Hello you wonderful people!! Welcome to a chapter where the guys get to unwind a little. After all they've been through on this trip, they deserve a bit of a break. They also get to spend some quality time with Andy. Poor kid, he needs a break too.
I hope you enjoy this installment! Drop me a line if you want. I'd be happy to hear from you.
If you're younger than 18 or find these kinds of stories offensive, please close up now and have a great day! If you are of legal age and are interested, by all means keep going. I'll be glad to have you along for the journey. Please donate to Nifty. This is a great resource for great stories and a useful outlet to authors like me and readers like you.
Crown Vic to a Parallel World: From Whence I Came The second installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
39 Liam the Ginger and his Fantasy
Andy and I ran down the front walk and dove into the car. I got Shawn to slide to the middle of the front seat so Andy could have the passenger side. "There's room for three across the front of this sled." I said as I accelerated the car away from the house.
Joe had been asleep in the living room recliner when I went inside. I found Mary and told her what I wanted to do and asked if I should wake Joe. She told me not to be silly. She promised to let Joe know that I took Andy with Shawn and me, and told me to have a good time. I left a note on the kitchen counter out of respect for my brother and went to Andy's room to get him.
"Come on," I said when he opened the door to my knock, "throw your shoes on and let's go. You, me, and Shawn are going gallivanting."
"Where?" He asked, his head cocked to the side in confusion.
"Gallivanting, searching for fun and adventure. We're gonna drive up to the foot of the Poconos where it's cooler and see what we can see. Maybe go to a flea market or something."
Andy hesitated. "What about Dad?" He asked, always the dutiful son.
"He's sleeping in the living room. The best thing for him is to let him rest. You coming, or not?"
Andy thought for a second, then nodded. He threw his shoes on, checked his hair in the mirror, and barreled passed me down the stairs with the light, quiet steps of youth. We were in the car and away in a matter of seconds.
I drove us out of town with deliberate speed, down Route 73 to Route 90 and over the Betsy Ross Bridge onto Interstate 95. The day was cooler than the previous. The storm had blown away some of the heat and humidity. We still drove with the windows down. I prefer that style of driving in nice weather and the Town Car's air conditioning hadn't miraculously started working. I flipped on the radio, turned it up so I could hear it over the rushing wind noise, and beat the wheel in time to the rock and roll that blared from the speakers.
Andy kept the beat with a closed fist on the top of the passenger side door panel and sang along. I knew he had great taste in music, so I offered him control of the radio. He reached into his pocket to look for something, I assumed his phone, but he didn't find it. "Shit!" He swore.
I turned the radio off to shout over the wind. "What's wrong?"
"I forgot my phone."
I didn't see a problem with that. "I guess we'll have to stick with the radio then."
He shook his worried head. "What if Dad wants to call me?" He asked.
`Fuck him.' I thought but didn't verbalize that thought. Instead of being dismissive, I did the responsible thing. I drove us to a truck stop travel center just north of the city and used one of the last working pay phones to call my sister's cell. She was the first person I knew to have a cell phone and her number was still in my memory. I explained what happened and asked if Joe had woken up yet. Mary said that he was still sound asleep, and she'd let him know about the forgotten phone when he woke. I thanked her and hung up.
"OK?" I asked Andy.
"Yup, thanks, Uncle Church."
"Sure. Let's get back on the road. I want to get somewhere in time for lunch."
As we got back on the road, the inconvenience of not having a cell phone made me wonder why we didn't. I asked Shawn about it over the wind noise of the highway.
"I don't know." He admitted with his voice raised to a medium shout. "The last time I was here, my phone worked. I don't know why it doesn't this time."
I shrugged my shoulders over the minor mystery and decided it really didn't matter. I assumed that, for reasons of his own, Ars decided that we wouldn't have cell phone service for our trip to Earth. `Whatever.' I thought and put my attention back on driving.
It took us roughly an hour of highway driving until we reached the slower speed of the mountain roads that would take us to our destination. Once we slowed, conversation was possible.
"I was wondering," Andy said after he turned the radio volume low to match the new lower background noise of our reduced speed, "what's the magic for? I mean, I know what Shawn's does...he heals people, but what is my magic for?"
The boy raised a good question. I had no idea what it was for. When my magic was first activated, it was for saving the world. Since that first mission, I'd used it as a tool, but I'd never thought much about it. `Leave it to Joe's son to analyze something as wonderous as magic.' I thought. I kept silent to see what Shawn would come up with to answer Andy's question.
