Harvard Comes To Montana
Hi, Nifty Readers;
I'm Griz. I've been reading stories on Nifty for many years, and have enjoyed the time, talent and efforts of several writers. Their stories inspired me to kind of twist my own farm life experiences into a story that is only slightly, partially true. That which ain't true is one heck of a dream for any high school graduated farm boy with sense. I hope you'll enjoy reading this. Tellin' ya right now, though: the focus of this story is less on graphic sex scenes and more on friendship, romance and growing up. Oh, there'll be some agro nookie, to be sure; just don't pull out the lube quite yet.
**************************************************************************** Chapter One
Hi, I'm Jeff. I'm writing all this down because someday I'll want to read about myself after I've grown old and forgotten everyone and everything. About me: I'm 17, almost 18. I graduated high school a year early, having been moved ahead from 7th grade to my Freshman year. I'm not some genius or mystical unicorn in rural America; I just pleased the school district with my perfect attendance and perfect grade point average. I was reading and writing at a college level, and I could count to 21 without getting naked to do it.
I'm physically not quite a standout, though. I'm built well, but not gym strong; my muscles are work strong. I was a decent athlete, but couldn't commit to much extracurricular activities since it took too much time away from the farm. For the record, though: I'm 6'1", 211 solid pounds and pretty hairless, for the most part. Polish people aren't known for being furry critters. I have blond hair and eyes that are a true amalgamation of my parents' genes; blue, but lots of brown specks in them. Girls thought I looked foxy. My grandma said I looked possessed.
Okay, you have my stats. On with the story about the Summer that Harvard came to Montana.
I never really get people on TV talking about "I'm not a morning person" or some such shit while they're eating breakfast, not thinking about what it takes to get their goddamned Wheaties on the table for them to ignore, guzzling cup after cup of Folger's instead. I've spent all of my 17 years on my parents' farm, and I don't remember a day when the Sun woke up before I did. My father and I, and his father and grandfather before him, all the way back to my great-great grandfather who homesteaded these unappreciated acres, have grown wheat and all sorts of other crops so Kellogg's and General Mills and all the others can make a mountain of cash on 12 ounces of wheat that we sold them for, in some years, next to nothing. But regardless of revenue, and even less regarding profit, we're up before the Sun.
This morning was one of the few that didn't really expect much of me, and I expected less of it. I couldn't sleep, worrying about my dad's health, and worrying about my mom worrying about my dad. I opened my eyes to see the shadow cast by the curtains on the ceiling of my bed, thanks to the yard light by the shop across from the house. I had the whole upper floor of the house to myself now, my brothers all older and long since moved on with their lives. I sighed a couple of times, once out of frustration for not sleeping more than maybe four or five hours, and again because there's nothing lonelier or more boring than being the only person awake in a farmhouse in Central Montana.
I knew the moment I began thinking about chickens that I would not fall back asleep. We had ten chicks, all hens, that would be hungry and thirsty. I decided I'd get up and take care of them, and maybe toss down some hay for the horses. Water for them, too. It's funny; counting sheep puts you to sleep, and counting chickens before they hatch is not only dumb, but it'll wake your sorry 17 year old ass up right away, too.
July in our Fergus County is the best. It's not too hot yet. You can see how the crops are doing, and you know that with each passing week, the possibility of a devastating Summer hailstorm decreases just enough that a farmer can look forward to a decent harvest. You know if the cows took the artificial insemination during service in May. It's also when, good or bad, you can spend an entire day working on that old Heston combine, or your grandfather's hand-me-down blue Ford tractor. The best reason for July, though: you don't have to change your clothes during the day. The temperature is stable from sunup to sundown. There's something to be said for making it through an entire day in a hat, a t-shirt and the oldest, most torn-up jeans you have. No changing into something to keep you warm, or take anything off to cool down. Julys are the best.
July, or the last weekend in July, is the Central Montana Fair, Horse Show and Rodeo. It's the best time. Young and old get together by the thousands for four days to laugh, drink, eat and play, listen to a live band or two coming through on a circuit tour, and maybe win some money in a roping contest or, as my mom always does, countless blue ribbons with her shiny jars of everything that can be grown in rich, fertile soil. I was wanting this year's fair to be my best. I'd team-rope again with Tom Sanger, one of our neighbors. July is when the Sun was still spending a lot of time in the sky, so once chores were done and whatever else my parents needed of me, I could get my horse saddled up and ride, working on my roping skills (or lack of `em, anyway).
