dog liked the
old system better.  So did the scofflaw that dwelt inside of Scott.  Just
not the dead fish part.  "It's progress."  Scott had assured the dog.
"You're getting equal rights now.  You're being accorded the respect and
dignity you so richly deserve."  Brett just wanted to get back to the fish
washed up on the lakeshore.
      As they crossed the street, Scott's right arm was jolted straight out
by Brett pulling at the leash, and it remained that way until the dog
stopped to pee, again, on his favorite tree.  Scott thought again of Greg
and felt a lonely pang.  `Damn,' he said to himself.  `It's only been a few
hours since he left.  Man up, Turner!  He was right.  You were both right.
You knew this was coming.'  The dog resumed his sniffing, apparently
discovering several new scents that hadn't been there on his last
inspection of the turf.  Scott thought of Professor Cushing, and was pissed
off again that the funeral would be Tuesday and he would have to be meeting
in New Allsted with the new teachers.  He'd seriously considered asking
Dr. Watson to give him leave for half a day, but then realized that the
professor himself would not have approved.
      Scott was deep in full indulgence of this rare pity play when his
cell phone buzzed in his pocket.  "Hello," he nearly shouted over the wind
gusts.
      "Hey, professor.  How's it going?"  Scott's face erupted in delight.
Before he could answer, Marty came back.  "Word from Craig-o is that you're
making the big move next weekend."
      "Marty!  Jesus, how the hell are you?"
      "Good, good.  We're all good here.  Just got off the phone with Craig
a bit ago.  He filled me in on all the latest gossip.  Said that you and
Greg had your last weekend together, huh?"
       Scott swallowed and ducked behind a broad tree.  He sat on the
ground, protected from the wind and hooked the loop of the leash around his
right foot.  "Yeah, it looks that way."
      "You tell me...should I feel bad for you?"
      "Aaaaaah, naw, I guess not.  We had a good talk yesterday and both
admitted that we saw the inevitable.  I mean, I'm really gonna miss him but
it was kinda silly to pretend that it wasn't gonna happen.  And I think
he's going to try to make something out of his friendship with Nick.  I
wish them both well.  Nick's a good guy, but I think he's so far back in
the closet I'm surprised he doesn't grow mold."
      "To each his own, I guess.  So, you done feeling sorry for yourself
yet?  I don't wanna haul all the way up there to move boxes and furniture
and shit if you're gonna be all mopey."
      Scott's eyes bugged.  "Say what?"
      "Yep.  Gramma Shelly wants to take the kids camping with her and
Aaron on Labor Day weekend."  Shelly, Marty's mom, had been seeing Aaron
for over a year now and they seemed to be getting pretty serious.  "The
kids are excited as all get-up and she insists that I get the hell out of
town for the holiday.  I hear the place you fell into is kinda cool and I'd
like to check out `Turner Manor.'  Besides, I haven't seen you since the
funeral."
      "I know, Marty, and I feel bad about that.  I've been busier than
hell and, well, sort of wanted to give you and the kids some time and space
to yourselves."
      "Gotcha, but enough of that.  Funny thing I've learned.  A loved one
dies, and people either want to smother you or leave you alone."
      "I miss you guys."
      "And we miss you."  There were a few moments of silence.  "I wish I
could bring them along to see you, but not on a trip for moving furniture
and shit.  Besides, Scotty wants to burn some marshmallows on the end of a
stick with his sister giving him directions.  We'll have to arrange that
reunion another time."
      "Well, if you're available, ready, willing and able, you know I could
use the help... and would love the company."  There was another space of
silence.  "Marty?"
      "Huh?"
      "How ya' doing?  Really?"
      He sighed.  "Most days, pretty good.  I mean, we really did have some
time to get ready for this, so it's not like it was a total shock.  Jill
knew it was coming.  She didn't come right out and say it but, looking
back, she tried in a hundred different ways to let us all know it.  And,
that ugly crap's another part of life.  Scotty's still trying to figure
stuff out, and Ash is a big help there.  The girl's a rock, Scott.  I do
miss Jill every day.  Sometimes it's a happy missing.  Sometimes not.  But
a step at a time, a day at a time, and it's getting a bit easier.  It's
never gonna be okay with me or the kids, but we're moving toward
manageable.  But I think my mom's right.  Getting out of town for a few
days would be just what the doctor ordered."
      Scott saw the dog look up to the sky and he felt a few drops hitting
his legs.  "Hey, it's starting to rain here.  I've got Brett here at the
park, so we better head back.  Can I call you back in a few?  I'd love to
talk some more."  Marty paused while he thought about it.  "Nah.  Wish I
could.  Ashley has a standing play date on Sundays with a couple other
girls she got to be friends with at school last year.  We take turns among
the parents playing host.  So I have to get her over to Jenny's in about
fifteen minutes, then me and the little guy are gonna go shopping for
shoes.  The little shit is growing so fast!  Let's talk again later in the
week and we can make a better plan then.  I think I'm gonna take half of
Friday off to get the kids ready for their trip, but can be up in Madison
first thing Saturday morning."
      Scott stood up and brushed the leaves and twigs off of his ass.
"Sounds good, bud.  I won't keep you.  Love to you and the kids."
      "Back atcha, Scotty."  And he was gone.
      Scott put the phone back in his pocket and slapped a thigh, signaling
the dog it was time to move.  "Remember Marty?"  Brett the Dog was at
Scott's feet wagging his tail.  The raindrops were coming a bit quicker now
and seemed to be getting larger.  "You like Marty.  He's coming to visit
and help us move into our new place!"  He scratched under the dog's chin.
"Now let's get back before you get all wet and smelly."


      Scott was strolling back to his room after a visit with Millie about
the rules on sending outgoing mail at the district's expense.  As usual, it
had been a delightful discussion—one in which Scott did most of the
listening—and he was now painfully aware of another list of "Do's and
Don'ts" when doing business with Millie's office.  He had a stack of
envelopes he needed to address to his Advanced Placement students and get
them back to her by ten a.m.  Not five after ten. Zach was peering through
the window of his classroom door, just over Chris's shoulder.  "Is he in
there?"
      "Don't see him.  Maybe he's over in the corner out of view.  Should I
open it?"
      "HEY!" Scott shouted in his deepest authoritative voice. Both guys
jumped and Scott laughed.  "If you can open it, that means you have a key
and then one of you is in trouble.  I always lock it when I leave.  I know
there's not many people around yet, but there's some sensitive information
in there."
      Both guys caught their breath and laughed.  "Jesus, Mr. T, you scared
the crap out of me."  Chris was holding a good-sized booklet in his hand.
      Zach stepped back to give Scott room to unlock the door.  "We were on
our way to practice, but Chris had to come in early, so we had some time to
kill.  Thought we'd come by and bug you."
      Scott flung the door open.  "You must be really, really bored."  He
nodded them in and pointed at the stuff in Chris' hand.  "Whatca got there,
`Topher?"
      Chris shrugged.  "Just the script for the musical.  Well, actually
it's all songs.  There really aren't any spoken lines in this thing.  Ever
seen `Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?'"  They both plopped
into the same two desks they'd occupied on their first visit. Scott dropped
into the seat behind his desk and propped his feet on the chair next to it.
      "Sure have.  Twice.  It's a really fun show.  I like the music and
the message."
      Zach furrowed his brows.  "I've never even heard of it.  What's the
message?"
      Chris rolled his eyes.  "What a dope.  It's a biblical thing.  This
dude, Joseph, is from a big family is his dad's favorite, so his brothers
all hate his guts.  They screw him over, tell the old man that he's dead,
and then he lives a really tough life as a slave for a long time.  Finally
the Pharoah discovers that Joseph has really cool talents, like reading
dreams and stuff, and makes him a powerful dude in Egypt.  Out of nowhere,
his family hits the skids and winds up right under his nose.  When most
guys'd make `em pay for what they did to him he forgives them all, and
they're one big happy family again."
       A light went on with Zach.  "Oh, I DO know the story.  We teach it
to our first graders in Sunday School.  I didn't know that this Joseph was
Jacob's son.  Now I get it...that's the amazing dreamcoat part.  The ol'
man liked Joseph so much that he gave him that really cool coat."
      Chris rolled his eyes and snorted.  "My bro' the genius.  Duh!"
      Scott laughed.  "You teach Sunday School, Zach?"
      "Yeah.  Well, actually I assist another lady.  At St. Mary's Catholic
Church a few miles east of town.  This is my second year.  It's fun.  The
kids just kill me."
      Scott shook his head.  "Couldn't do it.  Those little boogers scare
the heck out of me.  I mean, I have a niece about that age but I know her
and she's a genius in her own right."
      Chris mugged, "'Cuz she's your niece?"
      "Well, she's not really my niece, not by blood anyway.  She's the
daughter of my best friend and I've sort of become part of the family.  She
calls me Uncle Scott.  And her little brother is my godson, and he's
finally learning to pronounce it completely.  For a while there, it was
`Unca Cott.'" The guys chuckled and Scott looked at Chris.  "So, when are
tryouts?"
      He sighed.  "First week of school.  I saw the play once, and went out
and rented the DVD, the one with that Donny Oswald or whoever."
      "Osmond."
      "Whatever.  But I want to learn as many of the songs as I can between
now and tryouts."
       "Well, good luck.  I'll bet you'll be starring as `Joseph.'  Chris
blushed as Zach patted him on the back. He turned back to Zach.  "And
Zachary.  You have just saved the district a few pennies by stopping by."
He reached out with an envelope in his hand.  "Now I won't have to mail
this."
      Zach grabbed it and tore the seal.  "What is it?"
      "It's a short introduction of yours truly to the AP class, and your
first essay assignment.  It's due the first day of class."
      "What?"  The curious student pulled out the two pages and looked back
down.  "A writing assignment in the summer?"
      Scott smirked.  "It's only a week away, Zach.  Doesn't take any
research or footnoting or stuff like that.  I just want to get a look at
everybody's ability to interpret and analyze and to express your ideas well
in writing.  That's going to be huge this year.  I'm only looking for two
pages."
      Zach scanned the second page and read out loud.  "Identify the most
influential political figure in American History.  Justify your answer." He
huffed and dropped the page.  "Now, how the heck am I supposed to answer
something like that?" Chris had a huge smile on his face.
      Scott grinned and pointed at his own head.  "You're supposed to think
about it, interpret it correctly, answer it and then explain your answer."
Scott's grin widened.  "C'mon, Mr. Jacoby!  Dr. Watson said you're a
`social studies machine.'  Prove to me that she was right!  You can do it."
      Zach glanced at the paper again with suspicion, one brow arched.
"Are we gonna be graded on this?"
      "We're going to use it to get you folks familiar with what my
standards are going to be and how you'll be graded this year.  Don't sweat
it.  Just give it your best shot.  If you bring in what you can honestly
say is your best effort, I believe I can help you make it better.  It'd
serve a guy nicely who wants to go to the Naval Academy."
      Zach scratched his head and thought for a second and then looked
back.  "You know, some folks aren't gonna do this."
      Scott shrugged.  "Then you'll start out the year on the forty yard
line and they'll be behind you, back on the one.  You'll get a specific
example of what you need to work on and they won't.  Their loss.  You might
do any of them a favor, should you see them between now and then, and
encourage them to take it seriously.  Tell `em you've met me, and that I'm
an unreasonable sonofagun who's out to fail whoever crosses me."  He winked
as Zach chuckled.  "I know it's unusual, but I'm confident that it'll
help."  He sipped from his mug and held up the remaining envelopes.
"Besides, look at it this way.  The rest of these are going out in the
mail.  You just got a day's head start on the rest of your classmates."
      Chris looked at the clock.  "Quit yer' bitchin'.  Besides, we gotta
get to practice."
      They both stood and Scott walked with them to the door.  "Knock `em
dead at the tryouts, `Topher.  And Zach, don't lose any sleep over that."
Then, just for fun, he added, "Wait a minute.  Scratch that.  Feel free to
lose some sleep.  It's a tough question."
      Zach just rolled his eyes and folded the papers before sliding them
into his back pocket.  "Thanks a lot."  As they strolled down the hall Zach
looked to his left.  "Who do you think is the most influential..."
      Chris cut him off with a laugh.  "You asking ME?  Hell if I know."
      From the doorway, Scott heard the phone on his desk ringing, so he
shuffled quickly back to the desk and grabbed the receiver.  "Good morning,
Scott Turner."
