Hey! How's it going? I think Counting Down is becoming a huge hit. I've been real pleased with its success. Please tell your friends if you haven't already done so for me.
I'm thinking about the next story (actually, I'm always thinking about the next story) and could use some of your help. I'm thinking about writing my next story in a different genre. I'm thinking I would classify, Counting as dramatic, and Bear & Cubs as thriller/Detective, so how do you feel about stories that are wrapped around a theme like that? I can write superhero, Magik, alternate universes, space, etc. (I don't do horror, sorry for you horror fans) Email me (Foxfire3730@proton.me) and I'll take a tally then decide where to go from here.
If you do enjoy Counting Down, please read some of my other works on AO3 (TuxEdwards): Counting, Counting Down (the sequel to Counting), Not Capable of Love, Fire (Boys of Grizzly Valley on AO3), Go Bag (Boys of Grizzly Valley on AO3), and Jaded (on AO3). Please take a few minutes to drop me an email to let me know if Counting Down is for you: Foxfire3730@proton.me

"The Universe is Made of Stories, Not of Atoms" -Muriel Rukeyser

 

Atsugewi

 

AJ

29 Days Left 

I got to the hospital three days ago, and when I got here, they took care of my scratches and scrapes from the waterfall event. I sat motionless, unable to respond to others' inquiries in any way, as the doctor and nurses took care of my minor wounds. Soon I was left to the quiet that I needed to have to try and straighten out this riddle. Why was there bunch of pictographs carved into rock under a waterfall in a section of the park closed to the public? Why was it closed? What does it have to do with Becky?

The morning of the treatment procedure, everything went much like the first time, and much like the first time, I'm stuck here for a week; at least it's not two and most importantly, the count down reset to 31 days. The cartoons on the TV are on so that when the afternoon nurse comes in to check on me, she sees me watching them and leaves me alone. This nurse isn't as friendly as Nurse Patrick. I don't even know her name. She seems to not like that she's taking care of a little boy. She told me that a few months ago she had a boy on this floor who was just a terror, and apparently I'm to blame for his actions. She won't go into details, not that I asked for them or for the story in the first place. She just came in complaining one morning and either thought I couldn't hear her or didn't see my hearing aid in my ear. 

My fingers mindlessly drag along the seams of the Y-fronts of my boxer briefs, giving me small tingles around my crotch area. If I do it slowly enough, I can actually feel the small slit at the end of my growing dick. But what I am really concentrating on are the lines and shapes moving about in my vision and memory. Connecting and spinning, they work their way around piecing themselves together to make that perfect fit. Some of the shapes moved but were locked into place somehow. Dials are made of stone with holes where a person's fingers slide into them to grip them. It must work like a combination lock, but what unlocks the contraption? I knew I needed research material, and I knew I had a week of time to use it, so I made a call yesterday. 

Knock, knock, knock.

He's here. I'm so excited, I rush to the extent of the length of my IV tube to meet him. The door creeps open, and Becky's head pokes in, looking around. In order to prevent her from seeing my semi-boner in my underwear, I cover my groin. I quickly hurry back to the bed where I keep my pajama bottoms. She mistakes the embarrassing look on my face for confusion because she acts like we never met. 

"Hi, my name is Becky. You saved my dad and me a few days ago, remember?"

Remember? That question always pisses me off. Of course I remember. It's haunted me for the past four days, but she doesn't know that, so I innocently just nod my head. She walks in dressed in the girly clothes my mom bought her yesterday--a yellow and purple top and a mini-skirt one piece. A yellow and violet mini-backpack hangs loosely on her shoulders and covers her butt. It's decorated with little key chains with stuffed bears, cars, a doll, and a single set of dice. 

"They wouldn't let me in to, like, see you. They said it was family only. You know, I wasn't, like, sure about your big brother at first, but, like, he's been really nice to me. Like, he even apologized for being rude the night we met."

My big brother, which one is she talking about?

She is oblivious to my discomfort as she keeps saying, "Man, like, I thought I was a goner on that ledge. Like, when dad fell, I thought it was, like, over. That my only way out was to, like, jump, but I could have, like, never jumped past the waterfall." 

She talked like this for ten minutes, and I watched the clock. I don't even think she took a breath. If I were willing to talk to her, but I'm not, I would only want to talk about the whys, whats, and hows. Suddenly, another wrap on my door puts an end to her rambling about girl stuff. 

"AJ, you awake?"

