Joseph stretched his foot backward and his quads pulled tighter. Months of sitting around in his dorm with a sprained knee had turned it rigid and lazy. Years of work were all undone in one careless hit. It wasn't a tear, thankfully, but it was enough to hobble him for a while. And to put an end to training for the year.
Four months later, school was over for the summer and Joseph was sitting in the new family home. His folks had settled for a smaller place, now that all their kids had mostly moved away. The old farm had been sold off for a home in the suburbs of Des Moines. It was buried in a block packed full of them.
The new place didn't compare at all to the open land he had grown up on. But, in the very early morning, when everyone was just waking up, it wasn't all bad. It was still empty, endless roads. Just him, and the quiet, and the open grass, still wet with morning dew.
At school, it had been all stadium classroom seating and mobs of students. Two hundred people were always in full view, all day long. Screaming classmates slipped in and out of his dorm room at all hours of the day. Always someone was there, someone was talking, someone was looking at him. The closest thing to peace he had was getting out onto the field for a game. At least then the crowds were kept at a distance. But, with his knee, he didn't even get that anymore.
After an entire week of boring, empty suburbs, he still didn't miss school for a moment.
He stretched again and bounced in place a few times. It all moved smoothly. He stepped onto the road and dialed up the music.
With a few tentative steps, he felt the easy movement of his legs again. A rush of freedom bloomed through him all at once. The open road pulled him on. He launched himself off at full speed.
Joseph sang as he rushed ahead, hurtling over broken cracks in the pavement and dead branches. His path took him down the main road and into a maze of side streets. He didn't know where he was heading and didn't care. It would all wind its way back, in the end, if he took enough turns.
Or maybe it wouldn't. With the entire summer ahead of him, nothing to do, and nowhere to go, it didn't matter at all.
His feet pulled him faster as the road sloped down. There were no signs of life beyond the occasional deer munching on a lawn, watching him back suspiciously.
Cherry Crop Lane became Cherry Bottom Road, which became Peach Crop Lane. He forgot them as quickly as he read them. Ten minutes more and he was certain he was lost. Joseph grinned wider at the thought.
He squinted to read the next name as it passed and the road stopped short. It rose to an invisible hill, sending a bolt of pain shooting up his leg, right through his injured knee. His legs stumbled, tossing him roughly along the pavement and into the grass.
Joseph picked himself up and hissed in a breath. The scrapes on his hand suddenly seemed more urgent than his knee. The pain from his leg was fading, but his palms were bright red and already beading with blood.
He cursed and sucked in another breath, taking a look around. None of it looked familiar. Or, none of it looked unique, rather. The houses were sparser, with trees towering over the road, but otherwise, it was all the same.
The shadows were deep enough that he didn't spot the man until he spoke.
"You okay, son?"
Joseph looked up. The man was older, in his late forties. Black hair, and a short beard with gray in it. He was thickly built. His clothes were spotted with sweat.
The boy nodded. "Yeah, just tripped," he said. "I'm okay. Really."
He turned his palms over to look at them. They were still bright red and rubbed raw. He took a few steps away before the man could see them. As he tried to jog away, his knee sunk sideways and he stumbled over again.
The stranger was quick. He leaped forward and caught Joseph before he could hit the road.
"I think maybe you better take a minute, son."
His eyes were dark green. Muscles bulged beneath the tight work shirt. The fabric clung to the sweat of his body.
Joseph nodded and looked away, eager to escape before embarrassing himself more.
"Do you live around here?" the man asked. "I'm Brian."
He had a deep, slow voice. It was soothing.
Joseph nodded again. "Cherry Crop Lane. Yeah, my parents are new here. I just got turned around. I'm Joseph," he added.
The man guided him to sit on a large, old stump beside the road. "Well, it's nice to meet you, neighbor. You're not too far off. If you keep heading the way you were going," he gestured ahead, "two rights and you'll be back home in five, ten minutes. How's the knee?"
Joseph glanced down at it. "It's tight, but not painful. I hurt it a while back. It should be okay."
Brian frowned at it for a while, studying it over. With a nod, he stripped off his work gloves and tossed them to the ground.
"Do you mind?"
The boy shrugged, unsure of what he was supposed to mind.
Brian gripped his leg from both sides. He put pressure on it, moving his way up to the knee and back again. It was painful for a moment, but the muscle loosened quickly as the calloused hands worked at him.
"How's this?"
Joseph tested the stretch of it, waiting for it to hurt.
"Actually, I think it is better. How'd you do that?"
Brian bent down and picked his gloves off the grass. "I was married to a doctor for fifteen years. I can't say I know much more than what I did, though."
'Was married', Joseph noted.
He shook the thought away and bounced on his feet, searching for signs of pain again, and gaining confidence every moment it didn't appear.
"Well, maybe that's not my only trick. Let me find something for those cuts."
Joseph wanted to refuse, but the man was halfway to the front door in two strides. He was back a moment later with a small kit. He squatted down and patted the porch beside himself. Joseph stepped over silently and sat down.
"Have you lived here long then?" Brian asked, dosing out rubbing alcohol and dotted the wounds.
Joseph winced and shook his head. "Only a week. My parents moved here in December, though."
He told him about the farm he had grown up on as Brian placed the bandages.
"I grew up not far from there, too, actually," Brian said, setting the first aid kit aside. "We only moved out here after we were married a few years. Mark got a job at a hospital out here. When he passed away, there wasn't much left to go back to."
'He'?
He found himself breathing faster as he nodded along.
The man was only a hand's width apart from him, he realized. He remembered how the powerful, leathery hands had felt as they cleaned him. The strength in them, as they had worked his muscles loose.
Something eased to life between his legs.
Joseph leaped to his feet, his hands in front of his gym shorts.
"Thanks!" he shouted over his shoulder.
