Hand Print On My Heart (part one)

[ranua]

It's second nature now to Steve, knowing how Christian feels. He tries not to think of it as the uneasy power that lives in him reaching out to his friend, preferring instead to put it down to spending so much time together that he's able to read Christian that well. It's never been his experience before, but he's never had a friend like Christian before either.

So he can feel a tangle of emotions from Christian as they pull up in the yard of a modest two story clapboard house. Worry and trepidation ripple over a low thrum of safety and belonging, the whole mess threaded through with a warm happiness that Steve has never felt before. It must be what coming home feels like he figures.

Two older women, who must be Christian's grandmothers appear on the wrap-around porch before Christian has even cut the engine. In the ensuing quiet the excited whoop of a young girl galloping around the corner of the house is heard. That must be his little sister Jenny.

'Home sweet home,' Christian grins at Steve. 'C'mon, don't wanna make the old ladies wait.'

Steve hangs back as Christian hops out of the van and opens up the side, grabbing their duffel bags and instrument cases. Nerves make him unsure of his welcome in spite of Christian's constant reassurance that he'll be more than welcome at the Kane homestead.

No sooner does Christian have their bags on the ground than he's set upon by the trio. He's swept into hugs by all three females and Steve can feel the surge of happy/sad/belonging that flushes through his friend. It only takes a moment for Christian to regain his composure though, becoming the cock-sure teen he projects to the world.

Stepping back from the hug Christian throws a grin Steve's way motioning him to come closer. 'Steve, c'mon, this is my Grandmére Marie, Me-maw Sarah, and little sister Jenny.' he introduces the women to the blonde, pointing to each in turn. 'Grandmére, Me-maw, this is Steve.'

Three sets of eyes turn his way and he's overwhelmed by their scrutiny. It's been months since he's had to deal with people he doesn't know. Feeling awkward and self-conscious he ducks his head, hiding his face, he'd forgotten all about his scars, but faced with the three most important women in Christian's life he's reminded anew of the lines that criss-cross his face.

A gnarled hand on his chin startles him into raising his eyes and he's met with a gaze as stunning blue as Christian's, yet far more knowing. 'They're the mark of a survivor boy, don't ever be ashamed.'

His tongue is as tangled as his mind and he can only nod in response to the soul piercing gaze. Thankfully the moment is broken by the lilting sing-song of Jenny chanting, 'Chris has a boyfriend. Chris has a boyfriend.'

'Shut-up you . . .' Christian sputters, giving chase across the yard. Jenny's shrieks of laughter cut through the air, not slowing her headlong run at all.

'Well, come on in boy, those two will be at it awhile yet.'

With a wry look at where Christian has disappeared around the barn, effectively abandoning him, Steve shoulders his bag and violin, following the two older women into the house.

He's not been in a lot of homes, but he's pretty sure this one is unusual. There are bunches of what he assumes are herbs hanging from the ceiling and a table in an alcove inside the front door holds several saints he recognizes from the orphanage along with statues of people and beings he's never seen before.

'Drop your bag there in the parlor child, and come on back to the kitchen. I'm sure you're starving.'

The parlor is just as eclectic as the hall with more trinkets and statues as well as shelves upon shelves of books. Looking around at the eclectic mix he remembers Christian telling him his Grandmére practiced voodoo and thinks that the strange idols and saints must be a part of that.

Following the sound of a slamming door and more of Jenny's shrieking laughter, Steve makes his way to the kitchen. The sight that greets him catches at his heart and he's never felt more like an outsider.

Christian is holding his sister upside down by the ankles and she's giggling and choking with laughter as she beats on his shins. Christian's Grandmére Marie is at the stove doing something to the pots on the top while his Me-maw Sarah calmly shells peas at the table. He's never witnessed a more domestic scene of family love and the aching longing that overcomes him leaves him paralyzed in the doorway.

'Steve!' Christian crows at the sight of him, flipping his sister over and dropping her to her feet. 'There you are!'

'Yes, there he is child,' Grandmére scolds from her spot at the stove. 'Your antics haven't scared him off. Now, get the two of you up to your room to stow your things and wash up for supper.'

'Yes ma'am,' Christian grins, kissing both old women on the cheek and gathering Steve up in a whirlwind of laughter.

'My bag is in the front parlor,' Steve offers.

'I think mine is still by the van.'

They tromp back out to the van so Christian can pick up his duffel and guitar case from where he dropped them at Jenny's taunting. 'It's not that bad is it?' Christian asks out of the blue, voice wavering a little with trepidation.

'What?' The question startles Steve, he'd been lost in his own head, moving along in Christian's wake as though he were on a string. 'What's not that bad?'

'Being here.' Christian replies. 'It's not so horrible is it? You look scared out of your mind.'

'What! No! I'm not scared! Why would you think that?' And he's not scared, a bit overwhelmed maybe, but there's no fear.

'Well, you sure as heck don't look happy to be here.' Christian runs an agitated hand through his hair.