      "Good morning, Scott, it's Kim.  You know we're all meeting, me and
the new teachers that is, in an hour, but could you come down a little
early?  There's something I need to discuss with you."
      "I can be there any time you'd like."
      "Fine.  Just come on down about fifteen minutes early.  That should
do it."
      "Okay, Dr. Watson."
      When he approached the open door, Kim waved Scott into her office.
"Have a seat, Scott."
      He sat down feeling a bit anxious about having been called in.
"Something wrong?"
      Kim shook her head.  "Oh, no.  Not at all."  She folded her hands
across her ample midsection.  "What do you know about high school mock
trial, Scott?"
      "Mock trial?  I've heard about it, but that's about it.  One of the
women in my UW student teaching cadre last year got roped into helping her
cooperating teacher up in Fitchburg, I think it was.  I believe it's
sponsored mostly by the State Bar and teams are run by schools locally to
compete, but I don't know much about what goes on or how it works."
      Kim sighed.  "Then you know about as much about it as I do.  But,
here's the thing.  One of our school board members, Victoria Ripley, is
also the president of the county bar association.  For the past three or
four years she's been asking why we don't have a team here.  We're one of
only three or four schools in Kilbourne County without one.  I keep telling
her it's because we don't have a staff member willing to take on the
project, especially to build one from scratch.  Plus, it's not in the
budget.  She keeps saying that the county association will put up the funds
to get it going and, if it looks like it might have life, the board and the
union can negotiate a formal extra curricular assignment in the next
contract so that the district can take over the funding and make it
permanent."
      Scott scratched his chin and raised a brow.  "Ooookaaaaay...I'm with
you so far, I think."
      "I'd like to find a teacher to coach the team and I think it would be
right up your alley.  I can't require it, and wouldn't if I could, but I
would like to invite you to start a mock trial team here in New Allsted.
The county bar would pony up the seed money needed, including a reasonable
stipend for the teacher.  I guess each team also has a volunteer lawyer in
the community to help with the finer details of courtroom procedures, and
Ms. Ripley has assured me that she can find one to do it if we have a
teacher to work with him or her."
      "So, if I have this straight, for the first year it's almost like I'd
be working for the county bar association.  If the program looks like it
has legs, it'd officially become an activity supported and funded by the
district and it'd be a real school activity."
      "Oh, it'd be a real school activity from the get-go.  I mean they'd
be our students and you'd have use of our facilities for whatever work you
and the kids would need to do.  And you'd compete under the name of New
Allsted High School.  It's just that the start-up dollars would be coming
from an outside source."
      Scott pinched his lip and mulled it over.  "What kind of time
commitment are we talking about?  I'm juggling three different courses as
it is, and one of them's a new A.P. course that I'm building from scratch."
      Kim nodded again.  "I'm not sure.  The folks I've talked to say the
teacher and kids usually meet two or three evenings a week starting in
November.  It picks up pace after the Christmas break, and then the
regional tournament is the second weekend in February.  The team that wins
at that level moves onto the state tournament in Madison a month later."
      "Can I have a day or two to think it over?"
      Kim smiled knowingly.  "Of course.  I know you're just getting your
feet wet."  She swiveled ninety degrees in her chair and grabbed a binder
and a videotape off of her credenza.  "Here's some printed material for you
to look at from the State Bar about the program.  The video is from last
year's final round at the state tourney.  The two teams that qualify for
finals at the state level actually get to argue the case before the
Wisconsin Supreme Court.  The justices actually hear the kids' cases and do
the final judging."
      Scott's eyes widened.  "Whoa!  That is so cool!  Teenagers arguing a
legal case in front of our `Supremes' right there in their own house?"
      Kim nodded again.  "Yep.  The Chief Justice is a big fan of the
program I'm told, and she expects the other six members to be there."


      Fifteen minutes later, Scott was sitting at the table where he'd
interviewed nearly a month earlier, in the conference room across from
Kim's office with five other new staff members.  Kim sat at the head of the
table and began the meeting.  "This is the smallest starting crop of
teachers we've had since I joined the staff here twenty-five years ago,"
she observed.  There were only six of them at the high school, and
Dr. Watson had arranged for a get-acquainted lunch to be followed by some
paperwork and additional orientation.  "So, in a few minutes we're going to
go around the table and introduce ourselves.  But first, I have a little
something for all of you."  She got up and handed each one of them a folded
shirt wrapped in cellophane.  "Can't have you claiming to be from NAHS if
you don't have the school colors and logo in your wardrobe."  The school
colors were black and white but Scott had noticed that they often used
black and silver for logos on the school's folders and bumper stickers.
The shirts were long sleeve button downs of heavy cotton with the mascot
embroidered over the pocket.  The "Raider" mascot didn't look quite
`Rambling' to Scott.  He was a fierce Hun-looking sort, bare-chested and
very muscular.  He sat astride a similarly fierce looking steed and carried
a shield and a blazing torch.  When the Raider wasn't used to identify the
school, the district favored a capital R in a gothic font, with the torch
in the foreground at a diagonal slant.  Below the logo was a smaller
"N.A.H.S." in a more modern script.  Scott had seen it on the football
team's helmets and thought it looked quite a bit classier.  All the
teachers held up their new garments admiringly and thanked their new boss
quite sincerely.  `These are pretty sharp looking,' Scott thought.
      Kim smiled with satisfaction.  "Okay then.  Now that you're all
properly outfitted, on with the introductions.  Mr. Billings, why don't you
start, since you're at the top of the alphabet?"  Wayne Billings was a
graduate of UW-Stout in Menomonie, and he was the newly hired
Tech. Ed. teacher.  "What we used to call `Shop' when I was in school," he
explained.  "I worked in the private sector, in construction and design,
for ten years, and then went back and got my teaching license.  I'll be
teaching graphic arts and building trades electives for all grades.  Glad
to be here."
      Scott's ears perked up when the woman next to Wayne introduced
herself as Ashley.  "I'm Ashley Moylan, just out of Northwestern, and I'm
here to teach orchestra at the high school and general music at the middle
school.  I'll also be the music director for the fall musical."  She
beamed.  "This year, we're doing `Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor
Dreamcoat.'"  Scott was impressed with her.  He'd heard that Northwestern
had a great school of music and the woman looked intense.  He didn't know
much about music ed., but had a hard time picturing her in front of a group
of seventh graders in a general music class: kids who weren't already in
band or choir, and who didn't give a damn about the difference between a
flat and a sharp.  She looked to her left.
      "I'm Todd Norato!" the next guy nearly shouted.  "New to the Business
Ed. Department, and going to teach marketing.  I'm really looking forward
to reaching and shaping the next generation of entrepreneurs to come out of
this community!"  Todd reeked of someone with a background in sales.  "My
family's been in private business all my life... household appliances
mostly, so the marketing angle is in my blood you might say."  He laughed.
He was the only one.
      `Dude!' Scott thought to himself, `This isn't the friggin' job
interview.  You don't need to sell yourself to us now.  Just chill!'  He
was thinking that he'd never buy a pack of gum from Todd, let alone a major
appliance, when he realized all eyes were on him.  He sat up a bit
straighter and cleared his throat.  "Uhm, my turn, I guess.  I'm Scott
Turner, just graduated from UW-Madison and just joined the social studies
department.  I worked at the Capitol for a time when I was in college and
I'll be teaching the required U.S. History course, a section of AP
U.S. History and a couple sections of the required course in American
Government for our seniors.  I'm really looking forward to having the kids
show up."
      Kim injected, "Mr. Turner's being too modest.  He also earned the
LaFollette Scholarship from the UW's political science department, the
highest undergrad award they bestow, and he was appointed by Governor
Hackett as the student rep on the UW's Board of Regents, and when he was
only a freshman."  The faces and the body language around the table made
Scott blush uncomfortably.  Finally he grinned and raised a hand off the
table.  "Guilty as charged."
      Todd raised a finger and then pointed it.  "Isn't there a senator or
some other big shot in Madison named Scott Turner?" Scott nodded as
nonchalantly as he could.  "Scott Turner, Sr.  I'm Scott Turner, Jr.  He's
my father."  The he looked quickly at the woman to his right, raising his
brows as if to say `your turn to speak, please.'
      Mary Reynolds, Scott guessed, was probably around thirty-five and she
explained that she was the new addition to the family and consumer
education department.  Echoing Wayne, she added, "what we used to call Home
Ec."  She said she had started her teaching career ten years ago, and then
took some time off to tend to three children.  Now that all of them were in
school, she'd decided to return to the classroom herself.  She seemed
excited to be there.
      The young woman at the end of the table was one of the prettiest
girls Scott had ever seen.  She had long, straight, golden-blond hair that
reached the middle of her back, and a pair of big, dazzling blue eyes that
drew one in when she spoke.  "I'm Tara Burke.  I grew up not far from here
in Mapleton.  I just graduated from UW-Whitewater with a double major, and
am doing double duty here too.  I'll be teaching three sections of
tenth-grade American Lit. and two sections of ninth-grade German."
      Kim interrupted again with praise.  "Tara is a rare find.  It's not
often you have a teacher with her unique mix of credentials.  She's even
spent a full year teaching English in the German equivalent of an American
high school."  Everyone nodded his or her admiration. "Well, now that we've
gotten to know each other a little bit, let's break for lunch," Kim
directed.  "Millie has ordered cold sandwiches catered in, along with some
chicken soup and a few salads.  There's a table set for us in the
cafeteria.  We can fix our plates and chat while we eat, and then meet back
in here to go over some handbook items–both student and staff–and a
little other bureaucratic stuff that I have to go over.  After that, you
have the rest of the afternoon in your rooms to get ready for the start of
the year."  They all followed her through the commons area into the
cafeteria. Scott was famished, having skipped breakfast, and he loaded a
large plastic plate with half a tuna sandwich, half a roast beef sandwich,
a heap of slaw and half as much macaroni salad.  He complemented the
ensemble with a kosher spear and a couple of green olives, grabbed a can of
Diet Coke from the iced cooler and found a seat at the large round table.
He was third to arrive.
      Tara was right behind him and took the empty chair to his left.  "So,
Scott, your dad's really a senator in Madison?  That's so cool!"
      He'd just bitten into his roast beef sandwich and held up a hand to
ask permission to chew and swallow.  "Yep.  Elected a couple years ago and
in his first term."  He wiped his mouth with a napkin and shrugged.  "It's
okay, I guess.  I'm kind of a political junkie myself, but I made a sharp
turn half-way through my college life in favor of education instead.  But
it means Dad spends three or four days a week in Madison, and home is about
two hours away up near LaCrosse.  So Mom isn't thrilled about it, but she's
accepted it."  He smiled coyly.  "He's good at what he does, I think."
      Tara's blue eyes required his full attention.  Below the neck, too,
she was every bit as commanding.  The dress requirement this day was pretty
casual and he'd already noted that she'd chosen a tight fitting, low cut
white ribbed top and some wonderfully tight khakis cut in the form of
jeans.  She had the skinniest waist he'd ever seen and he'd noticed her
round, tight butt as they'd crossed the commons on the way to the cafeteria
ten minutes earlier.  Her golden hair was pulled behind her ears, which
were adorned with small loops that jiggled a bit as she turned or shook her
head. `Dude!  You're gay, remember?' he said to himself as he allowed his
eyes to saunter over her average-sized but very pert breasts.  `But she is
a beautiful woman, and kinda engaging.'
      Wayne, the tech. ed. teacher, interrupted.  "He chairs the education
committee in the senate, right?" Scott swallowed a forkful of slaw and
nodded.  "Yeah, and he sits on the criminal justice committee and a couple
other subcommittees for both transportation and administrative rules."
Wayne sipped his soda and nodded.  "I thought that was the guy.  When I was
up at Stout we looked hard at his new effort to raise the graduation
requirements.  If it flies, it could put guys like me out of a job."
      Scott put down his fork.  "Well, it's not his bill alone.  A lot of
the folks around this state want to see us raise the bar for kids in math
and science.  The state testing numbers tell us we're doing better than
most states, but could still do more to stay ahead.  And wouldn't the world
of Tech. Ed. be stronger if the kids came to you with better math and
science skills?"
      Wayne shrugged.  "Maybe, but every time those dopes in Madison
require the kids to take one more academic credit, that's one less
opportunity they have to take an elective.  It screws guys like me."