This morning, after I took early care of the evolved little dinosaurs known as chickens and overgrown dogs known as horses, I got in my truck and drove into town. Just barely after 4AM, but it was the right time to just go for a drive and be the first one through Common Grounds, the little drive-through espresso stand right off the state highway that saw heavy truck traffic 24 hours a day. I knew Eva, the owner who always worked that shift. She dated my older brother for years, and we all expected them to marry. Of course, they didn't. She married someone else, broke my brother's heart, and he moved away and became a professor of agriculture at Montana State University. Eva married into a drunken, abusive relationship, miscarried twice, divorced and now sits in a shack, making overpriced drinks while listening to Great Falls KMON AM radio playing Country Oldies. Eva and I have always been friendly, and today she was ready to get me caught up on gossip and make my White Zombie Coffee with a shot each of vanilla and chocolate syrup.
"Jeff, what're you doing up so early? You have a girl in there you need to get home before her parents wake up?" Eva turned down the John Denver song playing on the ancient radio.
"Heh.....three of `em, Eva; I go big or I don't go. How's your morning so far?"
"Oh, it's the same, I guess. The crickets are keeping me company. A big Kenworth came through her an hour ago, and that's been it until you showed up. You want your regular?"
"No, not today; I'm up too early, and if I drink coffee too early, I'll crash too early. That'll make my dad only work me harder. You have any juice back in there?"
"Apple, orange, some icky-looking green stuff, and I guess that's it."
"Orange juice, please; on ice. And a banana, if there's one not too brown yet."
Eva got me what I wanted. I handed her some cash and told her to keep the change. She laughed and told me that left-over 15 cents would help her finally afford that gallon of gas she's been saving up for. We laughed and I waved as I drove away, cranking as loudly as I could some rap music that I knew would make her scream and give me shit about the next time I came through. I continued driving North on the highway, looking to my right and seeing no sign of a black sky hinting it might turn a little blue. Sure enough, nothing but stars, watching over The Feeders Of The Country as we sleep. Well, all but me, of course.
A few more miles and I was in town, the three street lights all flashing red as they do after 10PM every night. I drove past the Eagles' Club, and there was Duke behind the bar, finally ready to go home, two hours alone after closing time, drinking his R&R and Soda and looking like he and the club belonged in an Edward Hopper painting. Duke was my dad's friend and classmate. A decent enough guy, and always glad to see my dad. Duke and Eva were the unspoken examples for us kids: only we could guarantee any happiness or joy in our lives. Waiting for someone else to bring it to us, wrapped in a big bow, was a waste of a life.
I turned on Main Street and drove out of town in the other direction, past the fair grounds. I had played "Gangsters' Paradise" just for shock value for Eva, but now I had my old iPod on a playlist that was a mix of everything. It was good for driving. Right now Linda Ronstadt was asking me "What's New?", and I knew it well enough to sing along with her. I was aimlessly headed toward Roy, but had no intention of actually driving that far. I got maybe three miles further and decided to turn off the highway about where old Tessie Potter had lived until recently. Eva had mentioned crickets, and that's a chorus I never get tired of listening to. I turned my truck off, got out and dropped the tailgate. I'm tall, so sitting on it is not some great effort. By now, I could see the faintest of blue glow in the distance. I looked at my watch, and sure enough, almost 5AM, right on time.
This was going to be my last July on the ranch, at least full-time. I graduated a year early and landed a few scholarships to University of Montana on the other side of the state. My parents were adamant that I needed to get out and "see the World"----as if Missoula was somehow Paris, France. I was actually looking forward to it, since a few of my friends from high school would also be going. I sat with my little breakfast of juice and a banana when I was hearing something approaching. Very unusual, too. It sounded like an anemic, winded pony.
"What the fuck....?" I asked aloud as the sounds approached closer to me. The Moon was full this weekend, so I could see something moving toward me. That was no horse; it was some moron out running. Now, why the heck would someone be out running in the dark on a highway in Montana? This made no sense. Whomever it was must've seen my old truck's taillights glowing just a little, because the steps slowed to a quiet walk. I stayed on my tailgate, just observing this strange surprise on an otherwise peaceful early July morning. Finally, the steps stopped, but the heavy breathing did not.