Steve turns a baffled look on Christian, not happy to be here? Of course he's happy to be here. For Christian to like him enough to bring him home to meet his family made him beyond happy. It's a lot to take in is all, he doesn't know how to act around family and he's never been very outgoing anyway. It takes him time to get used to new people, didn't Christian remember that from Richardson?

Then it hits him, Christian hasn't been nervous over whether or not his family will like Steve but rather whether or not Steve will like his family. He drops his defensive posture and smiles a small smile at his friend. 'No, no, I'm fine. Just a little much ya know? All the noise and stuff,' Steve waves a hand, encompassing the house and people. 'Just need a minuet to catch my breath I guess.' He throws a little grin Christian's way trying to reassure the brunette. He couldn't have the other boy worrying about him when he should be enjoying being home.

Christian grins back in relief, frustration gone and forgotten. 'Don't I know it! C'mon, if we're late for dinner Jenny will never let me hear the end of it.'

Back they go across the yard and into the house, stopping to grab Steve's bags from the parlor before they continue up the stairs, Christian explaining as they go. 'Grandmére has the room across from the parlor -she's not so good with stairs, but Me-maw's room is the first one here,' he points to a door at the top of the stairs, 'no way to sneak down the front stairs at night! Jenny's is the next,' he points to a purple and yellow painted door across from the first.

'You sure that pretty door ain't your room?' Steve teases, getting an elbow in the gut for his trouble.

'Shut-up!' Christian laughs, pushing open a crimson door, revealing a room as neat as a pin. 'There's plenty of room for a sleeping bag on the floor, or we can take turns with the bed . . .'

As Christian's babble trails off Steve turns from his inspection of the room to see his friend blushing furiously. At the blondes raised eyebrow the flow of words continues.

'I know Jenny can be annoying, but she'll be at school and Me-maw and Grandmére will be busy so it's not like they'll be around all the time. . . ' he trails off again.

'It's fine, man.' Steve tries to project reassurance with his voice and maybe a little with his power. He doesn't know what's stressing Christian out so badly, but he doesn't like seeing his friend in such distress.

Christian takes a deep breath, regaining some composure, 'Yeah, yeah, yer right, it's fine. It's just been a long day. C'mon, you're gonna love Grandmére's cooking.'

The sense of family and belonging Steve feels all through dinner is both wonderful and unsettling. Christian's grandmothers and sister welcome him into the family readily and the feeling of being a part of something is heady. He was only eight when mamma and poppy died and he hasn't felt that sense of belonging since.

The household is unlike anything he's ever seen, either in real life or on tv and it takes some getting used to. Christian's Grandmére Marie seems to be in charge throughout dinner and her every command is carried out with nary a peep by Christian or Jenny. Me-maw Sarah on the other hand appears to be very easy going, taking no offense at the other woman's tone. Then there's Jenny. Steve doesn't know how little sisters are supposed to act, but she does remind him of the younger, more boisterous kids at the orphanage and he knows how to deal with them.

It's not just the people though, the house itself is different from any other home he's been in with the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling and the little statues scattered about. He feels out of his depth and keeps a close eye on Christian to make sure he's not making any missteps in his behavior.

When Christian announces with pride part way through dinner that he knew they'd love Steve because he'd seen it in a vision, Steve cringes, waiting for the reprimand. He'd been surprised when all that happened was Grandmére Marie scolding, 'What did I tell you about trusting visions? Never take what you see literally.' and Me-maw Sarah giving them both a knowing smile.




Jensen mopes around the house with what has become something of a permanent frown drawing down his features. His momma sighs and ignores him as he wanders through the house, getting under foot. After the hundredth 'I'm fine' she's given up trying to discover what has him behaving so out of character. She hopes out loud that whatever is eating at him passes as easily as his older brother's teenage angst.

He only frowns deeper at her words, he's sure Jeff never had the sorts of problems he faces. Hell, Jeff is the perfect son and Jensen knows in his heart he is far from that. Otherwise he wouldn't be so out of sorts since those two drifter musicians, Christian and Steve, left town. He hadn't liked the way they'd made him feel guilty when they'd been here and he certainly didn't like the feeling he'd missed out on something since they'd left.

It doesn't help it's his last year of high school and his Daddy's been pressuring him about what his plans for college are. Where he's thinking of going and how does he expect to pay for it if he doesn't get a sports scholarship like his brother. He certainly isn't gonna go to State with Josh and spend weekends at home with the same people he went to high school with. No, college is going to be his big escape and if his daddy thinks money is gonna stop him he's got another think coming.

Jensen hasn't blown every two-bit rough-neck and construction worker in the area only because he likes it. He's saving up every ten and twenty and he is getting the hell away from this town. Hell, getting the hell outta Texas and its backward, bible-thumping, queer-bashing cowboys. Maybe make it to California or New York. Some place fucking enlightened where he can be himself. Where no one knows him as the preachers kid or Josh Ackles little brother.

*&*&*&*
'Mr. Carmichael called me today,' Alan Ackles stated pleasantly over dinner one night a week into the school year. 'He was surprised to see you wouldn't be singing in the choir this year.'