"Yeah, Jamie, come on in." I cheerfully invite him in, and the surprised look on Becky's face is not missed by my keen eye for detail.

"You can talk?" She asked, looking a little upset. 

"Of course he can. If you get to know him, he never shuts up," Jamie says jokingly as he wheels in a trolly cart with four big boxes stacked unevenly. 

"Jamie!" I interrupt him, ending that topic, I hope. "Did you bring what I asked for?"

He giggles and asks, "Well, I did my best. Some of the stuff you asked for is a little out of our league, but it can be ordered. The rest I brought. You want me to unbox these?"

I nod, and Becky chimes in, "What is all this stuff?"

"High-speed laptop, for research and gaming, a printer, a rim of paper, a box of wood number two pencils, a box of markers, and a 3D hand scanner," Jamie reads off a receipt that hangs on a brown clipboard, then asks, "This all goes on your account, right?"

"Why do you need all this stuff? You're in a hospital," Becky asks as she watches Jamie intently.

"I need all this `stuff' because I'm in a hospital," I answer her as a matter of fact. Girls.... Do they ever think before they speak?

Jamie laughs and puts all my equipment on the end table and the lunch tray so I can get to it without leaving my bed. 

"Well, I guess that's it for me. I'll add what I didn't bring to our inventory order later this week. Give me a week or so to get it, maybe more. When are you going back to school?" He asks.

"Next week, if everything goes well." My answer to him has more meaning to me than him, and I'm glad he didn't ask more questions about it. 

"Well, the guys say they really miss you in class," Jamie says sincerely. 

I wait for the laugh at his own joke, but it never comes, so I confirm his meaning. "Miss me? Why would they miss me in class? Everyone there hates me."

"Hates you? No one there hates you. Sure, there are a few bad apples that pick on kids smaller than them to feel good, but they don't hate you. They're scared of you, is all," Jamie says, and his face uncomfortably changes at the end, telling me he shouldn't have said that last part. 

"Scared of me, why?"

"Yeah, why would they be scared of him, and how are you in the same school as him?" Becky asks, very confused, trying to keep up.

"I don't go to the same school as AJ. He goes to Summit High School, which is the public high school downtown. I go to Tech Tribe, it's my father's electronics store that he runs a small school for a few kids," he explains to her, creating more questions for her to think about. He addresses me again, saying, "Because of the assembly they had about you."

What? I search my memories and don't find what he's talking about. "What assembly?"

"I guess before you Colter kids started school, they had an assembly and told everyone how you're... you know... different."

"Different? Different how?"

"Oh, I don't know," interrupts Becky, "different, like, a little boy going to high school, different."

Jamie and I both stared at her crossly for interrupting us again. Becky understands our body language and holds up her hands apologetically. "Are you going to make me say it?" He asks and stares into my unwavering expression. He sighs and finishes the rest of his thought: "That you're on the spectrum; you know, you're autistic." 

"Autistic? I am not autistic!" I cry out, clutching my bedsheets. I can hear the heart monitor's beeping speed up, and I respond, "Why would they tell the whole school that? No wonder no one talks to me, including the teachers. What am I going to do?"

"Whoa, man, calm down. You already did something to help that, didn't you? Hayden said that they had you explain to the class how your memory trick works. A lot of kids found that cool. I hear from Kye that you're really popular with the band kids." 

His reasoning actually makes sense, and the beeping begins to slow down. Autism: Am I autistic? I never thought I was... different. The door to my room opens, and nurse Patrick walks in, saying in his flamboyant, swishing voice, "Why are you so excited? Are you goofing around? Too many friends are visiting, I think; someone's got to go."

"I best leave; I have to get back to the store anyway," Jamie says as he begins to gather his things. "Sorry, if I upset you, AJ. C-ya later."

Nurse Patrick does his normal bed checks, blood pressure, temperature, and breathing. Becky sits on my right, playing with the hand scanner, completely oblivious to what it is, I'm sure. Autistic... it never occurred to me, but I can see how someone who doesn't know me could think that. While my mind goes over the pros and cons of having autism, Patrick asks, "So, what's got you all upset, and who's this little one?" and motions towards Becky. 

"Like, I'm Becky; AJ saved my life. My father is in room D2307, and I just came down here to see, like, how AJ was doing," Becky says and spins around daintily, showing him her new clothes and backpack. "Like, his mother bought me these clothes and a backpack; do you like them?"

"Girl, they're very pretty," he patronizingly answers her, and then gives me a look like he feels bad for me. "Well, then, I'll leave you two alone."