      Scott put down his napkin and stared.  "Well, it doesn't do much for
guys like me either.  I'm just a lowly social studies guy, and low man on
the totem pole at that.  And they're all about math and science on this
one.  I guess the `dopes in Madison' are trying to look out for the kids
and what's best for them and their futures."  He wanted to ask, `Who the
hell cares if another kid can make damned kitchen cutting board in the
shape of a fish to give to mommy at Christmas time?' but `he didn't.  He
did, however, wonder for a moment whether his mom still had that cutting
board he'd given her when he was a high school freshman.  He remembered
being very proud of it at the time.
      Tara jumped back in and grabbed his attention.  "So, Scott.  Are you
doing any extra-curriculars?"
      He glanced at Kim who grinned.  "Well, there's a chance that I might
be the first teacher coach of the first mock trial team in New Allsted.
It's under consideration anyway."
      Tara wiped the corner of her mouth and sipped her bottle of water.
"That sounds exciting.  I'm taking on the German Club.  It's mostly all
about fund-raising for the trip to Giesen our kids take every other year."
      "Sounds like fun.  Free travel to Germany for, what, a week or two?"
      She rolled her eyes.  "I've lived there for a year already, so it's
no big deal.  And it's ten days of being on the job `round the clock,
trying to keep a handle on twenty or so teenagers in a few cities where
there's plenty of opportunities to, uhm, misbehave."
      He shook his head.  "Ooff.  No thanks."  Then he added playfully, "If
you don't mind my saying, it sounds like you've had some experience in that
realm of, uhm, misbehaving while in Germany."
       Todd and Mary, who'd been listening in, both chuckled.  Tara
blushed.  "Uhm...no comment."
      Scott changed the subject.  "You know, I'm teaching a couple sections
of the tenth-grade U.S. History course.  You're doing a few sections of
American Lit. for the same kids.  They're all required to take both
classes.  I met Brian Early a few days ago and we talked about doing some
integrated stuff between the departments."
      Tara turned in her chair.  "Brian?  Isn't he a scream?  I just met
him the other day."
      Scott chuckled.  "Yeah, he seems like a...well...something of a free
spirit."
      Kim chimed in from the other end of the table.  "Nice choice of
words, Mr. Turner."
      He nodded back.  "Thank you, Dr. Watson." Turning back to Tara, he
was more animated. "Well, you see, when I did my student teaching at
Madison West, they had this deal where the required courses at each grade
level tried to coordinate and collaborate wherever possible.  In this case,
it was the same kind of sequence we have here.  Required U.S. History and
required American Lit. in the sophomore year.  We all have the same
students.  I don't know what titles are in your curriculum but what if,
say, you were teaching "Grapes of Wrath" at the same time I was teaching
the unit on The Great Depression?  Or, I'm teaching civil rights when
you're having the kids read "To Kill a Mockingbird," or "I Know Why the
Caged Bird Sings." Tara's eyes widened.
      "God, I love Maya Angelou, and that's on our list."  She thought for
a few moments.  "And we teach Ellie Weisel's `Night.'  Why not do it while
you folks are covering The Holocaust?"  She mulled it over for a few
seconds.  "Well, Brian teaches three sections, I think, and another woman
in the department whom I haven't met yet has the other two, I think.  Let
me talk to them and maybe we can have a meeting of the minds when everybody
comes in later in the week." Scott nodded.  "Sounds like a plan.  I'll dig
up a rough month-by-month outline of our chronology for you to look at."


      Tuesday morning Scott got in early and met his principal at her
door. "Mr. Turner, you're the early bird this morning."
      Scott shrugged.  "I wanted to see you before we started all our
meetings today.  You have a few minutes?"
      She put her key in the lock to her office door.  "Of course.  You
caught me at a good time, actually. Now that we're starting with the new
staff, and when the whole staff shows up tomorrow, my time is going to be
pretty well eaten up."
      "I figured as much."
      She hung her light jacket on a hook behind the door.  "So, did you
and George Hasborough get everything worked out?"
      "Oh, yeah!  I meant to thank you again for helping me out with a new
address, too.  All the i's are dotted and t's are crossed and I'm planning
on moving with the help of my folks and a couple friends this weekend.
It's a good thing we have Friday off."
      Kim smiled as she took a seat behind her desk and dropped her purse
into a drawer.  "I know what you mean.  There was plenty of griping about
not being able to start `til after Labor Day, but since we bargained the
calendar to include a four-day weekend before the kids show up, everyone
seems to like it pretty well.  But that's not why you're here, is it?"
      Scott's eyes popped and he grinned.  "I'll do it."
      "Beg your pardon?"
      "Mock trial.  I want to do it!"  He gripped the binder she'd given
him the previous day.  "I read through this stuff last night and watched
the tape of the state competition.  I was so jazzed to see those kids
pulling off all that stuff.  This is the total package of student
activities: thinking on your feet, persuasion, logic, argumentation, just
learning the law, the competition!  And some acting in the part of playing
lawyer and playing witnesses.  It's the total fu...I mean it's the total
darned deal!"
      Kim leaned back and laughed.  "I'm not a big fan of the word, Scott.
But when it's used with your unbridled enthusiasm...and sparingly...I can
let it slide now and then." Scott blushed and she continued.  "I thought
you might be interested."  She leaned forward.  "So, you tell me, `coach,'
what's next?"
      Scott took a sheet of paper on which he'd made a list of notes.
"Well, not too much right away.  I really don't need to be doing a lot with
the kids until October.  All I need now is a registration fee and some help
finding an attorney-coach to teach us all the rules of evidence and
courtroom procedure.  Then it's pretty much up to me to recruit students
for a first team from New Allsted."
      "Ask Millie to show you how to requisition a check for the fee.  I'll
talk to Ms. Ripley about reimbursement from the Bar and getting a volunteer
lawyer to step in and assist."
      "It's got to be someone who can work with kids, though.  It ought to
be..."
      She waved a hand to interrupt and chuckled.  "I know, Scott.
Remember, I've taught and coached myself over the years."  She looked up in
reminiscence.  "We had a hell of a girl's softball team when Coach Watson
was at the helm."  She winked.
      "Oh, sorry.  Didn't mean to tell you how to do your job."
      Kim stood and stuck out her hand.  "Well, thank you Scott.  This will
be a great opportunity for you and a lot of our kids.  I appreciate it very
much."
      Scott stood and bounced on the balls of his feet as he welcomed her
handshake.  "I can't wait!"


      With Scott's addition to the department, the social studies faculty
numbered seven.  Normally, they gathered twice a month in the classroom of
Sandra Hiley.  The first Wednesday of the month they met after school, the
third Wednesday was a morning meeting.  Jim explained that all the
returning teachers were coming in early to work in their rooms free from
the district's interfering meetings, so he'd impressed upon Sandra the
wisdom of meeting on Tuesday afternoon.  That way, they wouldn't have to
meet during the upcoming in-service days and everybody could meet the new
guy.
      Jim grinned as he and Scott walked down the hall together.  "I took
my turn as chair three times.  It's no biggie, really, mostly bureaucratic
stuff like paperwork and announcements from the brass.  Now and then we
discuss course changes and the like and near the end of every year we have
to decide on a department award and a scholarship, but that's about it."
He paused outside of Sandra's doorway and sighed.  "I like the morning
meetings better.  Most of the folks are quieter and when the bell rings for
first hour we have to leave."
      Jim handled the introductions.  Scott had already met Sandra, as she
had been in on the interview.  She nodded toward a cooler and a big bowl of
popcorn.  "It's munchies and soda in the afternoon meetings and Crispy
Crème and coffee in the morning."
      Scott filled a small paper bowl with popcorn and grabbed a bottle of
water from the cooler. He'd also met Andy Faber whose good looks and
fantastic body had distracted Scott as he answered the interview
committee's questions.  Today Andy wore pleated chinos that did his bubble
butt great justice and a black v-neck sweater over a cream colored
buttoned-down collar.  Scott thought that the sweater's tight fitting
contour showed off his arms and pecs just fine.  The wedding ring and the
baby pictures that Andy was showing off to the "oohs" and "aahs" of the
other members all screamed "Off Limits!"  Scott forced a smile anyway.
"New baby, huh?  Congratulations."
      Andy nodded his thanks.  "Little boy in July.  John is our third, but
we always manage to time it right for a summer delivery.  My wife, Faith,
teaches second grade and is taking the first semester off."
      Scott oogled the third photo passed to him with the right amount of
appreciation.  "And you coach too, right?"
      Andy popped a kernel of popcorn in his mouth and nodded.  "Girl's
softball, so I don't have to worry about anything extra `til we start
indoor practices in March."
      One by one, Jim introduced Matt Egelseer, the geography teacher and
overseer of the high school's "at risk" program; Felicity Rice, who covered
economics alongside of Jim and a few sections of psychology, and Peter
Becker who taught World History and Sociology; he was also the advisor for
the school's student council.
      "You're a government guy, right Scott?" Peter asked.  "Any interest
in taking over the student council?  I've been doing it five years now and
am about ready to hand it off."
      Scott put up a hand.  "No thanks, Pete.  I have a full plate right
now and I had my fill of student government a few years ago.  Besides,
Kim's been talking to me about wanting to start a new mock trial program
here and I told her earlier today that I'd take a stab at it."
      A few nervous glances darted among some of the members.  Andy broke
the momentary silence.  "Now?  Have you run that past any of the union
folks?"
      Jim interrupted.  "I should have said something, Scott.  Our union
leadership is at wit's end with the school board right now.  Without a
current contract settled, not even for last year, there's a growing mood
among them and some of the rank and file that now might not be the right
time to be adding programs or taking on extra jobs."
      Pete nodded.  "The party line is that if we don't have a current
contract, and if the board won't negotiate in good faith, then they won't
get any extras just `cuz we're nice guys and gals."
       Felicity looked at Jim.  "Didn't that go all the way to work
stoppage a while back?  What's it called...'work-to-rule?'"
      Jim sighed.  "Yes, but that was nearly a dozen years ago.  The state
had outlawed teachers' strikes some time back, but we just couldn't get a
contract settled with the board.  Everybody, myself included at the time,
agreed to follow only the letter of the contract...the bare minimum of what
we had to do.  We came in fifteen minutes before the kids.  We left fifteen
minutes after the kids, and nobody brought work home.  Nobody volunteered
to do anything after hours."
       Sandra snorted.  "Right.  Like I'd ever get anything handed back to
the kids if I didn't do grading at home at night."
      Jim sighed again.  "It was tough.  A major exam or a big writing
project could take a few weeks to get graded with the little time we have
to do stuff like that during the school day."
      Scott cocked his head.  "How'd they do extra-curriculars and stuff?"
      Jim shrugged.  "The coaches and advisors who had it in their
contracts and were paid for the extras kept doing them.  The voluntary
committee work like reviewing curriculum and serving on other district
committees that met after school went away for a time.  But things like
volunteering to staff for crowd control or chaperone dances and stuff like
that went away too.  The principal at the time had to assign the jobs on a
rotating basis."  He laughed.  "We had an old spinster who taught typing,
and she'd never attended a single event before.  She got assigned a few
nights of supervising the kids during wrestling matches.  She was
terrified."
      Felicity piped up again.  "Didn't the Prom get cancelled that year?"
      Jim laughed again.  "Almost, but then the board agreed to get a
contract settled in the nick of time.  Once spring rolled around, and we
told the kids we weren't writing letters of recommendation for colleges or
jobs, and threatened to cancel the big spring fling, moms and dads finally
started making calls to the board members."
      Scott's jaw dropped.  "You actually told the kids you wouldn't write
letters of recommendation?"
      Jim frowned.  "We told them we'd only be able to do them if we had
time during the hours we were contracted and being paid.  But that's
normally something you only have time to do right on evenings and weekends.
If it wasn't something we were obligated by contract to do, then we didn't
do it."  He thought for a moment.  "It wasn't any fun...for anybody.  But I
thought then that the board had brought it on themselves.  It's not like we
didn't warn them ahead of time.  We told them what we were planning.  It
kind of became a game of chicken, and we really stuck to our guns.  In the
end, it worked.  Folks finally realized how many freebies they and their
kids were getting from their teachers."  He scratched his chin and thought.
"Problem is, only one of the current board members was around during those
`bad old days.'
      Andy shook his head.  "Sounds brutal.  We're not there yet, are we
Jim?"
      Daley shook his head.  "I don't think so.  For starters, salaries and
benefits have come a long way since then.  Not where they should be, but a
hell of a lot better than they were.  On top of that, we're just now coming
up on September.  We're still getting paid on last year's salary schedule.