Jensen shifts a little uncomfortably. He did feel kinda bad about leaving the choir. He was supposed to be a section leader this year but it was too much work. 'Yeah,' Jensen mumbles, 'it's not gonna fit this year.'

'But you love singing, honey,' his mother cut in, the warm concern coloring her words would have had him rushing to reassure her that everything was fine just months ago but now he could only shrug as he pushed his food around his plate.

'Now Donna,' Alan said, 'there's nothing wrong with focusing on his studies. It is his last year after all and it's important he have good marks.'

'You know they look at extra-curricular just as much as grades and if he's not a well-rounded prospect he may not get into his school of choice,' his momma counters.

Jensen keeps his head down and lets his parents words wash around him. Let them argue out his future he thinks, what they think he ought to do doesn't matter to him after all. He has his plan and even though it's all felt a bit harder to pull off lately, he knows what he wants out of life and he's going to get it.

*&*&*&*

The things he used to enjoy, choir and art, no longer hold any allure, and just getting up and getting to school every day feels like battling up Everest. He still goes out to the honky tonk on Friday and Saturday nights, but even that feels empty. It's only the thought that he'll need the money to escape that has him flashing a smirk he barely feels at men he couldn't care less about.

Watching with disinterest one night as a drug deal goes down in the alley he thinks maybe getting high would make it easier, or more fun. He's never done drugs so he really doesn't know what they're like. Oh, he'll knock back beer and down shots all night but he has never even touched marijuana. You can't miss the kids who do though, hanging around out in the school parking lot during lunch and between classes. Jensen has always felt a bit of contempt for them truth be told, wasting their lives, dirty and aimless.

It's not till he's sitting outside the guidance counselors office with one of the hippie kids, waiting to be told he's not applying himself enough if he expects to get the grades that will get him into a good college, that he thinks maybe the hippie kids have the right idea -get the people around you to not expect anything of you and you don't have to do anything for the people around you.

'Dude,' the hippie boy slouched in the chair next to him nudges him with a shoulder, 'you look like you could use this more than me.'

Jensen gives him a befuddled look, what the hell is he talking about? Then he notices the hand the other boy is holding low between their bodies. To his own surprise he reaches down and takes the joint on offer.

'Marcus Reilly,' the secretary calls.

'That's me,' the hippie stoner grins, jumping to his feet with a flourish.

Jensen finds his voice before the other boy has gone more than a couple steps, 'thanks man.'

Shooting a grin over his shoulder on his way through the door Marcus replies, 'anytime.'

At dinner that night Jensen is on tenser-hooks waiting for his step-daddy to bring up him being pulled into the counselor's office this afternoon. He's dead sure that there was a call home, so he's not sure what to think when dinner passes quietly with only the usual small talk about everyone's day.

'Jensen honey, why don't you help me clean up in the kitchen. Mackenzie could use the break.'

He's surprised by his momma's command, but gamely clears the table, carrying the dishes to the kitchen in her wake.

They don't exchange many words and Jensen finds it soothing, standing next to his momma at the sink, quietly drying the dishes and stacking them away. It's not till they're half-way through and his momma pauses in her work, taking a deep breath, before resuming scrubbing the pans that he thinks there might be something going on.

'There was a phone call from the school this afternoon.'

His stomach drops at her words. She sounds so sad and confused he immediately feels guilty. 'Momma . . .,' he says quietly, not sure what else to say.

'You've been so distant and sad lately, Jenny baby. I don't know what to do. I don't know what happened to my smiling little boy who sang all the time and was always so happy.' She doesn't look up from the sink as she speaks. 'Lord knows I know little boys grow up, look at Josh, but I don't know when you changed from my happy boy to this sullen young man.'

'Momma, I . . .' he tries again.

'No,' she shakes her head, 'I don't need you to make excuses or tell me stories. I just worry and I want you to know that. I won't tell your daddy that your grades are slipping, but you need to do something about it because next time he might be home to take that call.'

'Yes ma'am,' he whispers, guilt at the sadness in his mommas voice eating at him.

Pulling the last pot from the sink she hands it over to be rinsed and dried, lifting Jensen's chin to make eye contact. 'I love you dearly no matter if you're my happy little boy or this new angry young man, never forget that.' Gently she kisses him on the forehead, 'Now, finish up in here and do your homework.'

He can only nod around the tightness in his chest and do as she tells him.

Later, after he's sure he's heard the last noises from his parents and sister he slips out his window to the roof. He doesn't have a lighter so he's scrounged a couple of kitchen matches and fumbles the first trying to light the joint. He feels stupid and angry and useless and with a sharp snap he gets the second match lit and inhales hard on the thin joint, coughing and wheezing, but he gets it lit.

It only takes a couple of drags to get the hang of inhaling and holding. He is, after all, a skilled cocksucker, a damn joint shouldn't be that hard. He starts to feel tingling and light as soon as he figures out how to not choke on the smoke.

The high is great, a floaty feeling suffuses his mind and body. The world gets mellower and his problems don't seem to matter so much. The stars are bright, the breeze is cool and all the world is beautiful. It convinces him that maybe those stoner and hippie kids really do have the right idea.