"Uh, hey....." said a decent-sounding, deep voice.
"Hi", I responded, not exactly a soprano, myself.
"Did your truck break down or something?"
"Nope. Just out for a drive and stopped to listen to this quiet morning. Well, and the sounds of someone running, and running out of breath. You really running before five in the morning on an unlighted highway? Did your rig break down?"
"Heh.....no. I got in yesterday and am still jet-lagged. I decided to go for a run. I started in town and just decided to see where this would lead."
"Well, Wyoming, and eventually the Gulf of Mexico. I guess if you're training for a triathlon, you could just keep going and swim to Venezuela, too."
The voice laughed and leaned against the fender of my truck, bent over and clearly feeling the last few miles he ran.
"I keep a couple bottles of water in my truck; you want one?"
"Oh, yeah.....please. Um, I'm Marc Taylor."
"I'm Jeff Wojtowicz." I walked off the tailgate and opened the truck door, reaching behind the seat for a bottle of water. I also found a Hostess Twinkie, but didn't know how long it had been back there. Not sure it really matters. After the Apocalypse, three things were certain survivors: cockroaches, Twinkies and Dolly Parton. I went back to the end of the truck and handed Marc Taylor the water, and also offered the questionable substance with crème filling.
"Thanks. Oh, damn; is that what I think it is? A Twinkie?"
"Sure is. Only the best roadside catering in all of Fergus County."
"Is that where I am? I'm visiting my grandparents and helping them get their house ready to sell. Do you know Rod and Naomi Taylor?"
"Heh.....who doesn't know them, more like it. Mrs Taylor was my second and fifth grade teacher. Mr Taylor was the county surveyor since God was a child."
"Yeah, that's them. They're moving permanently to New Mexico. All their friends are away from here now, and live a lot closer to where they're going. Anyway, that's why I'm here. Good to meet you." Marc extended his hand and I shook it.
"You, too. So, why are you running, and out here, too?"
"I wasn't going to sit awake in my grandparents' home, bored stiff and trying to not wake them. If this were September, I'd be in the lecture hall, ready to fascinate Harvard freshmen with all they could never want to know about American colonialism in the Pacific. Since I'm not there, I might as well go do something."
"Is this your first time here?"
"Yeah, it is. Well, that I can remember. Apparently I lived with my parents in the basement of my grandparents' house right after I was born. As much as I know American history, I don't know much of my own."
Marc Taylor was still breathing hard, and had drunk the entire bottle of water.
"There's more if you want some, but dang the luck, that's the last Twinkie. Sorry."
"Ha! I think I'll be fine, but thanks. Looks like the Sun will indeed rise another day. This was a good break, but I guess I should head back. Good to meet you, Jeff."
"You, too. Um, I'm not actually driving any further; this was just something to do before my parents woke up. I couldn't sleep, either."
"Oh? Do you lecture in a classroom, too?"
"Nope. At least not about American colonization of Guam, Hawaii, Puerto Rico and a couple of other places. I will, however, tell 50 pregnant cows that they should've listened to my advice and not go out on that date with the Black Angus bull-in-a-can. They listen to me about as well as your college freshman do, I think."
"Oh, you know some history; you're one up on my students. So you're driving back toward town? If you are, could I trouble you for a ride? As good an idea as I thought this was at the time, I'm thinking now that running in the dark was at the lower end of The List Of Good Ideas".
"Yeah, get in. I was about to offer, and for the same reason. Just so you're aware before you get any other inklings of this sort: we don't have wolves out here, but we have skunks and porcupines, and maybe a hungry owl that might swoop down on your head. It has happened, more than once."
"Geez. You're right. But how can I trust you more than some animal?"
"I AM an animal. The worst kind. A soon-to-be college freshman at the other Harvard, the University of Montana. Maybe running back to town would be safer....."
"I'll take my chances."
We opened the doors to get into my truck and I saw Marc Taylor for the first time as the lights revealed the most handsome man I think was ever born. Holy fuck. And his smile was bright and perfect. It looked like the entrance to an igloo. We pulled our doors shut and I turned the old engine over.
"Um, if you're feeling around for a seatbelt, you'll be disappointed; this truck was built in 1964. No such thing back then, even as an option. But don't worry; I'll be careful. I think....."
"Heh.....you're funny for a high school graduate. Okay, I'll just hold on tightly."