I doubt the frustration and rancor about starting another year without a
new contract is all that bad.  Not yet, anyway."
      Pete looked at the ceiling.  "God, I'd love to go home without any
work to grade at night."
      Andy grinned.  "I'd be able to spend time with my own kids for a
change."
      Matt finally spoke.  "But my students wouldn't know from one week to
the next what their current grade in my class was.  Shit, half my kids are
already at risk and barely surviving school to begin with.  They'd be going
postal."
      After a review of everybody's schedule, a couple of housekeeping
items and a few announcements from the district office, Sandra declared the
meeting adjourned and wished everyone a good start to the new year.
      Scott and Jim left together and walked down the hall. Scott turned
his head, his face one of trepidation. "So, did I really step in something
by telling Kim I'd do mock trial?  I mean, is the union leadership going to
be pissed or something if I do it?"
      Jim smirked.  "Relax.  That's just Kim being Kim.  I'm sure she knows
the storm clouds might be forming, but she also knows your background.
And, Victoria Ripley has been breathing down her neck for a long time.
You'd be good for a program like that.  At the same time, you're the new
guy.  Every fall, every administrator in every public school makes every
new teacher fair game for dumping something new on them."  "He emphasized
the word `every' each time he said it.  "Newbies rarely know how to say
`no.'"
      "So what should I do?"
      "Well, you told her you'd do it.  I'm guessing that you also really
want to do it.  I'm not a radical union-head, Scott.  But, I do see the
value of the NAEA and the state organization, and I don't like getting
jerked around by board members who don't know diddly about teaching kids.
Too many of them know the bottom line on the district's budget, they know
that we can't go on strike and they know very little else.  A lot of them
think that just because they warmed a desk in a classroom for twelve years
or more they suddenly know all they need to about education.  Likewise, too
many teachers think they should be paid every time they pick up a pen or
make a phone call after hours.  But I don't think the hard core `teamsters'
among our colleagues would even notice if you said yes right now to a new
program being started.  Not yet anyway.  If we did vote to go work-to-rule,
it'd probably happen in phases anyway.  The tough stuff wouldn't really get
noticed for several months."  He chuckled.  "But remember what I said about
giving up politics?  Welcome to a little taste of some of the politics of
public education, Mr. Turner."


        At 4:00 Scott followed Jim into the auditorium and they slid into a
couple seats in the second to the last row, near the aisle.  Jim spoke out
of the side of his mouth.  "I usually grab a seat that's handy for an easy
exit, in case they start spinning their wheels and I lose interest in
what's going on.  When you get to my stage of a career, a lot of the
business that goes on here doesn't pertain all that much."  He nodded at a
short, man with thinning brown hair and thick glasses standing on the
stage.  "That's Al McConoughy.  Teaches fifth grade.  The kids and parents
all love him.  He's been the local president for...I think it's six years
now."
      McConoughy stepped over behind the podium and called the meeting to
order.  There were quick motions, obviously well choreographed Scott
thought, to accept the minutes of the last meeting and approve the
afternoon's agenda.  The union president then quickly got to the heart of
the, matter.  "Ladies and gentlemen, in my twenty-one years in this
district, this is as bad as I've ever seen it.  In a nutshell, this school
board is simply unwilling to even talk about settling a contract unless
we'll put our health and dental insurance benefits back on the table.
Unfortunately, as many of you know, last spring's local elections did
nothing to move the board to a more open-minded attitude.  We gave in to
higher costs and a reduction of coverage on those issues two years ago in
order to beef up the salary schedule.  Now, the message your bargaining
committee has gotten from you is that we're not willing to go there again.
If there has been a change in that sentiment over the summer, now is the
time to say so."
      There was a short chorus of "No!" from many of the hundred or so
members who were there.  Scott guessed that they represented about
two-thirds of all the teachers in the district.
       McConoughy was a soft-spoken man, and Scott would have guessed him
to be an elementary teacher from his demeanor and his manner.  But his
words dripped with frustration.  "The thing that chaps my hiney, if you'll
pardon the expression, is that we can't even get them to sit down and
discuss any number of other issues.  It's not just that we're disagreeing.
It's that they're refusing to even talk if we won't open that can of worms
on our benefits again."
      A stocky fellow with thick arms raised his hand.  McConoughy
recognized him with a nod.  "Why the hell should they?  They know we can't
go on strike in this state, and they obviously don't think there's anything
we can do, except to cave in.  I think it's time to raise the stakes.  It's
ridiculous to start a school year without a contract being settled for
either last year or this one.  They're treating us like we're a bunch of
damned indentured servants."  Several heads nodded and a few folks quietly
applauded.  "We put the heat on eleven years ago, and it worked."
      Jim leaned to his right and whispered.  "That's J.P. Masterson.  He
teaches Health here at the high school.  Used to teach drivers ed. in the
summer `til the program got cut in favor of a private contractor, and he
was an assistant football coach for about ten years.  He gave that up when
the varsity head coaching job went to Stan Dunn, a new guy at the time."
      Scott nodded but said nothing.  The president cleared his throat.
"Uhm, for those of you who weren't here at the time, I'll give you a little
history lesson.  What J.P. is referring to is a stretch of time when we
were pretty much in the same boat as we are today.  We in the union agreed
on what's called a `work-to-rule' strategy.  All of us currently do things
that are above and beyond the call of duty, at least as it's defined by our
contract.  Finally, when we were at an impasse in bargaining, we notified
the board and the public that we were going to stop doing all those extras
and only perform the duties we were legally bound to perform until the
contract got settled."
      A voice called out.  "And it worked?"
      Masterson shouted, "We settled in four months."  Then he stood.  "I'd
like to make a motion directing the bargaining committee to draft a similar
plan for us to look at.  I believe we should prepare to move to a
work-to-rule strategy that follows a phased in timeline of action, or
non-action on our part, to begin within the next three months.  If we're
not settled for last year and this year by, say, January 1, then all they
get from us after the holiday break is what they're entitled to by the
contract.  Not one minute more.  We're scheduled to meet again in two
weeks, and I think we should look at it and vote on it then."
      McConoughy shifted his weight uncomfortably and cleared his throat.
Before he could even ask, another member who Scott didn't know stood.  "I
second the motion."
      McConoughy shrugged.  "We have a motion and a second.  Is there any
further discussion?" Silence.  Scott guessed about two-thirds of the
assembled members voted `aye,' as did he.  The rest didn't say a thing.
Nobody voted against.


      The next morning, Scott was in his room getting ready to go to the
cafeteria for the `welcome back' breakfast the district put on for all
returning teachers when he heard a familiar voice over his shoulder. "Good
morning, Mr. Turner."  Brian Early was leaning in the doorway with a mug in
his hand.  He yawned.  "I think it's a good morning anyway.  Rumor has it
that you brought your own coffee maker for your room and that you make a
decent cup of coffee."
        Scott smiled and grabbed the pot.  "Hey, Brian!  You missed a hell
of a meeting yesterday."  He reached out and filled Brian's empty mug.
      Brian sipped and winced before swallowing.  "Good coffee.  Thanks.  I
needed this."  He sipped again and Scott noticed that his eyes were a
little bloodshot and puffy.  "But anyway, I don't do unions."
      Scott's eyes widened.  "You?  Mr. Anti-establishment?
Mr. Stick-it-to-the-man?"
      Brian sipped again.  "I am Mr. Anti-All-Establishments.  To borrow
from Walden's resident sage, I march to the beat of a different drummer in
practically all things.  I'll not live my life in quiet desperation.  Try
to tell me how to live my life or how to spend my time and I'll tell you to
fuck off.  The union's not that much different from management in that
respect.  I pay my fair share to them because I have to, but I'm not gonna
play their games."
      "Brian, those `games' are trying to help you and me avoid getting
screwed."
      "And when I feel I'm getting screwed, I'll fix it myself or I'll
leave.  Right now the district owns a hundred and ninety of my days each
year and that's okay.  I wish my salary was higher, but who doesn't?  If I
wanted to make more, I could do something else.  Maybe I'd finally finish
the novel I've been working on for five years and try to sell it.  But I
haven't done that.  My bad."
      "What are you gonna do if we go `work-to-rule?'"
      "Cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess.  Or jump off of it.
Right now, the idea of coming into work only fifteen minutes before the
kids, instead of an hour like I usually do, sounds kinda sweet.  And
leaving at the first available minute sounds pretty good too.  Thanks for
the coffee.  Now, shall we join the huddled masses in the cafeteria and get
some powdered eggs, greasy sausage, tater tots and fake orange juice?"
      They found an open table near the far wall of the cafeteria and were
soon joined by Tara Burke and Judy Ronzani.  Jim Daley stopped by to say
good morning and to introduce himself to the attractive new English/German
teacher.  He chatted with Judy for a minute before telling Scott that the
AP textbooks he'd been nervously waiting for had finally arrived and were
sitting in three boxes in the office.
      "And Millie wants them gone?"
      Jim smiled and nodded.  "And Millie wants them gone.  I'm sure if you
asked Bart real nicely he can get you a flatbed cart or a dolly to move
them to your room.  I just saw him in line getting breakfast."
      Scott pulled apart a bagel and smiled.  "I'll check with him on my
way out...after he's had a chance to eat."
      Jim patted his shoulder.  "Smart lad."  Then he went to get breakfast
for himself.
      Brian looked around the table.  "Anybody going to the Essen Haus
after the game tomorrow?"
      "Essen Haus?  What's that?" Scott asked.
      Tara sipped her orange juice and offered, "It's this pretty good
German restaurant a few miles west of town, but I don't know what's going
on there tomorrow."
      Brian looked surprised.  "Nobody's told the newbies yet?  Well, I'll
fix that.  It's kind of an annual tradition among the high school staff.
Each year after the first home football game we gather there for a back to
school social kind of thing.  They have a pretty cool bar there, and a
micro-brewery that's in-house, and we toss back a few and tell lies about
how we spent our summers.  It's usually a lot of fun."
      Judy smiled.  "I went a couple of times when I was still new around
here, but I have to get back home tomorrow night. My son has a middle
school game and I'm taking tickets and working the concession stand.  Bit
it's a nice way to meet folks if you're new to the district."  She looked
at Scott and then at Tara.  "I think you two should go.  It's not a huge
affair and it's kind of fun."
      Scott and Tara exchanged glances.  "What do ya' say, Scott?  You up
for it?  I'd hate to be the only new teacher there."
      Scott mulled it over for a second, then grinned.  "It's a date."


      Scott arrived at the football field about fifteen minutes before
kickoff.  He showed his faculty i.d. card to the volunteer at the gate who
smiled politely and waved him past.  The pep band was seated on the far end
of the home stands and was blaring out a rousing rendition of "Wipeout,"
complete with what Scott considered pretty capable percussionists carrying
the fun parts of the song.  Most of the students who occupied the rows next
to the band stood and shook their butts when the tenor drums pounded out
their important riffs.  The horns all blatted at the smiling band director
on his cue.  Scott noticed that the tuba player, in particular, seemed to
be really getting into oomping out only the first of every eight beats.
      There was a four-foot wide asphalt footpath in front of the stands.
Beyond that stood a chest-high fence and, behind it, a six-lane running
track.  In the middle of the striped black oval was the football field.
The wet grass glistened under the bright lights.  It had rained pretty hard
for about an hour that afternoon and drizzled for another hour before the
clouds had drifted east.
      Earlier that evening, as Scott was strolling to his car to go home
and feed the pets, he ran into Chris Propst in the parking lot. The young
man smiled and pumped his fists.  "Nothing like a good sloppy field for
having some fun and crushing some skull, Mr. T."
      Scott flashed him a quick thumbs up.  "Kick some butt out there
Chris.  But remember..."
      Chris's smile was wide.  "I know...I know...nothin' too stupid.  But
keep an eye on their number 55, Nowracki.  That dope is goin' down
tonight."
      Scott stood at the fence line for a few minutes and took in the
sights and sounds.  The cheerleaders were out on the running track trying
to get as much attention as they could from the growing home crowd.  His
stomach rumbled.  `Skipped supper,' he reminded himself before deciding to
check out the fare in the concession stand.
      Nearing the stand he heard his name called.  "Mr. Turner!  Good to
see you!"  It was Janette Boynton, the young woman who had helped Zach give
the tour during the interview.  The sign on the side of the stand said that
tonight's work crew was the women's tennis team.
      "Hi Janette!  It's good to be seen!  So, what's good in there?"