He smirks and turns to leave. "No! I mean, you could stay," I tell him, and he chuckles as he leaves. 

"I don't understand how you got all this stuff." She's oblivious to my need for Patrick to stay. 

"I paid for it."

"How did you pay for it?"

"With my money. My birth father, he died," I tell her softly, feeling my confusion of emotions for the man who first damned me, then saved me, and after a moment to push those feelings back down, I continue, "and he left me a couple million dollars or so." 

She laughs like I told her a joke, and only the serious look on my face brings her out of her hysteric laughter. "Oh my god, you're serious."

"I'm always serious," I say with a shrug. "I need this `stuff,' as you put it, although calling it `stuff' is like calling a computer a toy, anyway, I need it to help me figure out the writing on the stone behind the waterfall," I tell her as I pull the lunch tray with the laptop over the bed so I can turn it on. 

Becky's face freezes as if I explained the meaning of life. "There was writing on the stone wall?" She lies and fakes being in shock.

I'm not buying her act, so I continue, "My first thought was that it was from the Atsugewi tribe." I begin typing, and Becky climbs into bed to look at the laptop screen. I pull the blankets over my now very small and soft dick. This feels weird being alone in bed with a girl, and I uncomfortably continue, "But that doesn't make sense since the writing doesn't match what we know about them."

"How do you know about the Atsugewi?"

"When we moved here, I took an interest in who lived here before us," I tell her with a shrug. 

"We thought it was tied to them also... I mean, like, how could you remember what was on the stone? With no light and with everything going on, you couldn't have seen it."

I reach over to her and take a piece of paper and a pencil. "You're right, in the situation we were in, I might have some of the information a little jumbled, but I think I'm getting closer every day." The pencil's lead glides across the paper as I quickly draw from memory. Shading and penciling each and every crevice, the pencil moves about, and when I'm done, I take a moment to look at what I drew. 

"That's impossible," she says under her breath. "How could you draw this without seeing it?"

"I used my fingers, something like reading braille," I tell her. "I'd never attempted it before, but after a few days of putting it together in my mind, I believe I got it exactly how it was on the wall." She takes the picture and, for once, is speechless. Pride puts a smile on my young face as she stares at the crude drawing. "Anyway, I decided to look into who else lived here at the time of the Atsugewi tribe, and I think it's Spanish."

"That can't be right. Spain has their own language, and it doesn't look like that when written," Becky says with a little attitude that I don't need right now. 

I sigh and again ask myself why girls don't think before they talk. "You're right again, of course, but when they invaded the area we now call Mexico and migrated up to California, they needed to communicate with the Native Americans. Just as they did with the Aztecs, they taught them their language shortcut using a pictograph language. It was beneath them to learn to speak Native American as it was for them to learn Aztec."

I see out of the corner of my eye that Becky is rudely watching cartoons. I ignore her and work on it. After some considerate amount of time, Becky finally stirs and picks up the hand scanner I bought and asks, "What's this for?"

"That, my dear Watson." I waited for her to get the joke. "Holmes and Watson," I repeat the joke hoping to clarify things, but she doesn't acknowledge the joke at all.

"My last name is Johnson, not Watson," she says innocently.

Argh, she's clueless. "Becky, Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Jon Watson, don't you know who they are?"

"Wasn't there a movie about them like before I was born?"

Sigh, all the proverbial air has been let out of my balloon. "A movie? Doesn't anyone read anymore?" She shrugs her shoulders and hands me the scanner. So, I skip the joke, maybe it wasn't funny in the first place. "I'm going to use the hand scanner to scan this," I explain to her as I scan the drawing into the laptop. "Then I'm going to email this to a professor from the University of Southern California that researches Native American artifacts that I've been in contact with. But before I send it... I need to see the rod in your little backpack."

Becky freezes, and it looks like she's seen a ghost. She slides off the bed and takes off her backpack to hold it in front of her body. "What rod? I don't know what you're talking about," she says with a quiver in her voice. 

Sigh. I don't remember being this ridiculous at her age. Colt's her age, and he doesn't act like this. "Come on, the 'Rod.' The one you had me go back to get against immediate death, I might add. You can keep it. I just want to look at it to confirm my theory." 

"Your... theory? My father has been working on the treasure of the Atsugewi since before I was born. My mother left him and dumped me because of his desire to have it. Together, we've followed two different maps, hundreds of clues, traveled across forty-two states, and broken countless laws, all leading us to that waterfall, and now you're telling me with what limited time you had under that waterfall... You think you've figured it all out, bullshit?"