The dashboard lights in this truck were, for some reason, about as bright as the landing lights on a 747. I glanced over at my passenger to see he was in actual running shorts and a cropped tank top. It's rude to stare, and even worse to drool while doing it. I made sure to look at the road anyway, since I assured him safe passage back to his grandparents' home. Goddamn, was he handsome. A little shorter than I am, with tan skin, chestnut brown floppy hair, brown eyes and some darker facial scruff. A five o'clock (in the morning) shadow on his face, too. He had some better-than-average fitness going on for him, too. I liked his legs, something that was always my biggest challenge to work. That guy was put together just right. Sure didn't look like any college professor I anticipated having, but a boy can dream.
In a few minutes of driving and small talk about his run, we were back at the intersection in town. I told him he'd have to direct me, because I wasn't sure where his folks lived. After he navigated me, I mentioned that the Empire Café was open 24 hours a day, and if he wanted to join me, I'd buy breakfast. Marc Taylor of Harvard flashed that Osmond Smile again, which I think made him a wizard, because my truck turned magically into a parking lot.
"Jeff, I don't think I'm really wearing the right clothes to go into a restaurant....."
"You haven't seen the Empire. I wouldn't be surprised if there are at least three truckers in there, unshowered for days, and at least as many pig farmers sharing their own particular perfume for everyone else to enjoy. Or endure..... Trust me, you'll be fine. Although Lu Barney might take one look at you and put you on the menu....."
The moment I said that, I tried as hard as I could to reach out and grasp those last words and stuff them back into my mouth. `Jeff, you moron', I thought loudly to myself.
"Oh, yeah? HA! Well, I trusted you to get us back into town without injury, so I'll trust on you the dress requirements for the Empire. Lu Barney, huh?"
"Yeah, Lu. You'll be fine, but I'll get a table close to the door. Keep your running shoes on, just in case she starts crawling toward you while frothing at the mouth."
"I don't think I have anything to worry about; she won't even notice me with you there, too."
WHAT THE FUCK??! Did he just sly me a compliment? Damn! I didn't know what to say, but I sure knew what color to change----and within microseconds, I was the most illuminating shade of Whorehouse Red ever imagined by Sherwin Williams. I looked at Marc Taylor and smiled a little, shook my head and pointed at a table. A table closer to the back of the café. You know. Where it's quiet. And not so bright. All of a sudden, I felt like I'M an owl, swooping down with talons extended to pick up some college professor and fly away with him. Of all the nights to wake up early, I chose the right one. Looks like Marc Taylor did, too.
I led Marc to the small table in back that I've never seen anyone else sit at. We parked in the chairs and looked down at the placemats, which were also the menus.
"Jeff, you're the local and I'm not, so I'm going to ask for a recommendation or two."
"Can't go wrong with an omelet and fried red potatoes. Four eggs in them, unless you want more. I like `The Rancher', myself. Bacon, ham and sausage, onions and mushrooms, lots of cheese."
"Damn! I can hear your teenaged arteries hardening from way over here."
"Yeah, I wouldn't eat that if I didn't have a lot of field work to get done today. The buttermilk and the sourdough pancakes are huge and really good."
We looked over the menu more, and Lu Barney whipped around the corner with two glasses of water and a pot of coffee.
"Okay, what're you guys gonna have? Oh, my......"
Lu finally saw Marc, and her reaction was pretty much what I thought it would be.
"Hi, Lu. Coffee for me, thanks. And I think today I'll go with...."
"You're new here. Just passing through town?" Lu was eyeing Marc all over and smiling so broadly, I was a little concerned that her uppers and lowers would fall out of her mouth.
".....The Rancher....."
"I'm Lu. What's your name, Handsome?"
"Ah-ha, I'm Marc. I'm here helping my grandparents move out of their house."
"......and an English muffin....."
"Who're your folks? I know everyone in this county. Been servin' `em for 40 years."
".....can I have some cream for the coffee, Lu?"
"Um, the Taylors."
"Oh, of course! Yeah, Naomi and I were in the store Saturday. She said she had a grandson coming to help with that. She didn't describe you as a knight in....well, whatever it is you're wearing.....but here you are, and it's kind of you to come help them. You two know each other?" Lu pointed her pencil back and forth between us.