"That's not really a fair question." Shawn said as he switched to his clinical tone. "The magic doesn't have a purpose, per se. It's like asking what your left hand is for, or your eyes, or your sense of smell. Your magic is part of you. It's part of what makes you who you are. As far as what it's for, it's for whatever you choose to use it for."
"I don't understand." Andy said. I didn't understand either. Shawn elaborated for both of us.
"Take your sense of style. You know what looks good. You've studied, but you also have a natural sense of aesthetic. You could use that to decorate rooms, to paint pictures, to take photos, to carve sculpture, or you could use it for what you do use it for, to pick out clothes that make us all look amazing. I use my magic to heal, but I don't have to use it for that. It has other uses, but in my case, not very many. Your uncle's telekinesis has many, many uses. The fact that he uses it primarily to show off just means that's what he chooses to use it for. Trying to assign a purpose to your power would be like trying to decide what the meaning of your life is. It's for whatever you choose to use it for."
"I don't just show off, Shawn." I objected to my husband's characterization of how I use my power. As a childish act of revenge, I pictured one of Shawn's more intimate areas in my mind, his very sensitive, pink hole, and rubbed against it with my power.
"CHURCH!" Shawn cried and pressed himself into the car seat as his body involuntarily reacted to the touch of my magic.
I released the magic and let Shawn recover. Andy stared from the passenger seat. "What happened?" He asked.
"What happened," I explained, "was Shawn forgot that I am a Fourth-Class telekinetic. That means I can manipulate things I can see, and things I can imagine. If I know what something looks like, I can...uh...handle it just as easily as if I was looking directly at it."
Andy turned his face to the windshield to think that over. While he was thinking, Shawn tapped my knee and accused me of `not playing fair.' He wasn't wrong, but at the same time, I wondered why it was required that I play fair. Howling laughter erupted from the passenger seat and told me that Andy had caught onto the implications of me not having to see what my magic touched. I joined Andy in his laughter and Shawn flushed deep red in rare embarrassment.
Andy was still snickering when I steered us into the gravel lot of the Lambertville Flea and Farmer's Market. I negotiated the medium-busy parking lot, found a spot, and shut the car off without bothering to close the windows or to lock it. We got out and looked over the massive single-story sprawl of a flat-roofed, cinderblock building that housed the business.
It had once been a supermarket backed by a low-rise warehouse. At some point in the past, the supermarket had gone out of business, the warehouse closed, and several ramshackle wings had been added to the original buildings. The purpose was to bring the farmer's market, and the auction that moved in later, all under one roof.
The building was not air conditioned. Huge factory style tilt-out windows had been cut out of every wall to encourage air flow during the summer months. When the windows weren't enough, the various booth and shop owners would start-up big, industrial pedestal fans to create a noisy wind tunnel. The place was long overdue for the wrecking ball but would probably last another fifty years as long as the owners could keep it from collapsing under the weight of its own decay.
We crossed the lot, our feet crunched on the well packed gravel as we headed for one of the dozens of propped-open entry doors. "Ever been here, Andy?" I asked.
"No, what do they have?"
"A little bit of everything. They have food, groceries, junk, crafts, furniture, and all kinds of stuff. Let me know if you see anything you want. Today is all on me."
Shawn poked my shoulder and grinned. "On you?" He asked with his voice full of unspoken meaning. I shrugged to acknowledge what he hadn't said. "Well, it's on Shawn's uncle...but I'm certain he'd be pleased that we had a nice day on him, so the sky's the limit."
We spent the next several hours looking at the antiques and curiosities for sale and having fun with Andy. We told him all kinds of silly little snatches of stuff from the years we'd spent touring around Solum. It was nice to remember that there were good moments during the time we'd been on the road for Shawn's uncle. I also explained many of the artifacts of a lifestyle long gone that were displayed for sale; crank telephones, coffee percolators, wash boards, empty cans of pipe tobacco from defunct manufacturers, and all the bits of ancient machinery that accumulate in places like that.
We sampled tons of food. Instead of selecting a single place to eat lunch, we sort of grazed our way through the place, snacking on small sizes of all kinds of eatables. We shared pastries, pies, cakes, paper envelopes of scalding hot French fries, cotton candy, fruit preserves. Andy and I split small meat pies, smoked meats, and sandwiches and Andy and Shawn split various mushroom things. We stuffed ourselves silly.
Andy opened up and told us about himself. He had a few funny stories of escapades from before Joe got sick, but mostly his stories from the last two years were about not belonging anywhere. It seemed that when the kids at school found out that his father had a terminal illness, they started to shun Andy.