Only the hum of the machines that measure my vitals and the inhaling and exhaling of our bodies can be heard over the silence between us. I go over my conversation, trying to see where I went wrong. Did I say something wrong to upset her? I take a deep breath and try to explain in the calmest voice I can muster, "Look, maybe the pictograph on that stone wall was a stronger clue for me to research. But if you want to know more than you already think you know, you're going to have to let me see the rod, and I'll give it back."

She looks at the door and back at my outstretched hand. "Fine!" She burst out, startling me. "But if you try and get the Native American treasure without me, I'll kick your ass," she added. She hands it to me, and while I give it a quick look over, she asks, "What did you mean, `know more than you already think you know?'"

I turn the rod in my hands and notice the pictures carved on its surface. From tip to tip, the item has a story on it, or what I'm hoping are directions. I begin to scan the rod on the laptop, being very careful to get every inch. "It's not a Native American treasure. They didn't see treasure like the white man did. A wooden chest full of gold and jewels hidden behind a waterfall just isn't their style. Their currency was wood, fur, fangs, jewelry, and, you know, material things. Now Aztecs, they had gold, and the Spaniards stole lots of it and used to buy off the Native Americans, telling them it was the only currency they would except if they wanted to trade with them."

"That's terrible."

"Yeah right," I chuckle, continuing, "and the worst thing about it is that whatever is behind that waterfall was never collected by either party, or we would have found it open."

"What do we do now?" She asks like she really is my Watson.

"WE don't do anything. I'm going to send this email off to get a better explanation of the pictographs used by the Spanish that settled California. Then, while I'm waiting for a reply, I'm going to study this rod."

"YOU aren't going to do anything unless there is a WE involved in your findings," Becky says with an authority tone that I recognize as the one my mom uses when I'm in trouble. 

"Okay, okay, geesh, fine, partners?" I concede and hold out my hand. She studies me carefully and then smiles, taking my offered hand.

"Deal."

Beau

I stare down inside the orange bottle with my last two pills of Vicodin. Memories of last practice send phantom pain to my left knee, and I regret not taking the pill I saved for it. Today is game day, and I'm not making any mistakes, so I took both pills. Taking a swig of water, I swallow them, expecting them to keep their promise of no pain for at least six hours. That's enough time to finish the game and get home. I can take it easy tonight and for the rest of the weekend. 

The voice of Coach Bosse breaks my deep thoughts, asking, "Beau, what was that you took?" 

"What!" I respond convincingly. He walks towards me, and I bolt up from the bench. My lacrosse gear rattles against itself as I drop my stick. 

He takes the empty bottle and reads the label. Finally, I figure out what to say and tell him, "It was my last pill coach. I saved it for the game." 

He looks at me as if he's not convinced. "I saw you talking to Coach Murphy last week."

"Yeah, well, we have history."

"Yeah, he and I do too. Last pill, right?" He asks while holding up the empty bottle. My eyes watch the bottle rest in his hand, and a fear comes over me of not having it anymore. How can I go on without them? My knee is so messed up. I'm going to have to get more. "Beau?"

"Last pill, Coach."

"Beau, these things can mess you up if you take too many; you understand that, right?"

"Of course, Coach. I didn't even want to take them in the first place, but doc said I had to. Um, can I head out to the field now?"

He stares into my eyes, looking for evidence of the lie I just told him, and then pats my chest and nods. I reach down and pick up my stick and helmet from the bench and head out of the locker room. 

The game is intense, and the cheering of the crowd echos in my ears. We're in the third quarter, and I've just scored my third goal. The moment overwhelms me, and I drop to one knee as the world spins erratically around me. Within seconds, my team is surrounding me, and my right forward is pulling me back to my feet, asking me, "Hey Colter, are you praying or is the knee bothering you?" 

"Nope, it's good! My knee is never better." I answer him and smack my helmet with my stick to help me focus. The lacrosse gloved hands of my teammates patted me also. Focus Beau! Focus; keep your eyes on the ball. I feel a little dizzy walking back to the center line. Once I think I've got everything under control, I am startled by a tap on my shoulder. I ignore it, thinking it's just another team member congratulating me on my goal, but it persists. Eventually I can't take it anymore; to be honest, it was only a couple taps. "What!" I snap at him and spin on whoever is fucking with me. 

Scotty stands there, looking a little nervous. "The Coach sent me in," he says. 