"Not until about 30 minutes ago. I was out running and lost my direction. I guess I was headed toward Wyoming and beyond." Marc smiled at me, and I blushed and smiled back. Lu was undressing Marc with her eyes, top to bottom.
"On Jeff's recommendation, I'd like to try those buttermilk pancakes, and looks like huckleberries can go in them. I think that'll be all for me, Lu. I'll have to run to Wyoming after all, once I finish all that."
"You gonna have coffee, Marc?"
"Sure, why not? I'm on vacation. Go big or don't go, I guess!"
Lu winked at Marc as she filled our overturned coffee mugs, and turned to walk away.
"And Jeff, you're getting The Rancher with reds and an English muffin, with cream for your coffee."
"It's like you read my mind, Lu! Thanks!"
Marc and I smiled at each other and laughed. Finally could see him in full light, and yeah, I knew why Lu was so smitten. Marc was more fit than I could tell under a full moon and a dash light. Shorter than I am, but wider at the shoulders and with narrow hips. He looked like he took his gym membership seriously. I tried not to stare while giving him the once-over, but I think I got busted. Marc laughed quietly and shook his head. This wasn't the first time someone had come to the conclusions I just did.
He saved my embarrassed ass.
"So driving at five in the morning picking up strays is your part-time job?"
"HA! Um, no, not really. Just woke up way too early and decided to get my chores done and then go for a drive. The highway we were on is being replaced with a different route. That'll begin later this Fall. It'll cut out about five miles by going straight toward Roy, rather than this current route. This one catches snowdrifts in the Winter, and black ice always causes wrecks. I like the view during daylight, so why not see what it's like at night, before the new road goes in?"
"So. I'm guessing you liked the view......" Marc smiled just barely, but his eyes conveyed all that his lips hid from me.
"Uh, yeah......the view was.....is.....um nice. Really nice...geez...sorry....."
"Don't be. The Sun wasn't up, but I liked the scenery I ran across. Or up to."
We both blushed and made less subtle small talk while we waited for Lu to return with plates mounded high with calories. Ten minutes later, breakfast arrived, coffee refilled, and before Lu could flirt with Marc yet again, two more guys walked in. I recognized both of them. Rand Tuss and Rand Jr. Pig farmers about 30 minutes from our place. Good guys, and they go back as far as my family. They're Swiss, we're Polish. I nodded and smiled, and they returned it. More small talk, more bites of breakfast, and soon we were pushing cleaned plates away from us.
"Well, if you're ready, let's head out before it gets really crowded in here. I'll settle up with Lu at the door."
Marc smiled and we both stood to walk out. I pulled my wallet out and found a twenty. Lu was with a customer, so I folded up the bill and parked it on the cash register. She smiled and shouted thanks to us. I opened the door to walk out, with Marc following. After he stepped out but before the door could close, Lu let out a shrieking, loud wolf whistle. Marc turned to Lu and laughed along with everyone else in the Empire.
"And that was your `welcome to town' greeting. I'd say you shouldn't get used to it, but if all you're gonna wear while you're here is running gear, then maybe you should get used to it."
Marc laughed, and we got in my truck to take him to his folks' place.
When I saw their home, I knew it right away. Probably the only Mid-Century Modern house in town, surrounded by huge cottonwood and maple trees. They'd had it built in 1959, and it became the talk of the town---and not necessarily in a positive way. Anything in this town that defies custom and tradition is held as suspicious by most of the people here. The Taylors have always been highly respected, though; and when they opened their home for a public tour after it was built, suddenly the townsfolk learned that the lesson is true: Don't judge by outward appearances. Once the interior could be seen, people did their 180ºs and moved on to be suspicious of someone else, for whatever reason was convenient at the time.
The Sun was now above the horizon, and we'd have another pleasant July day. I parked on the street and turned the old truck's motor off. I looked at Marc, but wasn't smiling. I wasn't frowning, but I had to make sure I wasn't reading him incorrectly.
"Uh, look, Marc.....if I said anything I shouldn't have, and made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry about that. I'm not usually quite that.....forward, I guess?"
Marc looked at me, but he was smiling.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. Don't sweat it. I was following your lead, hoping it would go this way."
"Really? Oh. Wow. Didn't see that coming....."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't kidding when I said I like the scenery, Jeff. And the bonus of you being an intelligent and nice guy with a sense of humor? Total package, right there."
Marc put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed just a little, smiling more now.