The best part though comes in the morning, when there's none of the hangover he would of had if he'd drank enough beer to achieve that floaty feeling.

Back at school the daily grind of the same old small town, small mind bullshit gets to him, it never lets up, day after day. He wishes he could go out and get drunk more often because God knows he doesn't want to be in his own head anymore. He thinks about the joint Marcus gave him nearly constantly; it was portable and he didn't have to worry about getting caught sneaking in or out after curfew, smoking weed was starting to look like the perfect option.

It only takes a couple of questions to find out when Marcus's particular group of stoners and hippies will be out on the quad. As he approaches the group it's painfully obvious he doesn't fit in with the crowd slouched around the picnic tables. From his tidy haircut to his preppy clothes he's the antithesis of everything these hippies and stoners are.

He gets suspicious looks and one of the girls, -he thinks it's a girl, it's hard to tell around the long hair and shapeless baggy clothes- catcalls him. 'Look out, it's the pretty boy preacher's son! Sure it's okay with your daddy for you to be out here? Better be careful or you'll get a reputation!' all the others snicker and laugh at the comments.

It's one thing to have the strut and attitude at the honky tonk, but these kids have known him all his life. Pegged him and categorized him and found him lacking years ago. Hunching in on himself, he pulls his dignity around him like armor and ignores their jibes. He spies the kid from the counselor's office and heads his way, dodging around a foot stuck out to trip him and weaving with the shove to the left he gets from one of the big guys.

'Hey, uh, Marcus,' he hates himself for his stutter. 'You, uh, got any more of that stuff you gave me the, uh, other day?'

Marcus runs a shrewd eye over him and Jensen feels like Marcus is looking right through him. 'Liked that did ya?' Marcus drawls with a grin.

Rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort Jensen nods. 'Yeah, I did. Uh, I'd really like to try it again?' he's annoyed with himself that it comes out sounding like a question. He can deal with the biggest, nastiest rough necks at the honky tonk, but he can't talk to a hippie.

'Sure,' Marcus answers, 'but it'll cost ya man. Gotta buy it myself ya know, replace what I gave you.'

'Oh yeah,' Jensen fumbles with his wallet, hating himself a little more. He knows how this works, he's seen enough drug deals go down in back alleys. He doesn't know why he would of thought this was any different. 'Can, uh, I get ah, three joints?'

'Yeah, man, no sweat. Ten bucks.' Marcus grins that shrewd grin again. 'New customer and all I can cut you a deal this time.'

Jensen flushes hearing those words. He's said nearly the same thing to guys in the back alley. 'Th-th-thanks,' he stutters harder.

A couple of the kids laugh at his stutter and deepening blush and it makes him flush harder. Straightening he grabs tight to the attitude that he only inhabits Saturday nights. Clearing his throat he tries again. 'Thanks man. I'll see ya.'

The second time getting high is just as good as the first. He floats out in a haze of not giving a damn. It's easy to ignore how much he's come to hate his life when he's high. He's not trapped or feeling smothered when he's high.

'Jensen,' his mother's voice stops him on his way out the door the next morning, 'I didn't want to say anything where your daddy might hear, but you're not smoking cigarettes are you?'

Her soft concern undoes him and he can't lie to her. He wishes he were still her happy boy. 'No Momma, I'm not smoking cigarettes.'

'I thought I smelled burning from your room last night. You know how your daddy feels about smoking.'

'I know Momma, it was just a chemistry assignment got a little out of hand. I'm sorry.'

'Well,' she smiles and he knows she's happy to think he's doing his school work, 'be more careful and use the kitchen for those questionable assignments.'

'Yes ma'am' He kisses her cheek and makes his escape. He loves his momma something fierce but she doesn't even pretend to understand him anymore.




'It's not fair!' Jenny wails. 'I don't want to go!'

Grandmére waves her wooden spoon Jenny's direction, 'Mind your tone young lady.'

'It's not up for debate child,' Me-maw adds from her spot at the other end of the kitchen, 'you will go to school.'

'But Christian and Steve aren't going,' the young girl pouts.

'I don't' suppose there's much school could teach either of those boys.' Me-maw chuckles.

The two boys in question wince in unison, keeping their heads ducked to their plates, the last thing either wants is to get in the middle of an argument between the women of the house.

'You on the other hand young lady,' Grandmére continues, 'have a reputation to uphold. No daughter of this family is going to be uneducated.'

'But momma don't . . .'

'Your mother may be off following your daddy form hither to yon, but she went to finishing school all the same.'

'And don't you be thinking they'll be lazing around. There's more than enough work for the two of them around the farm.'

Christian quietly moans at his Me-maw's pronouncement, causing Steve to shoot him a concerned look. Christian shakes his head and mouths 'later'.

'Yes ma'am,' Jenny sighs.

'You can start on the barn right after breakfast then if you're so set on moaning about it Christian. This ain't no vacation home and you know it.'

'Yes ma'am,' Christian's sigh in an unconscious imitation of his sister causes Steve to smile at his plate.