It was obvious the other kids didn't do it maliciously. They simply didn't understand, but the end result was the same. The kids didn't know how to deal with what Andy might be feeling, so they avoided him, and Andy wound up friendless and alone. He kept up a brave front for his father. He even went so far as to make up stories of camaraderie in gym class or during group academic projects. Mostly, the boy was sad.
Andy's stories made me extra glad that I'd decided to go back for him. No teenager should have to deal with what he dealt with. No child should have to create stories of friendship. It made me doubly glad that Joe had made the right decision about coming to Solum to get his mobility back. I hoped that Andy would be accepted by the other kids there.
I wanted to see Andy bloom. I also hoped his father wouldn't make a fuss over Andy's sexuality. The boy was bound to develop love interests and have boyfriends. Joe needed to let him. I resolved to take an active role in the boy's life, to protect him from his father's disapproval if I had to. About midway through our tour of the sprawling market, we stopped at a t-shirt vendor that had captured Andy's attention. The booth sold shirts with logos and sayings printed on them as well as hats, buttons, bags, and what-have-you. We laughed at the smart-assed slogans on some of the shirts.
One that tickled me read, `I'm sorry I hurt your feelings when I called you stupid; I really thought you already knew.' I pointed it out to Shawn, but he didn't laugh. He thought that most of the shirts were cruel instead of funny. Maybe they were. I tended to take things less literally than he did.
I noticed Andy digging through a glass fishbowl full of two-for-a-dollar-buttons. He extracted one that was a small round pride flag, about an inch-and-a-half in diameter. He held it in his palm and looked at it. He looked and looked. He held it up to the pocket of his shirt and looked at himself in the mirror that made up the whole back of the booth. He seemed uncertain to the point that he dropped the button back into his palm to look at it some more.
I sidled up next to him to offer some encouragement. "Do you want that?" I asked.
"I don't know. What do you think?" He asked back.
I plunged my hand into the fishbowl of buttons and drew out two more pride flag pins. I handed one to Shawn, who pinned it to the short sleeve of his shirt, and I pinned the other to the collar of my shirt. "I think it's all about how comfortable you are in your own skin. Maybe if you just put it out there, it'll be easier to deal with."
Andy took another long look at the button in his palm, then pinned it to the pocket of his shirt. He looked at his image in the mirror again and seemed uncertain. I bent my knees until he and I were the same height and bumped shoulders with him. "Remember what that pin means. It means pride. If you're gonna wear it, stand straight, shoulders back, head high."
Andy puffed his lean chest out and stood tall. "Pride," he said, "got it."
I patted his back to let him know I was with him and stood up. I gave the booth proprietor two bucks and told him to keep the change.
I kept an eye on my nephew as we continued our exploration of the market. When I encouraged him to wear the pride button, I knew that was a double-edged sword. I hoped it would help him `own' his sexuality, but if someone saw it and gave him grief for it, that could shatter his fragile self-image. That was the main reason I wore one too. A bully might try to pick on Andy, or even Shawn, if they were alone. I doubted any but the most reckless would have the balls or poor judgement to pick on anyone being escorted by a guy my size.
My gamble paid off near the end of our visit. We were passing a booth that specialized in coffee and tea. It was called Irish Coffee.' I didn't understand the name, as Irish coffee' is usually defined as coffee laced with booze. It seemed unlikely that the booth at the Farmer's Market would have a liquor license. I decided not to overanalyze and stopped for a cup of coffee. Andy stood with me and examined the menu. A very young man came to the counter to take my order.
When I saw the youthful clerk, the name of the booth made sense. The `Irish' referred to the personnel, not the product. The red-headed young man was about Andy's age, maybe a year older, and I guessed he was working there because he was related to the proprietor. He was a good-looking kid, lean and fresh-faced with pale skin and freckles across his nose. He had intense green eyes with streaks of gold that radiated out from the pupils. The young man took my order and gave Andy a smoldering glance before he went to get my coffee.
In an `about face' to his former habit of staring, Andy hadn't noticed the young man at all. He was too wrapped up in a paper menu that had been sitting on the counter. I elbowed Andy and whispered. "When the kid comes back with my coffee, turn your power on and read him."
"But Shawn said not to." Andy whispered back.
"DO IT!" I whisper-shouted at him. Andy jerked his head down in a sharp nod of agreement.
The kid came back with my large coffee. "That'll be four dollars." He said as he put the paper cup on the counter.
I set my hand on Andy's shoulder to give the kid an excuse to look his way. "My nephew, Andy here, isn't much on coffee. Do you think you have anything here he'd like," I read the name tag on the coffee kid's green apron, "Liam?"