      The girl giggled.  "Well, the hotdogs are finally hot after we got
Bart to come out and do something with the electric stuff.  I guess they're
good, if you like hotdogs.  She pointed at a couple industrial size coffee
makers.  "We've got both coffee and hot chocolate.  The coffee's decaf, if
it matters.  The popcorn was just popped this afternoon so it's still good.
We have all all kinds of soda..."
      Scott interrupted her with a nod.  "I'll have a dog and a can of
Coke, please.  Might come back later for popcorn or some of that candy on
the shelf."  They chatted a bit while she made change for him.  Sensing
that the crowd behind him had grown, he stepped aside.  "See you next week,
Janette!"  She waved and leaned over the counter to take a short lad's
order.
      Scott had just chomped into the hotdog when he heard his voice again.
"Mr. Turner, glad you could make it!"  He turned and saw Kim Watson coming
up the paved walk.  "Your timing's perfect.  There's somebody here I'd like
you to meet."  Walking alongside the principal was a thin woman with
jet-black hair and sharp features.  He chewed and swallowed the mushy meat
mostly whole before taking a large gulp of the Coke.  "Scott Turner, say
hello to Victoria Ripley, one of our board members."
      Scott wedged the Coke can between his ribs and left forearm just in
time to free his right hand.  Ms. Ripley grabbed it and nodded.
"Mr. Turner, it's nice to meet you.  Kim tells me you're interested in
launching a mock trial program here.  I'm very pleased.  I've heard very
good things about you, so I'm excited to see the new team take shape."
      Scott donned a shy grin.  "Well, I haven't actually done anything
yet.  I'd hate to think that folks approve of my doing nothing.  Then
again, maybe if I keep on doing nothing, you'll keep hearing good things."
      Kim laughed and put a hand on his shoulder.  "Perish the thought,
Mr. Turner.  I've been saying good things about your background and
experience...AND the high expectations I have in mind for you in the coming
year."
      Ms. Ripley patted his arm.  "Don't let her scare you, Scott.  She was
two years ahead of me in high school here and tried to boss me around all
the time."
      Kim's brows arched in exaggerated humility.  "Yeah...and now she's my
boss... one of `em anyway."
      The board member checked her watch.  "Well, I have to find my
husband.  We're sitting in the usual spot, Kim if you want to come up and
join us."
      "I'll think about it.  But, first home game and all that, I think
I'll mull around down here a bit and work the crowd."  Ms. Ripley said her
goodbyes and walked toward the stand.  Kim explained that she needed to go
into the office and fetch the walkie-talkies for the folks working the gate
on the other side of the field, and headed toward the building.
      Walking back toward the fence, Scott spied the short, well-built
frame that he recognized from the back.  The dark hair above the folded
hood of the sweatshirt was also familiar.  Most of all, though, the
delectable butt was packed neatly into a pair of tight-fitting jeans.  A
rosy-cheeked little face peered over his daddy's shoulder while another
youngster gripped the man's other hand.  When the man turned his head to
look at the scoreboard, his profile told Scott he was right.  "Andy!
Bringing the boys out for a little quality guy time at the game, huh?"
      Andy Faber smiled his dazzling smile.  "Hi, Scott!  Yep.  You can't
start `em too young."  He bounced the younger boy in his arm.  "Scott, this
is my three-year-old, Luke."
      Scott grabbed the tot's hand that was dangling over Andy's shoulder.
The other hand held onto a half-eaten bag of cotton candy.  "Hi there Luke!
Come to watch some football with your dad?"  Luke giggled and buried his
face in Andy's neck.
      Andy looked down and raised the hand of the lad on the ground and
turned him halfway to face Scott.  "And Matthew, say hi to Mr. Turner."
      The boy was a miniature version of his father and he smiled
shyly. "Hello, Mr. Turner."
      Scott bent down at the knees.  "How are ya' Matthew?  How old are
you...eleven?  Twelve?"  The boy stepped sideways and hid behind his dad's
forearm giggling.  Scott stood up and met Andy's smiling face.  He had the
whitest, most perfect teeth.
      Andy looked down.  "Tell him how old you are, Matthew."
      Matthew slowly unshielded his eyes and stuck out a hand with the
fingers spread as far apart as he could get them.  "Five."
      "Whoa!" Scott mugged.  "You look so much older!  So, are you excited
to start school on Tuesday with everybody else?"
      "I went to school today.  We started school last week."
      Scott looked confused.  Andy leaned over.  "We've got the kids signed
up to go to St. Mary's.  The parochial schools don't have to follow the
same calendar as the public schools."
      Scott was intrigued.  "Really?"  Then he quickly pushed his confusion
to the side.  "So, you like school, Matthew?  Have a nice teacher?"
      Matthew nodded and Andy volunteered.  "If we could afford just one
income, we'd home school them, actually.  Faith and I are committed to
their religious education in addition to the ABC's.  And at this age, we
want to make sure they're getting all the right messages, especially those
they aren't going to get in our public schools."
      Scott forced a nod.  "I see."  He was fibbing.  Actually, he couldn't
quite see why a man with that outlook would teach in a public school.  He
quickly turned his attention back to the youngster.  "You like football,
Luke, or do you just come for the cotton candy?"
      Luke filled his mouth with another handful of the fluff and nodded
with a grin.
      "So, with the extra little fans in tow, I suppose you won't be at the
Essen Haus after the game?"
      Andy shook his head.  "Not big on the bar scene anyway, so we usually
don't go to those get-togethers.  I take it you're going?"
      Scott finished his hotdog and washed it down. "Yep.  I talked with
Tara Burke and Brian Early today, and Jim said that he and Helen might be
there too."
      Andy looked up into the stands.  "I saw Jim and Helen a little while
ago, but I haven't seen either of the other two.  Now that I think of it, I
don't think I've ever seen Brian at a football game."  He shrugged.  "Well,
I'm gonna get the guys settled in to some seats up there and see how long I
can keep 'em in one place."
      Scott chuckled.  "Good luck! I have a niece who just turned six and a
nephew who's about to be three next month.  So I can kinda I feel your
pain."  He patted Matthew's head.  "It was very nice meeting you, Matthew.
Help your dad keep an eye on Luke tonight."  Matthew smiled and then nodded
in earnest.  Scott gently tweaked the little guy's cheek.  "And you enjoy
the game, Luke!  You be sure to yell really loud tonight!  We'll be seeing
you around."
       The crowd stood and cheered as the back doors to the gym flung open
and the team started jogging toward the field. They looked imposing, even
fierce in their gleaming white jerseys, black pants and black cleats.  The
metal spikes on the soles of their shoes clicked loudly on the blacktop
lane that led up to the field.  Zach Jacoby, number 4, and `Topher Propst,
number 51 strode up the path a few paces behind Coach Dunn.  As they came
under the lights of the field Scott remembered again one of the reasons he
liked watching football.  So many taut butts in tight fitting lycra perched
over well honed thighs.  A voice in his head reminded him `You're their
TEACHER...MISTER TURNER!'
      The percussion section in the stands started pounding a slow pulsing
cadence, picking up speed as the team did.  The volume from the stands
increased, and just as the coach stepped onto the track the announcer came
over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen!!!!  GET ON YOUR FEET AND PUT YOUR
HANDS TOGETHER FOR YOUR...NEW ALLSTED... RAMBLIN'... RAAAAAAIDERRRRS!"  The
band burst into the school song and all the locals were on their feet.
Scott guessed the crowd to be about five or six hundred strong and he
smiled, remembering the home town spirit of so many events he'd attended
while in high school.  His chest swelled a little, feeling good to be a
part of that again, even if it was kind of corny and even if he wasn't yet
really a part of it.
      There was a tug on his sleeve.  "Aren't you new here?"  He turned
into Tara's coy smile.
      "Yeah, but haven't I seen you somewhere before?"  She pointed at
their matching shirts and they both snickered.  "Hey, I was just going to
get some popcorn and then go grab a seat in the stands.  Want to join me?"
      "Popcorn or stands?"
      "Either or both."
      "Why don't you go and get the popcorn.  I'll find a place up in the
bleachers.  I'll stand up there so you can find me."  After getting two
boxes and a couple of sodas from Janette, Scott found Tara about a third of
the way up the bleachers near the middle of the pack.  He had to excuse
himself several times as he slipped, side-stepping and shuffling, past a
dozen people to reach her.  "Sorry," she said when he got there.  "There
wasn't much to choose from."  He handed her a box and shrugged.  "Thanks
for the munchies!"
      An hour later, there were just less than two minutes to go in the
first half, and the Raiders were up, 20 to 3.  Zach had completed one
touchdown pass, they'd run the ball in from the thirty yard line, and Zach
had run one in himself from the five.  He was having a very good game, but
their kicker had failed them after that last touchdown and missed the extra
point.
      Tara leaned over.  "This has been a pretty rough game, and the refs
seem awfully satisfied to just let the guys play hard tonight."
      Indeed, none of the once white jerseys were still pure white, owing
to the sloppy, muddy condition of the field.  Scott had noticed the head
jerking and jaw flapping of both Chris Propst and The Bombers nose tackle,
Nowracki, as they exchanged what must have been some trash talk over the
football when the Raiders were on offense. There had been a few
"extra-curricular" instances of jostling between a number of players all
over the field after the whistle, but nothing too serious as to draw a
penalty flag.  It was third down and 15 on the Raiders' own 25-yard line,
after a dropped pass and a failed running attempt with a penalty.  New
Allsted called a time out and both teams headed for their respective
sidelines.
      Scott tilted his head back and was holding his popcorn box vertical,
tapping the last few kernels into his open mouth.  He chomped on the last
few bits and nodded.  "Yeah, it is pretty physical, isn't it?  I talked to
a couple of the guys and it sounds like there's some bad blood between
these teams."
      Tara tilted her head and questioned.  "You already know some of the
players?"
      Scott shrugged.  "A couple of them stopped by my room a couple times
since I've been coming in.  Zach Jacoby is the QB tonight, and Chris Propst
is the center."  The players took the field again to resume play.  Zach
lined up behind Chris and looked both left and right, barking out signals.
Chris snapped the ball and tried to lunge forward, but neither of his feet
gained any traction on the muddy turf and they shot out straight behind
him, leaving Christopher face down and flat in the center of the field.
Zach took three steps back looking for an open receiver.  Nowracki saw his
opportunity and he took it.  He deftly leapt over the prostrate center
before Chris could get up.  Zach, seeing nobody open to throw to, pivoted
right to unleash the ball out of bounds.  Just as he released the ball,
Nowracki launched himself directly at the vulnerable quarterback's legs.
      Zach crashed to the field on his side.  While the visiting nose
tackle got up on one knee he took a second to point at Zach, taunting him
and pounding his own chest a few times before an official grabbed his
jersey and forced him into the background.  Zach gripped his left leg and
pounded the turf with his helmet three or four times.  Chris and two other
teammates ran back to him, waving frantically at the sidelines.  The coach
and team's trainer were already on their way.  Chris got there first, and
Scott watched the center trying to hold Zach down and still, shouting what
Scott guessed were his pleading apologies for falling flat in front of him
and allowing the opening in the line.
      The Bombers players slowly ambled back to their own sideline,
unsnapping their helmets in preparation for what might be a lengthy delay.
      "Aw shit!" Scott muttered among the hushed home fans as he sat back
down.
      Tara grabbed his arm.  "Do you think it's serious?"
      Scott breathed out a heavy sigh.  "Well, he's not moving much, other
than what looks like squirming in pain.  If a QB gets hit in the legs like
that and doesn't get up pretty soon, it can't be a good thing."
      Five minutes later Zach was strapped to a stretcher, and the
ambulance that was always on hand for home games had backed across the
running track and under the goalpost. Scott saw a couple in their forties
rushing down the center aisle, through an opening in the fence and toward
the end zone.  "That's got to be his mom and dad," he guessed out loud.
Tara nodded.
      Chris was still pacing back and forth, slapping his thighs and
cursing.  Three paramedics lifted the stretcher, extended its folding legs
and converting it into a wheeled gurney.  Scott scratched his head.
"They'll take him to the hospital for x-rays.  Hopefully he'll be in school
on Tuesday, maybe on crutches.  Damn!  I just hope it's not too serious.
He was really looking forward to this season."  Then he looked out toward
Chris and cautioned under his breath.  "Keep your cool, `Topher.  Just keep
your cool."