It doesn't take long to finish breakfast and clean up. With Jenny headed off to catch her bus, Christian leads Steve out to the barn. Steve's never dealt with any kind of farm animal before and tells Christian so on their way across the yard.

'It's not hard or anything, really,' the brunette tells him. 'Just treat 'em gentle but firm and don't be scared. Animals really can tell when you're nervous around 'em and it makes them nervous and fidgety and hard to handle.'

'I suppose that don't sound too hard.' Steve's still not very sure about it, though Christian makes it sound easy.

'There's only the two milk cows -Me-maw likely milked them this morning- and we have three horses so that's only three stalls and one large box to muck out and we can turn the animals out in the paddock while we do it.'

Steve just nods along with Christian's instructions, he's not familiar with half the terms the other boy is using but trusts Christian won't let him do anything too foolish.

The barn is dim and quiet in the early morning air. Christian pushes open the large doors on the back of the barn, flooding the interior with the golden light of sunrise. The heads of three horses bob over half doors along one side of the wide center aisle as they wicker and snuffle at the intrusion.

'Hey there babies,' Christian croons, scratching behind ears and letting them nuzzle and shove at him one after the other as he moves down the row, greeting each horse with softly murmured words. Steve marvels at the other boy's behavior. Clearly animals, horses at least, are very dear to his friend.

A sudden, loud bellow from one of the cows on the other side of the barn nearly sends Steve out of his skin. He had no idea cows could make a noise like that. It was a far cry from the gentle moo portrayed in children's books!

'Your face!' Christian laughs. 'You screamed like a girl!'

'I did not!' He can feel the heat of embarrassment spread across his face and his heart is beating like he'd run a mile, but he's sure he didn't scream. Especially not like a girl.

'You did buddy, I heard you. Hell, I'd bet Me-maw and Grandmére heard you.' The grin on Christian's face is so wide Steve's surprised he can talk around it, the jerk.

'Shut up,' Steve mutters.

Christian only laughs more.

'Show me what we're supposed to be doing,' the blonde grumbles at his friend.

It turns out Christian is right, and mucking out stalls is easy, if heavy, work. They lead the three horses one at a time out to fenced enclosure by the barn, the paddock Steve assumes. The blonde even manages clipping the lead on the last horse's halter himself and walks the calm bay out on his own, Christian smiling at him from the side.

The two cows shoulder out the side door of their box even before Christian has it opened all the way making a beeline for the bottom of the pasture. 'Aren't they going to get lost?' Steve asks. The horses are in a smaller enclosure nearer the barn, but the pasture the cows are in is a large fenced area dotted with trees.

'Nah,' Christian replies, 'they'll wander back later when they're wanting to be milked.'

Two of them they make short work of mucking out the stalls and are just finishing replacing the bedding when Me-maw Sarah appears in the center aisle. 'Very nicely done boys. When you finish up in here I need you both in the garden to help me carry in the last of the tomatoes.'

'Not weeding,' Christian groans in despair.

Giving a light smack to the back of his head Me-maw Sarah grins. 'Now, who said anything about weeding? I need some strong backs to carry bushel baskets.'

'I don't know, after all this we might be too tired to carry a thing,' Christian grins back at his Me-maw Sarah. The easy back and forth makes Steve smile. If this is the way his friend grew up, with easy, happy banter, it's no wonder the other boy was so quick to befriend him.

With good natured moaning and groaning Christian and Steve carry in the bushel baskets of tomatoes. On their last trip out of the cellar they're met by Grandmére Marie at the top of the steps. 'Since you'll be driving that eyesore of a van all over creation you'd best head into town and stop at the feed store to pick up our regular order along with a salt block and twine and tell Mr. Oldstrom we'll be wanting to cut hay next week.'

Thrilled with the thought of freedom, Christian barely waits for Grandmére Marie to hand over the money before he's out the door Steve in tow. 'C'mon, let's get out of here before they find something else we need to do.'

Steve can only laugh quietly at his friend's over-reaction. He can tell Christian is pleased to be home, chores and all.

They don't talk on the drive to town, Johnny Cash's Silver is turned up loud enough to drown out any conversation if they'd try. They both belt out the words to Cocaine Blues at the top of their lungs laughing and cackling all the way.

The drive into town takes most of the album. Picken is hardly more than a dot on the map Steve is sure. They drive past a scattering of houses before they reach what must be the town proper. He can see from one end of the main street to the other, two rows of businesses facing each other across the widened street bracketed at either end by church steeples.

The feed store is at the other end of town and as they drive down main street he picks out the post office and barber shop easily enough and what must be a grocery store, bar and bank, but there are several shop fronts that aren't as obvious and he can't tell what they may be.

At the feed store Christian's second hand hippie van sticks out like a sore thumb in the dirt lot full of dusty old pick-up trucks.

'Is Mr. Oldstrom going to do the haying for your grandmothers?' Steve asks.

'Naw,' Christian answers, 'Mr. Oldstrom keeps track of the hayer. I gotta find out if it's free next week and arrange to get it out to the farm.'