"No, go back. I'm on a roll; I'm not ready to come out," I tell him and wave to the coach. 

I can see Scotty still standing there out of the corner of my eye, and soon he's tapping me on the shoulder, saying as cheerfully as he can, "Everyone needs a break, Colter; don't overdo it." 

"I said I'm good. Go back!"

Scotty looks back to the bench, and the referee asks me what's happening here. I assure him that I'm playing when I hear my name being called from the bench. "Colter! Colter!"

This is ridiculous; I'm the only one out here doing anything, right? Why pull me out? I just don't get it! I concede my spot to Scotty and head to the bench. Coach Bosse intercepts me, grabs my lacrosse pads, spins me to look at him, and sternly says, "Hey, what is your problem? When I send someone in to replace you, you come out!"

"Why? I'm the only one doing anything out there; why take me out?" I shout back. As soon as I hear what I said out loud, I immediately feel the shame of it weigh on me. 

"Everyone gets a break, Colter. A team isn't one person. Where is this attitude coming from?" Coach asks, then grabs my helmet and holds my face up to his and studies my eyes, then asks, "Beau, what did you take? What was in the bottle?"

"Nothing! I told you the doctor gave me those." I answer him with attitude and pull myself free from his grip. 

"Your pupils are like pin holes; you're shaking, and you're all over the place. Go sit down. You're done!" He says so, and I turn, heading to the bench. Taking off my helmet, I throw it as hard as I can at the bench. It bounces, and the face guard pops off. I flop down and struggle to get my gloves off. The cheers of the crowd are deafening, and the world begins to spin again. It's only temporary! It's only temporary! I tell myself as I hold my head, waiting for the numbness to take over me again. I have to calm down. 

Deep breaths, focus on the floating shapes on the inside of my eyelids, and feel the numbness. I'm going to be okay. It's alright.

"Beau, Beau, Beau," Colt calls out from over by the fence. He's not going to stop if I don't answer him.

"Hey Beau, your little brother wants you," Ben says from over by the water cooler. 

"Yeah, thanks. I hear him." I answer him and get up to make my way to Colt. "What do you want?" I confront him.

"Are you okay? Is your knee good?" Colt asks with a concerned look. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answer him and turn to head back to the bench.

"Are you sure you're okay?" 

"COLT! I said I'm fine! Now leave me alone!" I snap at him, and by the look on his face, he knows! He knows everything. He begins to backpeddle, and I quickly change my rageful expression to one that is as nice as I can with all things considered and follow up my outburst with, "Colt, I'm good, really. Everything is fine."

He doesn't say anything more, and I don't think he's buying the nice act. I try and get him back to the fence so I can explain myself, but he turns and runs back up where Mom, Dad, Gran, and Pop are sitting.

Oh, Colt, I'm sorry. Nice going, Beau.

AJ

The door to my hospital room opens, and I hear Mom's voice talking to Beau: "Beau, you should know better. I'm... very... disappointed. AJ, what's going on?"

Shit! I look at Becky and at a ream of paper scattered around the room all over the floor. Each sheet of paper has either a drawing of different ways to open the stone wall, print-offs of information from USC, or different ways to read the pictographs on the rod. "Mom! I was, just, um," I stammer. 

She picks up one of the sheets and looks it over, then asks me disapprovingly, "What is with this mess? Why is Becky in here, and why are you in your underwear?"

I blush from head to toe and crinkle the sheets of paper I'm reading about the Atsugewi in my hand. "I think better, nak..." I say it softly, but I catch myself and look at Becky to see if she caught my slip of the tongue. "I mean, I think better in my underwear." 

Mom begins to pick up all the drawings and says, "AJ, put some pants on and get into your bed. Becky, honey, why don't you go check in on your dad? We're leaving in about an hour." She closes my gaming laptop and sets a hand full of papers on it. She's really upset, but I can't tell if it's at me or not. She sighs and says, "Have all my boys lost their minds today?"

Becky packs her stuff back in her backpack and meekly leaves the room. Beau and Colt sit quietly in chairs in the corner, and the tension in this room is incredibly thick. I've been waiting all day for Mom to get here so I could ask her a question, but I'm afraid now is not the time. I've got to know, though. Not knowing is really bothering me. Mom finishes gathering all my markers, pencils, and papers and sits on my bed. She wants to say something, but it will take her forever to say whatever is on her mind. The silence is killing me, and I have to ask her what's on my mind: "Mom, am I autistic?"