Liam fixed Andy with the smoldering look he'd used earlier. The poor guy was completely taken with my nephew and stumbled through his suggestions. "Uh...tea maybe...or iced coffee...uhm...or an herbal tea...what...uhm...spices do you like?"
I swallowed a comment about a ginger with a creamy mouth feel and dug twenty dollars from my pocket. I handed the bill to Andy with the suggestion that he get whatever he might want and retreated from the counter to stand with Shawn. We wordlessly watched the two young men interact. Each was obviously interested in the other but nervous about admitting it. Their conversation lasted several moments. When it finished, Andy rejoined us. He carried a tall paper cup, and his face was deep red.
"What do you have there?" I asked as I accepted my change from Andy.
Andy looked up at me, and down at the cup in his hand like he didn't know where it came from. "Oh, it's herbal tea, ginger with honey and lemon."
I drank a big swallow of my coffee to keep from laughing and choked on it. I had a coughing fit and had to take a minute to collect myself. I continued my questions once I could breathe again. "And what did your magic tell you?"
Shawn cut Andy off. "What did you do?" He demanded of me.
I held my hand up toward Shawn to silence his objections and focused on Andy. The flush in Andy's face deepened. "Uh...Liam is...uh...whew...he thinks I'm really sexy. He really likes my lips and thought about kissing me. This tea," Andy raised the cup and let it back down, "is his favorite. He hoped I'd like it, `cause he thought about what it would be like to taste it on my lips."
"Anything else?" I asked.
Andy's face started to fade back to its normal color as he answered. "He thinks I'm really cool and brave for wearing the pride pin. He wishes he was brave like me."
"How did that feel, Andy? How does it feel to be someone's fantasy and to be admired?"
A broad smile threatened to overtake the boy's face. "It felt really good."
"I'm happy for you. Now you can go back to not using your power like you promised Shawn. OK?"
"OK, Uncle Church." Andy agreed.
"OK, Shawn?" I asked my husband.
"Yes, good job." Shawn praised me.
We walked on.
It was getting late, and we'd decided to leave when we made a wrong turn and stumbled into the livestock auction. Poor Shawn was horrified. Intellectually, he knew that all meat on Earth was animal flesh, but he'd been able to avoid thinking about it too deeply. When he actually saw the living animals that were destined to become the sausage links, bacon, fried chicken, turkey legs, and hamburgers that Andy and I had been consuming all day, he became physically ill.
I hustled Shawn out of there and back to the car as quickly as I could. We drove down the mountain to a scenic overlook I'd spotted on the way up and stopped. I hoped some contact with nature would help soothe Shawn.
The view from the overlook was fantastic. It showed us a gorgeous vista over a wooded valley that bore only a few signs of the activities of man. We looked and chatted and found a short trail to walk into the surrounding woods. After an hour of distraction, Shawn seemed to recover from his horror, so we returned to the car and aimed it down the mountain to Interstate 95.
I thought about dinner, then realized I was still stuffed from grazing the entire time we'd been at the market. I asked around the car and found that Andy was also stuffed. Shawn didn't want to hear anything about food or eating. I changed the subject and focused on driving. I didn't say another word about it until we were back in Maple Shade. "How are you doing?" I asked.
"Better but not fine. How do you eat meat knowing where it comes from?" Shawn asked while he stared straight ahead.
"I compartmentalize. A steak doesn't look like a cow. In the store, it's sold in a sterile-looking package with a paper label on it. When I buy it, it's food, not flesh. I also grew up here where meat is a normal thing. It's simply not something most people think about."
"It's horrible."
"I don't disagree in theory." I admitted without repenting my carnivorous diet. "In practice...well, take comfort in the fact that in a few days it won't matter. Every strip of bacon I eat after Saturday morning will be synthesized from plant proteins and no animals will be harmed to feed my stomach." I hoped that rationalization would help to diffuse the situation.
Andy asked me what I was talking about. I explained how food worked on Solum and that no animals were bred for food there. He thought that was `really cool' and was excited to see the Culinarian in action.
Poor Shawn remained distraught. "I think I want to go home as desperately as you do now." He said to me.
I threw my arm over his shoulders and pulled him against me in an attempt to comfort him. "We're on the same page then. This day is almost over, we can cross it off and watch the numbers get smaller. Pretty soon we'll be counting hours instead of days."
"The sooner the better." Shawn said and leaned into my side. I felt bad for him and wished there was something I could do. There really wasn't though. All I could do was be there for him.