'So, you have to rent the hayer?'

Naw, farm equipment is expensive is all, so a bunch of farms will go in together to buy and maintain a piece and then share it around on a schedule. Saves lots of money.'

Steve nods understanding, the arrangement makes plenty of sense to him.

Nervous of the new place and people, he stays behind Christian as they enter the feed store. It's like a scene right out of a movie inside, there's a couple of old, weather-worn farmers playing checkers in the corner and several more leaning against the counter, coffee cups in hand, listening to the man behind it tell some story using big gestures and waving arms.

'Well, I'll be, Christian Kane,' drawls one of the checker players in the corner. 'Thought for sure you were shut of this town for good when you took off this spring.'

'No sir, Mr. Wright. Just wanted to take a look at the country.' Christian replies, deference and respect thick in his voice.

'Humph, pegged you for taking after your daddy and momma boy. Off gallivanting around the country like some worthless gypsy, leaving your family behind to fend for themselves.' the old man's voice is snide and mean.

Steve can see Christian clenching his fists, but his friend's voice is still respectful as he talks to the old farmer. 'No sir, I wouldn't do that.'

'Christian,' calls the man behind the counter, breaking the tension that's beginning to crackle between the brunette and the old farmer, 'what brings you into town today?' Deprived of a show, the other occupants of the store go back to their own business.

Christian turns toward the counter, tense shoulders and balled fists relaxing, 'Me-maw sent me up to pick-up her regular order plus a salt block and some baling twine and to arrange for the hayer to come out next week if it's free.'

'Sure, sure,' the man replies. 'No one else is bringing in any hay right now so the hayer is free. Just come get the keys when you're ready.' As the man speaks, Mr. Oldstrom Steve assumes since that's who Me-maw had sent them to talk with, he puts together a box with what looks to Steve like a large whitish rock and a large ball of twine.

Christian fills out some paper work and hands over the money for the order, grabbing the box under one arm. 'Thanks lots Mr. Oldstrom, I'll be in next Monday to pick up the keys. It should only take a day or two to cut the fields.'

'Sure, sure,' Mr. Oldstrom nods with a smile, 'give your grandmothers my regards.'

'Yes, sir,' Christian returns the mans nod and smile as he and Steve leave.

Barely clear of the door, Christian angrily spits on the ground. 'Lousy bastard,' he growls.

Steve turns to him shocked. The anger in Christian's voice takes him by surprise, he'd had no idea his friend was that upset in the feed store.

'That damn Angus Wright,' Christian explains, angrily shoving the box of supplies into the van, 'always bad mouthing momma and daddy and implying we're no good cos they're off working the oil fields.'

The brunette stomps off a couple of steps before giving a full body shake and turning to Steve with a smile. 'Forget that asshole, c'mon, I wanna show you the music store. Introduce you to Grandfather.'

'Grandfather?' Steve asks, this is the first he's heard of a grandfather.

'He's not really my grandfather,' Christian answers as they walk down the main street. 'That's just what Jenny and me have always called him. Though I think he is related to Me-maw somehow,' Christian shrugs. 'Everybody's related to each other one way or another in a town this small. Even if you're not blood, you call your elders Aunt and Uncle or Grandmother and Grandfather.'

Steve boggles at the explanation. He can't imagine being related to an entire town. The only family he'd had were his parents, certainly no tangled extended family like Christian was describing.

The tinkle of a bell announces them as they push open a shop door and a soft voice calls out, 'Welcome to Gladstones, I'll be right there!'

'No rush Mary Jane,' Christian calls in return.

'Christian Kane! You came back!' A short plump blonde bustles from around a curtain behind the counter at the back of the shop. 'Look at you boy! You've grown. And not just your hair! Grandfather will be pleased.'

She hugs him and pets him, holding him at arm's length to scrutinize him head to toe before drawing him in for another tight hug.

Steve watches with amusement as Christian lets the smaller woman manhandle him with a smile and a laugh. 'You're carrying on like an old Auntie, Mary Jane. I told you I'd be back.'

'Oh, you,' she smacks his shoulder, stepping back from her fluttering. 'So then Trouble, who's your friend?'

Flashing Steve a grin he pulls the blond forward. 'This here is Steve Carlson, best damn fiddle player I've ever heard.'

Steve can feel the blush light his ears on fire as he ducks his head. 'Christian,' he hisses in embarrassment.

'Well, it's true,' is the stubborn brunettes reply.

Mary Jane ignores the by-play and Steve's discomfort, holding out her hand to shake with a 'Pleasure to meet you Steve, I hope I get to hear you play.'

Steve returns the handshake, swallowing his shyness and discomfort. 'Pleased to meet you as well ma'am'

'Where's Grandfather?' Christian asks.

'He said there was too much to get done around the house this morning. Told me I'd have to open the shop myself today.' Mary Jane laughs again, 'If you ask me, the too much to get done is down by the fishing hole.'

Christian laughs along with her and Steve smiles his small smile. 'I really did want him to meet Steve.'

