6 Ch 6 Being Man

I took a moment while out of his view to wince and rub my shoulder. I stuffed the very wrinkled bag in the back of my sock drawer without even looking at it. Peeling off the ripped shirt, I threw it in a corner. I had to bend over some to take a look at my shoulder in my dresser mirror. Touching it gingerly, I knew I was going to be sore for the next few days.

No clean shirts left in my room, which meant nothing to hide the bruise that was working its way across my shoulder. I resented that grip, but knew I wouldn't have stayed to listen to everything if it hadn't been there. And I had promised to listen.

I had demanded to be treated like a man, and got more than I bargained for.

His words about possibly becoming a rapist came back to me. He never said he had, only that the struggle in a crowded city was too much for him, how finding mom had been a godsend.

I really didn't want to ask, was determined not to ask. At the same time I was desperate to ask, to be reassured that my dad was who I always thought he was.

It was my turn to try and stop the trembling that was the side effect of too much emotion being bottled up for too long. I wanted to rid myself of my jeans and run across the land, paws digging into the earth to spur my speed. I got as far as setting my hand to the button on my jeans.

Be a man.

I couldn't run, couldn't go out there without my emotions under control, couldn't stay hiding in my room.

Fake it until you make it, my mom had whispered to me once when I was younger and starting schooling , sharing a grin with me. She had tried to prep me for manhood even then. Don't let them see you get ruffled, no matter who "they" were. Girls, bullies, my dad...

I took a deep breath before I went back out to join him.

He was in the kitchen, cooking up a pan of potatoes, with two steaks sitting on the counter waiting their turn.

"I threw a load in the washer," he said without turning around.

"I was going to."

I was relieved my voice came out steady, even if I still felt shaky. I didn't realize how long I'd been in my room.

"You can get the next one," he said. I heard the smirk in his voice.

I snorted. Dad always hated doing laundry, not that it was my favorite thing to do either.

He glanced back at me to see how I was doing. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in my shoulder, but he said nothing. I could feel it though, the silent words. Be a man. I could feel a certain amount of pride coming from him too. Gad this was awkward.

"What you gonna drive while you're out there?"

His question caught me by surprise. "I thought you'd drive me up in the truck. After that, I don't know. I'll figure something out."

"Michael down at Split Creek has that old bike of his he's been talking of getting rid of. We should go over and talk to him about it. Bikes are cheap on gas, and you can go off road with that old thing."

That old thing? That "old thing" was a frigging Indian motorcycle that's probably worth a small fortune as an antique. Ten times more valuable because of how well kept it was.

Michael had a shed out back full of enough spare parts to make a few bikes. Working on the old bikes has been Michael's lifelong hobby, and he was as old as Grandfather. An Indian was a dream bike if there ever was one! Forget the more famous, bigger, or fancier bikes. A bike like that could go  just about anywhere my four paws could take me.

"Michael will never let his go," I said with complete confidence.

"Hmmm. We should go talk to him anyway," Dad said as if I already agreed to go.

Shoulder temporarily forgotten, I just stared at Dad's back as he stirred the potatoes around.

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There was another whole unspoken conversation in that sentence, in his whole purposely casual demeanor. He was offering me the freedom to go that I'd so long craved, tied here by unspoken bonds I always felt, but never understood. No more fighting me. He was giving me his unspoken blessing, offering me the independence of a man.

It was late afternoon when we drove up the dirt road to Michael's. It was a quiet ride; Dad didn't even turn the radio on. Things were still kinda awkward, despite dad keeping that casual attitude that was betrayed by the grip he had on the steering wheel. We walked in silence to the back of the property, to the old shed that was Michael's workshop.

Dad did most of the talking after the brief hello. Michael commented about how young I'd been last time he'd seen me a few years ago. Michael easily started to shake hands with my dad for the sale of a bike he had just finished putting together. Dad stepped back saying the sale was directly to me.

The amount was more than reasonable. Michael told me I could make payments as my paychecks came in. The whole thing went down just way to easy. I tried to catch Dad's eye, but he kept looking at parts laying around.

Michael insisted then on inviting us up to the house, saying he wanted to share a smoke with us.

Dad agreed too easily. I shot Dad another look, knowing how he barely tolerated the formal smoking ritual. I've never seen him accept an offer to smoke, without at least trying to get out of it without offering offense. My look was ignored as we trudged up to the house as the shadows lengthened into evening.

We sat out back, the old man instructing dad to start a fire while he went in the house for his pipe. Dad kept busy, purposely avoiding me until Michael came back out. The three of us sat around the small fire. Dad still didn't really look at me.

The old man couldn't share a smoke without sharing stories of some of the close calls he'd had on bikes over his long years. I was being lectured by an old man about bike safety. I kept my features pleasant, nodded respectfully at the right times.

I could do this.

Be a man.

I groaned internally.

After stories hi-lightning the dangers of riding a bike, there were other stories of how his bikes had saved him on a few occasions. Michael had lived an adventurous life in his time. Some of the stories were really interesting. I found myself asking the occasion question or making comments.

We sat there for a few hours, sharing smoke and stories as dusk came on. I kept throwing glances at dad when I thought the old man wasn't looking. All I got was more of that purposely casual attitude from him with that still-not-looking at you... until finally a slight side glance and a quick smirking grin.

Be a man. Hang out with the grown men. Don't be the impatient boy I once was. Show respect to your elders... and it was actually pretty cool to do so, not that I'd admit it.

Michael surprised me with the story of how my mother had used one of his bikes to make her rounds as the local vet, until an elk had attacked it during rut season.

"I don't know, maybe the elk thought the handlebars were enough like horns to challenge it. There is no explaining an elk in rut."

Michael paused to blow out smoke, then used the pipe to motion toward the bike we'd made an agreement about, his voice slow and deliberate.

"Your mother wanted you to have it. May it serve you the same way it served River Woman."

I was astounded to learn mom had ridden a bike. I never knew! More, mom's old bike was now my new bike, and mom had wanted me to have it. The memory of her silver ghost pushed its way to the forefront of my thoughts.

This explained the few quiet arguments my parents had had the few weeks before we took to the forest that fateful day, if you could call it arguing. A stiff tone from dad, mom's determined but gentle comment in return, a long silence. I never knew what they were disagreeing about. I glanced at the bike that mom had arranged for me, the bike dad had been against.

Sharing a look with the old man who held the long formal pipe out to me with both hands, I saw respect. I realized that my new steel horse was not merely a purchase. The low price of the old repaired bike was Michael's gift to honor all my mother had done to help the people who couldn't pay full price for her veterinary skills. It was a connection with my mom's past. A gift that honored me as her son, as a man in my own rights.

I solemnly took the pipe, took a steadying draw. I couldn't look at dad right now, didn't dare. He knew the bike was waiting for me when he suggested we come out here. Dad was honoring my mom's wishes. He was setting me free, giving me the means to go the same way his father had for him.

Hearing the story about mom had me all emotional, especially after the long day I'd had. I was determined that I was not going to cry at a time when I was being accepted as a man.