"So, everything's okay, Jeff. It was a nice run, a nice ride back, and a nice breakfast. And it's really nice to meet you. Everything was really nice."
I don't know why, but I was already feeling a tiny bit sad that he had to go and I had to go. Still, I smiled genuinely and said I felt the same.
"I doubt anything like this will happen to me again, so I'm glad it did before I go off to college. Um, if I can ask, when are you going back?"
"I got here yesterday, and I suspect it'll take a week to help my folks go through everything and decide what they want to take with them, and what they want to auction off. Then have to get the house listed. I think at least ten days."
"The fair and rodeo start this Thursday. My parents and I will be in for it probably each day. That's as close as we get to a vacation every year, but it's always something we look forward to. So, have you been to a county fair? Or a rodeo?"
"No, actually. When my parents moved away from here, it was right to Seattle. Both my parents work for Boeing. I'm afraid I'm kind of a city mouse, but I admit the idea of a less-crowded fun time is appealing."
I decided to be bold. I reached for Marc's hand resting on his thigh, and put mine on top of it. My grandpa used to say, "You can't grow an acre of grain if you don't plant the first seed".
"Um, Marc, I'm coming in Thursday morning, really early again. I'm bringing my five year old steer to show. I was thinking.....if you'd be okay with it.....that maybe I'd pick you up on my way to the fairgrounds. Then we could, I don't know, get some coffee and talk or something....."
"So you'd show me your steer before anyone else gets to see him? Heck, yeah, I'd like that! What time are you thinking?"
Marc had moved his hand out from under mine and was now moving his fingers around on it. Goosebumps, shivers, and.....well, I'm 17. You can guess what else was happening.
"5:30? I can bring Sebastian to his stall no sooner than 6:00. I don't want to just dump him there and then leave. I'll stay with him for an hour, brush and feed him, and let him smell the place before the other animals that'll come in after that. It's animal psychology, too; with Sebastian there first, he'll establish dominance, and won't be nervous about the others. They'll be nervous about him. Once I think he's going to be calm, we can head out."
Marc moved his hand from atop mine and placed his palm on the side of my face. He looked just......really nice. I covered his hand with mine again, and held it in place while I turned my head into it, nuzzling his soft skin. Marc smiled even more.
"Jeff, this has been great. So, how about a little kiss, you know, for breakfast dessert?"
"Heh.....I don't kiss on the first date."
"This was a date?!"
"Of course it was. You got rescued on the highway before you could run all the way to the Panama Canal, and you got breakfast. How was this not a date?"
We both laughed, but I gave the palm of his hand the barest of kisses.
"There's your kiss. This time around. I'll make sure you get a better one Thursday. Unless Lu Barney gets to you first....."
Marc kept his smile going as he reached for the door handle. He stepped out of the truck, and I rolled down his window.
"I think that'll sustain me until Thursday, Cowboy. At least I hope it will. Thanks for a really good "Welcome To Fergus County" morning. See you Thursday, 5:30 AM."
"See you then, Marc. Please say `hi' to your grandparents for me. I think Mrs Taylor might remember me from the two classes I was in while she was teaching."
Marc nodded and waved as I started the truck up again. I drove away just as a light inside the house turned on. His day began early, but if he had much work to do on his first full day in town, he'd need the energy. I drove through town and got back on the highway for home. I think my face hurt from smiling by the time I went through our gate and pulled up to my parking space by the barn. I needed a nap, actually.
I didn't see was my mom's Expedition, which was next to my truck when I drove away this morning. I wondered where she would be going this early in the morning. Maybe one of the neighbors needed her for something. That woman was not known for saying "no" if anyone needed help. It's the way we all are in an agro community.
I got out, whistling as I walked toward the house. The chickens were already out of their coop, poking around for their own breakfasts. I hope at least one of them found a bug or a worm. They need some variety in their short lives. I got inside the house. The lights were on in the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, the bedroom. Lights everywhere, but parents nowhere. What was going on here? I raced around the house calling their names, but no answer. One of our greatest fears in this community was that the shooting massacres would find their way in our neck of the woods. I ran upstairs, back down, then into the basement. They weren't anywhere. I wound back up in the kitchen, looking around for the note I was hoping would be left for me. And there it was, underneath the magnets on the fridge:
AT THE HOSPITAL. DAD'S HAD A STROKE.