'If you go out to the house this afternoon, I'm sure he'll be around,' Mary Jane offers.

'Guess that's what we'll do then. Hopefully Me-maw won't have more chores lined up by the time we get home.' Christian sighs and Mary Jane laughs at his crestfallen face.

'Oh, you poor things,' she pats them both on the shoulder. 'Now, what kind of strings do you use Steve? I already know Christian's preferred brand.'

'Ah, Obbligato, ma'am,'

She bustles around collecting packages of strings and a sheaf of sheet music. 'Here's the piano pieces Jenny needs to practice, she forgot them after her last lesson, totally on accident I'm sure, and new strings for you boys.'

She presses the package into Christian's hands, 'No, no,' she waves away his attempt to pay. 'Your money is no good today. Take it as a welcome home gift.' She presses a quick kiss to Christian's cheek and surprises Steve by including him in the gesture causing his face to flame in a new blush.

'Now, you boys best be getting home if you want to finish whatever new horrors Me-maw Sarah has worked up for you.'

With a laugh and promises they'll be back with their instruments, they leave the store.

Of course, when they get back, there is work in the garden waiting for them and Christian moans that it's like being back at Father Morgan's and if he wanted to spend his days pulling weeds and walking beans he'd have stayed in Arizona.

'You'd think weeding was invented just to torment you the way you carry on boy.'

Steve smiles at the by-play between Christian and his Me-maw It carries them through several more chores and it's with relief Steve sits down to a late lunch. He can't remember ever having worked so hard. Just thinking of the number of little repairs and heavy lifting he and Christian had spent the mid-day doing around the farm made him ache.

Catching the look on Steve's face Christian reassures his friend, 'It's not always like this. Me-maw and Grandmére can't do everything and it adds up. You should see when Daddy and Momma come home,' Christian grins, 'they're set to work like you wouldn't believe.

It's late afternoon by the time they've done enough work Me-maw lets them leave. They walk in the warmth of the Indian Summer sun. Grandfather's house isn't too far by foot if they cut through the woods, and Christian tells Steve he misses the woods. 'There's nothing like the peace and quiet,' he tells his friend.

'I spent a lot of time in these woods,' Christian says as they traipse through the autumn afternoon. 'Sometimes there are just too damn many women in that house!'

Steve can't help but laugh at the depth of feeling Christian puts into the words. He's felt it himself over the last couple of days. At the orphanage he'd shared a dorm with all boys and only saw the girls at classes and meals. After he'd run away there'd been Maryanne, but they'd fallen in with the orchard workers pretty quick and it had been segregated by sex in their camp too. So he can totally empathize with his friend's complaint of too many women.

The trip through the woods is a new experience for Steve. The closest he's ever come to nature like this is when he and Maryanne picked in the orchards, and that was nothing like the wildness amongst the trees here in rural Oklahoma.

'Have you ever gotten lost out here?' he can't help the little tremor of fear in his voice. The thought of never finding his way back to Christian's house is very scary. He's seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre thank you very much.

'Naw,' Christian says. 'Me-maw's been dragging me along to collect plants with her since I could walk. I grew up out here.'

And Steve notices that Christian does have an assurance about him; the brunette knows exactly where he's going and how to get there.

Their conversation trails off leaving just the sound of leaves and twigs crunching under their feet and the wind in the trees. A sense of peace descends and Steve feels what he can only think of as his brain relaxing. The feeling reminds him of those weeks when it was just the two of them on the road.

The rest of the walk is made in silence, both boys lost in their own heads.

It's not long till they break from a thicket behind a tidy looking house with a huge garden to one side and a chicken coop to the other, a large dog sprawled in the shade between them and the house.

'Dee-ohh-gee!' Christian calls out happily as they walk up. The dog shakes itself upright with a woof and trots over to them at the sound of Christian's voice. Steve steps back, alarmed to see he had totally underestimated the size of the dog; its head easily comes up to his hip.

Christian laughs as the huge animal butts him in the stomach, 'Aren't you a vicious guard dog,' he smiles, scratching behind its ears and rubbing the big dog's head. Looking over at Steve he sees the trepidation on his friend's face and the way he's backed up a few steps. 'Hey, it's alright, Dee-ohh-gee is totally harmless. Isn't that right you big scary dog you?'

'Lazy dog you mean,' an older man calls from the back porch. 'C'mon boy, don't just stand out there petting my dog, come pay your respects to an old man.'

'Grandfather,' warmth and love color Christian's voice as he trots up the porch steps, Steve and the dog following on his heels.

The two share a tight hug and Christian hadn't realized how much he'd missed the old man until this very instant. 'I missed you Grandfather,' he whispers into the man's neck, holding tighter for a moment.

'Ahh, Christian . . .,' the old man hugs tightly in return before loosening his grip, holding the young man out at arm's length. 'Let me look at you boy. It don't look as though the outside world has been too harsh on you.' He claps Christian on the back with a grin.

'Now then, who's this?' he asks, turning toward Steve who's lingering at the bottom of the steps, unwilling to intrude on the obviously private moment.