      The opposing team just milled about their sideline, helmets off, some
watching the events on the field, others chatting amongst themselves.
Number 55 stepped a few yards inside the sideline and turned to face a
small group of his teammates.  He said something to the players, something
that made them laugh.  Suddenly, Chris dropped his helmet to the field,
sprinted fifteen yards and went airborne, propelling himself into Nowacki's
back.  Whistles blew and flags flew on the far side of the field as
referees and coaches scurried to get the most of the Bombers team off of
and away from Chris.
      Scott's jaw dropped and he shook his head.  "Shit!" he muttered
through gritted teeth'.  "I was afraid something like this would happen."
      Chris was promptly ejected from the game.  As he walked toward the
home team's sideline, rubbing his eyes, Scott could see Zach's arms waving
and his head jerking up and down on the stretcher as they lifted him into
the ambulance.
      Play finally resumed, but the steam had obviously left the Ramblin'
Raiders.  They squeaked out the rest of the first half, but returned to
give up four touchdowns and the game in the second half.
      Scott and Tara walked toward the entrance together.  "You going out
to the Essen Haus?" Tara asked.
      Scott nodded.  "Yeah, I'd like that.  Something to take my mind off
this disaster would be good."  Kim was up ahead talking with a parent.
"Hey, Dr. Watson!  Any word on Zach?"
      Kim shook her head in obvious concern.  "Nothing certain, yet.  I
talked by phone with the doctor who volunteers for the team after they got
him to the hospital.  His folks will give me a call once they learn
anything definite."
      He looked at Tara.  "That's just the shits.  Poor Zach.  I hope he's
okay.  And Chris has got to be just beside himself."
      Tara took him by the arm when they entered the parking lot.  "I'm
parked in back.  You want to go out there together, or just follow me?  You
don't know where it is, do you?"
      Scott shrugged.  "I'll just follow you in my car if that's okay."


      From the outside, the Essen Haus gave every appearance of trying to
look like some kind of Alpine lodge.  By Wisconsin's standards, and for all
he knew, Scott judged that they pulled off the effort fairly well.  After
parking his car, he jogged a few steps to catch up with Tara and opened the
door for her.  "I've been here a couple of times," she offered.  "My folks
live just on the other side of Mapleton and we'd come here for parties now
and then with friends or family."
      Scott nodded.  "You're staying with your parents for now?"
      Tara rolled her eyes as they entered the bar.  "Yeah, for now anyway.
You can't beat the rent, and it's only about a twenty minute drive to
school."  She reached for her purse.  "You got the popcorn and the sodas at
the game.  I'll get the first one here.  What're you having?"
      Scott waved at Pete Becker and glanced back.  "A beer sounds good.
Whatever they have on tap is fine as long as it doesn't look like molasses.
If they have a good amber ale or a house brew, that'd be cool."
      While she went to the bar, Scott surveyed the modest crowd.  Todd
Norato was in the corner munching on some crackers and jawing the ear off
of someone Scott didn't know.  He made a mental note to avoid Todd if he
could.  J.P. Masterson sat at the bar with a couple of others that Scott
judged to be members of "the Old Guard," as he was now viewing some of his
new colleagues.  It looked like he was holding court and expounding on
something or other.  Mary Reynolds was off to the side with a guy Scott
assumed was her husband.  She was pointing to this person and that person
doing her best to explain to him who was who.  She spied Scott and tossed a
friendly wave.  There were about twenty or so others that Scott hadn't yet
met.  Finally, just as he was deciding to dive in and mingle, he heard his
name.  Jim and Helen Daley had taken a couple of chairs around a tall table
and were chatting with the band director and his wife.  Scott walked over
and Jim introduced him to Jerry Baumgartner.  Scott complimented him on the
band's performance in the stands, and again during the half time show
before the maestro excused himself to use the bathroom.
      Jim looked over and grinned.  "Saw you at the game, Scott, but didn't
bother catching up with you there.  It looks like you're already getting to
know the prettiest new addition to our staff."  He wiggled his eyebrows as
Helen looked on approvingly.
      Scott grinned "Just birds of a feather, Jim.  We're both new, we're
both fresh out of college and she's from the area and knows her way around
a little bit."  He glanced at Helen and winked.  "You can put your
imagination in neutral, Helen."
      She mocked her surprise.  "Who...ME?"  They all laughed.  Tara
finally showed up with a couple tall glasses of beer and handed one to
Scott.  He moved back a step and introduced her to Jim and his wife.  The
four of them were still filling in some of the blanks on who was from
where, who went to school where and who was teaching what when Scott felt a
hand on his shoulder.
      "Well, if it isn't that old son of a senator, Scott Turner!"  Scott
turned and smiled at Brian's grinning countenance.  Over his shoulder was
an attractive blond woman with her arms crossed.  Brian pulled a bit on
Scott's shoulder to turn him away from the table.  "Scott, my man, meet my
lovely wife, Trissshhhh."  He turned his head.  "Honey, this is..."
      The woman put out her hand and shot him a sideways glance.  "Scott
Turner.  I know, Brian, you already told me."
      Scott bowed slightly at the head and shook her hand.  "Nice to meet
you, Trish.  Did you guys go to the game?"
      She began to answer but Brian interrupted.  "Naw.  I don't care much
for football.  Me and her just came out here for dinner a couple hours ago
and waited for the party to come to us after the game."
      Trish rolled her eyes.  "Never one to miss a party, this one."  She
forced a laugh and glanced back at her husband.  "Honey, why don't you give
me the keys?  If we're going to be here awhile, I think I should be the one
driving home."  Jim and Helen excused themselves and wandered to the other
side of the bar.
      Brian dug into one pocket, then the other.  "Ah!  Found them!"  He
giggled.  "See how much she loves me, Scott?"  He held up the key chain and
Trish plucked it from between his fingers.  Brian looked at his glass, and
then back at Scott and Tara.  "You kids ready for another?  `Cuz mine's all
gone and I'm buying."
      They both glanced at their nearly full lagers.  Scott said, "Nope.
Looks like we're good Brian, but thanks."  Brian just nodded and turned
toward the bar with Trish closely behind him.
      For the better part of the next hour, Scott did his best to mingle
about, meeting new people, but he never moved very far without Tara right
behind him.  He bought a couple more beers for them and they continued to
chat and joke about this and that.  She did have a delightful sense of
humor, he decided, and could dish it out as well as she took it.  Just as
Scott was about to down what was left of his second beer, Kim Watson walked
in.  Scott put down his glass and walked toward the door.  "Any word on
Zach yet, Dr. Watson?"
      "Scott, you're on the staff.  It's just Kim now."  He just nodded and
looked at her anxiously.  "But yes, a little news.  They're thinking it's
probably a torn ACL, the anterior cruciate ligament."
      Scott's face contorted and he shook his head.  "Damn!  That's what I
was afraid of."
      She held up a hand.  "But they don't know how severe yet.  He'll be
in the hospital at least overnight, to keep him immobile and try to get the
swelling down, and to keep him medicated for the pain.  Then, tomorrow, if
the swelling isn't down, they'll draw some of the fluid out of the joint
with a syringe and do an MRI to determine if he'll need surgery."
      "Keep me posted, will you?  If he's going to be in the hospital, I'd
like to visit."
      Kim, nodded, patted his shoulder, and surveyed the crowd.  "I'll give
a call if I learn anything new."
      Tara had caught up with them and he relayed the news to her.  Then he
yawned.  "Well, folks, I need to hit the road."
      Tara frowned.  "So soon?"
      He took his hand away from his mouth and nodded.  "I have to head
back up to Madison.  I'm moving this weekend.  I'm going up home tomorrow
to load up some stuff from my grandma's old place.  Then on Saturday, we're
moving my roommate into his new digs and then heading down here with all my
stuff.  It's gonna be one long-ass couple of days, and I need to be moving
early."  He put a hand on her arm.  "But this was fun Tara.  I wish Zach
hadn't been plowed over like that, but it was fun spending some time."
      She smiled.  "Then maybe we can do it again some time?"
      He smiled back.  "I'd like that.  I'm really looking forward to
working with you and yeah, we can go out and play now and then...sure."  He
looked at his watch again.  "But now, I seriously need to hit the road.
You have a good Labor Day weekend and I'll see you on Tuesday."


      Late Saturday afternoon, Scott hoisted the last of the boxes onto the
kitchen counter and slapped his hands as clean as he could.  They'd spent
the morning moving Craig's belongings to the house on the east side of
Madison, then reloaded the trucks with Scott's things and made the sojourn
to New Allsted.
      "How about I run to the store for some meat to throw on the grill and
some salads from the deli counter there?  I wanted to take you all out for
dinner, but, well, I only have one shower and it's not a big one at that."
      Suzanne looked at her jeans and dusty sweatshirt.  "I am not going
out to eat dressed like this, Scotty.  And you boys look and smell like
pigs."
      Big Scott glanced down.  "I look and smell just fine.  Speak for
yourself dear, because you on the other hand..."
      Scott looked around at Craig and Marty, as well as Sean and Seth
Kirschbaum who'd come along with their truck to help with the move.  "There
you have it, folks. Dad wouldn't be seen out with Mom and Mom wouldn't be
seen out with us.  We're eating in tonight.  Too bad.  I was gonna take you
up to the Essen Haus, a few miles on the other side of town.  I've only had
a few beers there the other night, but I hear the German food on the menu
is great."
      Suzanne piped in again.  "Oh, right!  Fill your father with sausage
and sauerkraut and whatnot and nobody will sleep tonight, least of all me."
      Big Scott grinned innocently and shrugged.  "What can I say?  I have
a delicate constitution."
      Scott opened a bottle of water and took a long pull before handing it
to Marty.  "So, let's cook here and break in that deck.  At least I can
feed you all.  Those who want to find a place to crash here tonight are
welcomed."
      "We'll save you some spending on the meat, Scott" Seth Kirschbaum
said.  "We're gonna head back up home right away."
      "Aw, that's too bad.  I was hopin' to at least give you guys a decent
meal for all your trouble. I can't thank you enough for the use of the
truck and all the heavy lifting today."
      Seth's brother, Sean, ruffled Scott's hair.  "Anything for you,
Scotty."
      Scott jerked his head back and grimaced.  "Dammit!  It's Mr. Turner
now, don't ya' know?"
      Sean let out a frightened "Ooooooh!"  Then he cocked his mouth
crooked and snorted.  "Mr. Turner my ass.  You're always gonna be Scotty to
us."
      Scott grabbed each guy's beefy hand and slapped their shoulders.
After closing the door he looked at his dad.  "What a godsend they were
today!"
      Big Scott laughed. "The owe me.  One of `em can't quit driving drunk
and the other can't keep it in his pants."  The group snickered.  "Besides,
they were happy to be included in the little party today.  I don't think
they get off the farm that much."
      "They must be havin' some fun from time to time, senator."  Marty
snickered and waved his brows.  "Or they wouldn't need a big shot lawyer
like you in their corner."
      They dined on grilled chicken and pork chops, some with a thick,
bottled barbeque sauce.  Suzanne sliced some potatoes, carrots and onions,
and tossed it all in olive oil and light spices before wrapping them
tightly in foil and placing it on the grill.  With a three-bean salad, some
sliced fresh tomatoes and a few cold beers, they made quite a feast of it.
      After all had eaten their fill and sipped coffee, the elder Turner
wrapped his arm around his wife's waist.  "Okay, we got him safely signed,
sealed and delivered into a new home.  Are you ready to head out now,
honey?"
      Scott's eyes darted back and forth.  "You're not staying?  But I
said..."
      Big Scott gestured at the sliding door and into the house.  "Where
the hell would we sleep?  You have one bed set up in your room.  Another
room with a mattress on the floor and a frame leaned against the wall, a
third bedroom that's a store room full of boxes.  I, on the other hand,
have a hotel room less than forty minutes away in Madison, with a hot tub
down the hall and a fridge and cable TV in my room.  You do the math, son."
      Craig snorted.  "Can't argue with that.  I think I'm goin' with
them."
      Scott elbowed his soon-to-be former roommate.  "But the couch is
operable.  You an' Marty could flip a coin.  One can take the couch and the
other the mattress in the spare room."
      Craig drained his coffee mug.  "No can do, Scotto.  You forget that
Steph is poring through some of the boxes we moved into the new place even
as we speak.  I need to get back there before she gets to the ones I
stacked at the bottom.  You know...before she gets to the really personal
shit."
      Scott giggled.  "Whips, chains and handcuffs?"
      "Panties, bras and garters?" Marty asked.
      Suzanne gasped, and then ventured into a play-along with the
boys. "Eight inches, ten and twelve?"
      Scott coughed and slapped the table.  "Mother!!"
      Craig caught his breath and pointed across the table.  "Uhm...he's
the gay one, Mrs. Turner."
      The men continued to laugh and Suzanne smiled shyly.  "Oh, no.
Sorry.  Never mind. That's my box of unmentionables at home I was thinking
of."
      Big Scott shrugged one shoulder.  "Nope.  Sorry, honey.  I found it.
Threw it all out last month."
      She winked.  "I know.  Wait `til you get the credit card bill for
this month.  And you think the price of gas has gone up the past couple
years."
      The guys all roared again, and Marty had to brace himself from
falling off the edge of his seat.
      Scott shook his head.  "Mmmmuuuh-THER!"
      After a round of hugs and kisses at the door, Scott's parents,
followed by Craig, made their leave.  Scott closed the door and leaned back
onto it.  "Just you an' me, bud."
      Marty grinned.  "Just you an' me, once again."
      "Hey, I got a great idea.  I've been wanting to inaugurate that fire
pit outside since I first laid eyes on it last week."
      "Got anything to burn?"
      "Well I can scrounge up some kindling at the edge of the woods, and
there's still a small pile of firewood stacked over next to the shed.  I'll
need to get some more of that soon but there's more than enough for now."
      Marty spied the bottle of Jim Beam on top of the fridge and then
winked at Scott.  "I'll go out to the car and get my shit, then make us a
couple drinks. You can go out and do the wilderness thing and build a
fire."
      Scott grabbed some balled up newspaper that had wrapped some of his
dishes and found a book of matches.  He turned on the light out back that
served the deck and ambled out across the back yard toward the woods.  He
wondered if he should have invited Marty to put his overnight stuff in his
bedroom and then quickly dismissed it.  `That's pretty presumptuous,
Turner, even for you.  You can't jest assume that he'd want to sleep there
tonight.  Besides, you're not even sure it'd be a good idea yourself.  Just
be happy he's here.'  Still, part of him hoped that Marty would be just
that presumptuous and drop his bag at the foot of the bed.
      After stacking some sticks on top of the scrunched paper and seeing
that the pile was burning, he set a larger log on top of it all and then
walked back to the house.  Coming through the sliding doors he saw a rolled
up sleeping bag and a large gym bag sitting on the couch.  "You didn't need
to bring a sleeping bag.  I've got sheets and blankets, and that old couch
of Gran's has a fold out bed.  We can make it up right.  If that's what you
want."
      Marty splashed some water into the glasses of bourbon and shook his
head before looking up at Scott.  "Hmm...no need.  I know where the bedding
is.  I helped your mom stack it in the closet when we put your bed
together, and then I helped her make it up when you guys went to the store.
Nice bed.  Is that new?"
      "Yeah.  Remember the graduation dinner we had last spring?  Mom and
dad gave me a couple gift certificates...one at IKEA and one at Best Buy
for when I landed in a new address.  The bed is courtesy of IKEA."  He
patted the refrigerator.  And this was delivered here yesterday from Best
Buy."
      Marty stirred each drink with an index finger, sucked off the excess
and smacked his lips.  "Oof.  A little heavy handed with the booze.  These
are sipping drinks alright."
      Scott smiled.  "We earned them.  Let me grab a couple of blankets to
sit on.  The lawn chairs are somewhere in the garage.  I'll meet you out
there."  He found a couple old blankets that had been used to cover
furniture during the move and headed back outside.  Marty had set a couple
large logs on top of the fire and they were just beginning to catch flame.
Scott laid the two blankets, one on top of the other for a little more
cushion.  "There.  I think there's room for both of us on that."  He
dropped to his knees and then down to his stomach before looking up.  "I
think the smoke is gonna keep blowing in that direction, so this should be
safe."
      Marty also went to his knees and handed Scott a drink before falling
prone himself.  Their shoulders brushed as Marty held out his drink.  "To
your new place, and to bigger and better things."
      Scott smiled and clinked glasses.  "I'll drink to that.  And to good,
no...best friends, who are there when you need a hand."  They sipped
together and each found a flat spot nearby to set down the glasses.  Scott
dropped his chin onto the palms of his hands.  "Sorry I don't have any
marshmallows."
      Marty sighed and leaned unto Scott's shoulder a bit.  "This'll do
just fine."
      Scott flexed a few kinks out of his lower back and coughed.  "So, the
kids start school on Tuesday?"
      "Yep.  I met Ashley's teacher the other day.  She seems like a nice
lady."
      "And what about Scotty?  Is he old enough for preschool yet?"
      "Well, Mom's starting a new job at the bank, but she'll still be able
to take him three days a week in the mornings. Meredith is going to
semi-retired status at the dentist's office, so she'll be able to take him
on a lot of the other days.  We figure between the two of them and some
half-day day care we should be able to keep an eye on him."
      "How's Jack holding up?  He just looked like such a blank slate at
the funeral. Hate to say it, but it was almost like he didn't really
realize what was going on all the time."
      Marty bit his lower lip and shook his head.  "It's been rough Scotty.
He's just so fucking morose all the time.  The folks at work are noticing
it too.  He's still bitter, I think.  He treats everybody differently these
days, even me and the kids.  He's so...so...he's just so distant."
      "He's not mad at you or anything like that, is he?"
      "He hasn't said that, but the warmth and friendliness I'd always
gotten from him before haven't been there in a while."  Marty sighed.  "And
he's talking about retiring too.  I think he might soon be ready to sell
the papers and crawl into a hole somewhere."
      Jack Fuderer, Jill's father, owned three advertising papers,
"community shoppers," in Rock County, Illinois.  After Jill had become
pregnant with Lil' Scotty and Marty had decided to leave college, Jack had
created a job and hired his soon-to-be son-in-law.
      Scott turned onto his side and propped the side of his head on his
right hand.  "How would that affect you?"
      Marty shrugged.  "Hard to say.  When he hired me after I left school,
it was kind like this made up, hybrid position he gave me.  You know how
it's been: part sales in ads, part ad design and copy.  Lately I've been
doing more actual layout and some editing stuff too.  The position has just
sort of grown in fits and starts.  Today, I'm usually busier than hell most
days, but I've never actually had a title or job description, and I'll be
damned if I could figure out what it would be if we had to make one up."
      Scott rolled back over onto his belly and slurped from his glass,
staring into the fire.  "Not the easiest drinking position."
      Marty chuckled and then reached over with his right hand and used his
thumb to dab a small stream of liquid off of Scott's chin.  "Guess not.
You missed a little." There was a half- minute of quiet while both men
stared at the fire.
      "So, Scotty."
      "Hmmmm?"
      "With Greg pretty much out of the picture, are you dating anyone?"
      Scott laughed.  "Now?  Jeez, I have a new life I need to create here,
with the house and the job and all that shit.  Plus, I don't really know
anybody in town yet."
      Marty nodded. "What do you think?  Is it gonna be tough settling into
a teaching job with teenagers?"
      "Tough how?  I know it's gonna be a challenge.  I dealt with a lot of
that shit when I was student teaching at West.  And the guy I worked with
there said that every September is open season on new teachers in every
high school in the country.  It's hard enough telling a teenager anything
and have it mean something to them.  But when they've been in the school
longer than you have, it just strengthens their belief that you can't tell
`em shit."
      Marty giggled.  "I know that.  I remember the hell we put a few of
our rookies through down in Rockford."
      Scott rolled his eyes.  "Craig told me some of those stories.  You
guys were ruthless!"
      Marty laughed.  "Aw, hell.  We just made `em earn their stripes."
      Scott leaned over to crane his head back and drain his glass.  Marty
leaned into him as he did.  "Uhm, you ready for another?"
      Marty shrugged.  "Well, I put enough wood on there to burn for a
while yet, and you don't have a hose hooked up to put it out, so what the
hell?  If you're walking in and making them then sure."  He handed Scott
his glass. Scott's fingers overlapped Marty's as he took it.  He held on
for a few seconds and their eyes met.  Scott watched the flames dance in
Marty's dark eyes and he swallowed hard.
      "Be right back.  Keep an eye on the fire."
      When Scott returned, Marty was laying on his back with his hands
behind his head, staring up into space.  "Finding anything new in the
cosmos?"  He reached down with a fresh drink.
      Marty sat up and shook his head.  "Nope."  He took the drink from
Scott, slurped it and leaned back on one elbow.
      Scott lowered himself back onto the blanket facing his friend and
crossed his legs "Indian style."  "So how about you?"
      "How about me?"
      "The love life.  Anybody new on your radar screen?"
      Marty snorted and sucked in a giggle, coughing on his drink.  When he
caught his breath he smiled and shook his head.  "Nnnnooooo thank you!  You
don't think I have the needs and wants of enough people to worry about?
Let's see...newly single father of two, juggling a goofy job with an
unpredictable father-in-law for a boss, and still settling a lot of the
financial and personal stuff after Jill's passing, and she's barely been
gone a few months.  I have a mom who's afraid I'm going to lose my mind, a
pair of in-laws worried about the same thing, one of whom seems to be
losing his own faculties on some days.  Nope.  This man is officially off
the market.  Out of reach."  He raised three fingers.  "I have three
priorities and only three these days."  He reached up with the other hand
and ticked them off one at a time.  "Ash' and Lil' Scotty tie for
first...and yours truly is running a distant third.  The last thing I need
to worry about today is somebody else."
      There was another minute of awkward silence, the two men just staring
at each other.  Finally, Marty smiled again.  "But you didn't answer my
earlier question, really."
      Scott swallowed a mouthful and chomped on an ice cube with his head
tilted and brows furrowed.  "Huh?  Which one?"
      "When I asked if you thought it'd be rough, I didn't mean the kids
screwing with you and the usual shit.  I meant the whole gay thing and
being a high school teacher.  Don't you think that's going to come with
it's own...uh... special challenges?"
      Scott coughed.  "You assume anybody's going to know that I'm gay.
You know my stance on that, Marty."
      Marty rolled his eyes. "I know, I know...nobody's business...not
going to dignify that question...not relevant to the demands of the
job...yada, yada, yada."  Scott opened his mouth to speak but Marty cut him
off.  "And you're right in taking that stance!  Don't get me wrong, Scotty.
I think that's the high-road position to take!"
      Scott shrugged and took another drink.  "Then it's not a problem, is
it?"
      Marty sat up and leaned forward.  He gently slapped Scott's arm.
"Oh, Scott, get real.  If you do start seeing somebody, especially if you
meet Mr. Right right here in town and have a relationship in public...or
even if you just play the field a bit here and there...eventually folks are
going to talk...and some of them might even ask.  Don't assume...don't
pretend...that the ol' standard Turner response is going to satisfy them.
It worked in Madison, but this ain't Madison, bub."
      Scott cleared his throat and leaned forward a little.  "First, nobody
in the school district is politically incorrect enough, or dumb enough, to
say anything out loud.  Even if they wondered about who I might go to bed
with here or there, they'd be treading illegal ground if they ask the
question."  He'd hoped that the `might go to bed with here or there' remark
would pull out at least a facial reaction from Marty.  It didn't.
      "Aw, for chrissake, Scotty!  I'm not talking about the inside brass
of the district.  I'm talking about the nearly one hundred percent chance
that there's at least one raving, ignorant homophobe...what'd you call that
Elliot dude back in the WSA?  A mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging
Neanderthal?"  He laughed, remembering Scott's retelling of that show-down.
"Anyway you gotta know there's at least one of them in New Allsted, and
you're gonna be teaching...influencing...their kids.  Their SONS no less!
You know full well how those folks think about gays and lesbians!  They're
all rolling around in gross stereotypes like pigs rolling in slop."  He
sneered to mock the `Neanderthals' that might be in the community.  "`Child
molesters... perverts...ungodly, unnatural monsters aren't gonna teach my
kids!'  It's gonna come up sooner or later, you know."
      "Maybe it will, maybe it won't.  Right now, there's nothing at all
about this 22 year old single male teacher that would raise the antennae of
even the worst homophobic freak lurking in these parts.  If I hang around
here and folks take notice, say, in a decade or so, that I'm not seen out
and about with the ladies, then yeah, I suppose they might talk. And if I
do wind up in a relationship, it's going to be appropriate.  I won't be
fucking around down at the city park or out at the campground.  I'm just
going to stick to the same principle of not discussing my personal life in
public..."