Christian reaches out to him, pulling the blonde to his side. 'This is Steve, Grandfather,' pride and happiness are evident in his voice and Steve relaxes under the wash of emotion.

'Steve, eh,' the old man looks him over with a shrewd eye and Steve feels uncomfortably examined. 'Well, then, you boys come on inside and thrill an old man with your tales of adventure. Heard you been up to the feed store. Them busy-bodies give you trouble? I swear, they gossip worsen a gaggle of old women.'

'Same as always,' Christian grimaces.

'Now boy, don't you be taking them old sticks seriously. They're stuck in the last century and not even in the fun bits,' the old man laughs.

They settle into a warmly lit kitchen with icy cold bottles of Coke and Christian regales them both with their adventures. Even Steve, who was there, finds Christian's storytelling amusing if not wholly accurate and laughingly interrupts when Christian's descriptions start to defy description. The afternoon turns to evening in easy, comfortable companionship.

It's full dark by the time they get ready to leave and Grandfather insists that he drive them back to the farm. As the teens head out to get the older man's truck out of its shed, Grandfather pulls Steve aside shooing Christian out the door at his questioning look, 'Just need a word, boy, no cause to worry.

'You're leaking emotion all over the place son,' Grandfather gives Steve a stern look.

Not knowing what the old man means Steve can only look at him blankly. Grandfather returns the look with a searching gaze that Steve is sure lays him bare. 'You have no idea do you? Lands sake son! Who the hell let you walk around like this?'

'No one lets me do anything,' Steve can't help the annoyance in his voice. Does everyone know that he's not normal and have some sort of opinion on it?

'Prime target for any two bit soul sucker,' the old man grumbles, 'and you've gone and imprinted on Christian.'

At the mention of his friends name his annoyance disappears replaced with apprehension, 'What about Christian? What do you mean imprinted? Am I hurting him?'

'No, no, boy,' Grandfather reassures him, 'you're not hurting him. You've just attached yourself too him. It's not a bad thing boy, just maybe could be awkward.'

Steve snorts at that, awkward is one word to describe the feelings he has for his friend. He can't help but wonder, if the power that lives inside of him has reached out and attached itself to Christian, what else has it done without his knowledge? The thought gives him a chill down his back and his sudden fear must show on his face because Grandfather steps in closer, laying his hands on Steve's shoulders, anchoring him in place.

'It's nothing to be scared of son,' the old man says kindly. 'Just looks like you put your center on him instead of in you.'

Steve sort of knows what the old man is talking about. The old musicians he'd played with and learned from at the gypsy camp last winter had talked about centering yourself to be able to play from a place of stillness. He'd tried to do as they'd taught him but it had been difficult, that is until he'd met Christian. When he'd played for his friend out there in the dark on Route 66 he'd felt a snap of connection and he'd reached the place of stillness the old gypsies had talked about.

'Is that bad?' he asks. The last thing he wants to do is cause problems for Christian.

'I don't think so,' the old man replies slowly, gaze still searching Steve like he can see inside the young man to the connection he's talking about. 'You need to protect it though, that I do know boy. Now, close your eyes and look inside.'

Steve feels a bit silly, but he does what the old man says, not sure what he's supposed to be looking for or even how to do as Grandfather asks. The only thing he feels in his head is the place where the strange thing lives. He's never paid it much attention except to keep it pushed down, but now, with Grandfather's hands on his shoulders holding him down, he doesn't feel quite as scared of it. There, around the edge, he's surprised to find it feels like Christian.

He hears Grandfather chuckle at his involuntary gasp. 'That would be it then. Now, imagine it hidden, covered with leaves and trees and dirt so not a soul can see it.'

With a frown of concentration he does as he's told, imagining a veritable forest in his mind, from the giant redwoods of Northern California that always remind him of his parents to the flat scrub of Texas to the mixed tress and underbrush here around Christian's home.

'Amazing,' he hears Grandfather say. 'If I didn't know better I'd think there wasn't a thing in your head boy. You have certainly got the touch.'

Steve feels drained and it's difficult to open his eyes, he's sure he could sleep a month right now if given the chance. 'It's safe, Christian is safe?' he asks.

'He's safe, son, you done good there, but you're still leaking emotion all over the place.'

Steve shakes his head, he still doesn't understand what Grandfather means by that.

'You're broadcasting your feelings all over the place boy. Any nasty little thing with a touch of sensitivity is gonna feel you and come looking and that is not good.'

'How do I make it stop?' Steve asks. Grandfather's tone is dire and Steve has no desire to find out what kind of things are out there. Christian has told him stories passed down to him from his grandmothers and Steve would rather it all stays stories.

'You can't make it stop boy, it's a part of you. All you can do is learn how to let it out on your terms.'

Grandfather's words pull forward the memory of the old gypsy woman asking him not to play such mournful music as it made the sensitive children cry in their sleep and he realizes he knows how to broadcast on his own terms. 'I-I think I can do that,' he mumbles looking to the floor. Exhaustion weighs him down and his thoughts spin with the implications of the things Grandfather has said.

on to part two