      "And not living your personal life in public?  Everybody else has the
leeway to live their normal life in public.  Holding hands and playing
kissy face at the mall and all that shit.  You're gonna do that too?"
      "Not to any kind of offensive extreme.  And I'm not going to go out
of my way to antagonize anybody.  I'm going to live a normal, healthy,
well-adjusted life of your average gay man."
      Marty took a gulp and wiggled his brows to lighten the mood.  "So,
you seen any hotties walking the halls up at school yet?"  He grinned and
winked.
      Scott swung for Marty's arm but his buddy dodged the blow.  "Shit,
Marty!  What do you think I am...some sort of lech?"
      Marty's grin was devious.  "I think I know exactly what you are," he
paused and wiggled his brows. "And I'm betting there's some pretty hot
beefcake in that school only a few years younger than you are.  Wait `til
it gets obvious that one of the guys in one of your classes has a crush on
you.  You're still quite a hottie yourself, ya' know.  And, as I recall,
you had more than a passing interest in such things once upon a time.
Remember who you're talking to here, professor."
      "Jeez, Marty!  And don't `professor' me when you suggest shit like
that!"
      Marty shook his head.  "Scotty! The state gave you a teaching license
last spring, not a death certificate!  What...are you going to magically go
blind when the bell rings and the halls fill with hot young studs?"
      Scott rolled his eyes and looked at the stars in frustration.
"Yes...I mean no...I mean of course I still recognize hot and sexy men when
I see them...even younger men."  He thought about Zach, but said nothing
about him.  "But hetero teachers deal with the same chubbies I might have
to hide when they're visited by attractive students.  It's all part of the
high school thing.  Ya' just deal with it!  Look...admire...maybe go ahead
and fantasize from time to time. But don't touch! Don't even seriously
think about touching!"
      Marty laughed and shook his head.
      Scott looked at the smoldering embers of the once roaring fire and
sighed.  "Well, it's getting a little chilly, and I think the woods are at
no risk from what's left of this.  What say we go in, maybe have one more
nightcap and then hit the sack?"
      Marty drained his glass and nodded as Scott stood up.  He reached up,
inviting Scott to help him to his feet.  Scott grasped his hand and pulled
more strongly than he'd intended to.  Marty shot up and stumbled forward.
His arms went out to the side to maintain balance, but their chests came
together, leaving their faces a few inches apart.  Scott's arm
instinctively shot around Marty's waist to hold him steady.  Marty didn't
move back, but instead stayed leaning forward against his friend's chest.
Scott looked down.  "Uhm...and I meant what I said a minute ago, Marty."
      Marty grinned and let his arm slide up Scott's chest.  "Hmmm?  About
what?"
      "About still recognizing and admiring hot and sexy men when I see
them.  Especially if I know them well."
      Marty just chuckled and blinked.  "And I meant it when I said you're
still a hottie."  He leaned up and kissed Scott on the lips. It was more
than a peck, quite a bit less than passion.  "And I meant the other thing I
said, too.  Off the market.  Out of reach.  Don't need another thing to
worry about."
      Scott pursed his lips and slowly nodded.  "You're right.  Me neither,
I guess.  Now, let's go in."
      Scott mixed the drinks while Marty dropped the sleeping bag and his
gym bag onto the love seat near the couch.  When Scott got into the living
room Marty was leaning back on the far end, with his stocking feet propped
on the coffee table.  His elbow was perched on the arm of the couch and he
massaged the front of his scalp with his fingertips. Scott gently sat in
the center with two drinks in his hand.  Marty held out his left to take
one from him.  "Thanks, professor."
      "No, thank you.  Thanks for coming today.  You tired?  You look
tired."
      Marty sipped and sighed.  "Naw.  Not really.  I mean it's great
seeing you and Craig and especially your folks today.  And those Kirschbaum
guys are a friggin' scream and not too hard to look at.  I was just
thinking about the kids."
      Scott nodded.  "Well, you do a lot of that these days, I'm sure.  You
said they're doing okay?"
      Marty smiled.  "They're amazing, Scott. They're two little miracles.
I mean, Ashley isn't `mine' in the biological sense, but she's soooo much
like me, and I'm the only father she's ever known."
      "Daddy, Marty.  She only and always calls you `Daddy,' not `Father.'
And, with due respect, she is yours.  And you, my dear friend, are hers.
You are all hers.  Always have been."
      A light laugh escaped Marty's nostrils as he sipped again. "Ain't
that the truth?  She's had me all wrapped up from day one.  Right around
that little fucking finger of hers."
      "Right or Left?"
      "Either one."  He looked toward the ceiling and laughed again.  "And
then there's my man-child."
      Scott coughed on his drink.  "Man-child?  When the hell did my godson
become some sort of man-child?"
      "Well, he's just like Jill, only he's a guy.  He's opinionated and
pig-headed.  He's focused all the time and I can't distract him with fluff
or goofy shit to safe my life.  He's going for the toaster and I'm wiggling
the colored bread bag in the air to get his attention, and he doesn't give
a shit.  He wants the toaster.  And four or five days a week he wants a
fucking fork in the toasting slot, or whateverthehell that's called.
Twenty times a day he's on a mission for this or that.  Could be a mission
to place his greasy handprints on every square inch of the back door's
window.  Could be on a mission to find the colander in the lower cabinet
and make it into a pith hat so he can hunt wild beasts on a safari
underneath the dining room table.  Could be a mission to pull out all the
lower kitchen drawers and use them as steps to the upper cupboards.  Could
be on a mission to use all sixty-four of Crayola's colors in their Big Box
on the bathroom floor."
      Scott put down his drink and slapped Marty's knee.  "I think they
have more than 64 colors these days, don't they?"
      "I know!  Pisses me off!  But you do remember the Big Box, don't you,
professor?  The big fucking 64-color Crayola Big Box?  The one with the
sharpener in back?  The one that only the coolest kids had in kindergarten?
The kids we hated?"
      "Uhm I had a Big Box, Marty.  Sharpener and all."
      Marty's hands flew up and he faced the cieling again.  "Oh you would!
Well, sir, your godson has a 64 count Big Box of fucking Crayola crayons,
too!  And he's more than a year away from kindergarten!  And there are
marks of every hue and shade on our bathroom floor and walls to prove it."
      Scott nodded.  "Of course.  He's a genuine man-child.  He's my
godson.  Of course he's a genius.  He's Picasso with balls."
      "Oh, c'mon, professor, Picasso had balls.  Didn't he?  I mean he was
a `he' after all."
      "Yeah, but he had them swinging out of his ears or his nostrils or
some such. He couldn't draw worth shit."
      "No, he couldn't.  But my son and your god-son is a bona fide genius
man-child."
      "We're getting drunk."
      "We are drunk."
      Marty smiled softly, almost shyly.  "Thanks again for inviting me."
      Scott put his right arm on the back of the couch, inviting Marty to
lean into his shoulder.  Marty slid over and laid his head in Scott's open
arm.  Scott chuckled. "You called me, and you invited yourself."
      Marty chuckled too.  "That's right, I did.  I kinda invited myself,
didn't I?"
      Scott sighed and hesitated.  "It's not that I didn't want you to come
up here.  It's just that...
      Marty tapped Scott's chest lightly with a flat hand.  "I know.  Trust
me I know.  Everybody thinks it's too soon to call and ask me if I want to
try and be normal again.  Shit, Scotty.  Normal.  Fucking normal.  Me and
Jill had about a year and a half of what normal people think is `normal.'
And we were great.  Then `the beast' hit her and `normal' suddenly changed.
Normal has been..."  Marty gasped a short breath and went silent.  "Well,
let's just say that I've had e-fucking-nuff of that kinda normal.'"
      "What's normal been for you, Marty?  Tell me about it."
      His voice cracked.  "Oh, you know!"
      "No I don't Marty.  I can't really know.  Not all of it.  Tell me
about it."
      He inhaled deeply and thought about it.  Although Scott couldn't
fully see Marty's face, he heard the sneer in his voice.  "Normal has been
what every other guy who's married to a woman with terminal leukemia has
had to deal with after a marrow transplant.  Normal for me has been doctor
after doctor, and me nodding my head, insisting that my wife should kill
her own immune system to try and make herself better.  Normal has been hand
sanitizer dispensers in every room of the house and kicking myself on the
drive home `cuz I forgot to buy refills.  Ever try to keep a two year old
sterile, Scott?  It's not possible.  Normal has been explaining to the kids
that even though she's in the next room they can't see Mommy today.  Normal
has been sleeping alone in the room next to hers and sitting up in bed
every time she coughs or sneezes.  Normal has been fucking face masks in
the house during bad weeks.  Normal's been not being able to buy a bouquet
of fresh flowers because of the chemicals or other shit they might bring
with them.  Normal is having to schedule a birthday party at Chuck
E. Cheese `cuz you can't have all those germy little kids in your house,
and then having to beg one or two other parents to be on hand just in case
you have to leave to take your wife to the hospital.  Or it's explaining to
your daughter that, no she can't have her friends come over to play because
you don't know what they might have been exposed to.  Normal is making
reservations for an anniversary weekend in Chicago and booking the best
table at the best restaurant months in advance, and then canceling the day
before because she can't eat a real meal, let alone travel or stay
overnight anywhere except a hospital.  Normal is looking out for white
sales at Target so that you can stock up on sheets and have a week's worth
of clean linen on hand, because God only knows how bad the diarrhea and the
incontinence might be tomorrow.  Normal is helping her snug up her Depends
on one of those good days when she actually can go out, and listening to
her try to joke about it for her own mental health.  Normal is explaining
to the kids that other families can take vacations because other families
can actually make plans ahead of time.  Normal has been telling the mother
of my son that I was pissed that she'd actually said she wanted to die; and
breaking her heart because I told her she needed to suck it up and tough it
out for the kids."  He sniffed.  "So, no thank you.  `Normal' is not what
this boy needs right now, or ever again for that matter.  But I'd do it all
again if it'd bring her back."
      Scott gently rubbed his friend's head and he whispered.  "I know you
would.  Thanks for telling me all that Marty. I wanted to hear it, really.
I didn't think anybody else could handle all that shit the way you did, and
I was right.  Only you could do all that.  Jill and the kids have been
damned lucky."
      Finally, Marty wiped his nose, sighed, patted Scott's chest once more
and sat up.  "Look, it's getting late and we're drunk.  It's been a great
day, but let's just call it that...a day."
      Scott patted Marty's knee, nodded and stood.  He leaned over, kissed
his best friend on the top of his head and smiled.  "You're right.  I'll
find the bathroom stuff, do my thing and then it's all yours.  I'll leave
the light on over the kitchen sink in case you gotta get up during the
night."
      Scott walked around and finally found the box with the towels and
washcloths in it and headed for the bathroom.  He took care of business and
fumbled with the doorknob a bit before he shuffled into the hallway.
Turning toward his new bedroom he could hear Marty ruffling and stumbling
in the living room.  He paused long enough to hear his friend finally hit
the couch with a sigh. He felt his way along the wall to the doorway of the
bedroom and finally under the sheets.  The fattest cat had already staked
his claim at the mattress's corner and Brett the Dog was calling the
walk-in closet's entrance his new nocturnal lookout station.  Scott laid
back, linked his fingers behind his head and stared up into the darkness.
      Twenty minutes later, a hinge on the door creaked, and a sliver of
light hit the dresser's mirror. "Scotty?"
      Scott rolled onto his side and scooted back a foot before lifting the
bedding. "C'mon.  Come and lie down."
      Marty crawled under the lifted sheet and leaned back into Scott's
embrace.  Scott draped his arm over Marty's ribs, kissed him behind the ear
and wished his best friend "good night."



Author's Note: Many, many thanks to Peter, Kory, Ted and Scott for their
assistance in completing this chapter.  I neglected to thank them in the
last chapter and felt awful about it.  A big "Welcome Back!" to Scott, in
particular, who has just re-joined the team.  Thanks, too, to all of you
who've taken the time to drop me a note about the story, or about this and
that.  As this is likely the last chapter to appear before the holidays are
completely upon us, I'll send out my heartiest well wishes to you and yours
for only and all the good stuff the season might bring us.  I, for one, am
looking forward to saying farewell to 2008, and I'm wishing you all nothing
but all the best in 2009!  Feel free to contact me with comments,
criticisms and questions at: scotty.13411@hotmail.com

Be Well---S.T.