"Come on, Dirk, wake up!"

It was 3 am, and the house was still and quiet. Most of it's inhabitants were resting peacefully. All, that is, except Richard Stevens. The patriarch of the family, had a tendency to wake his only son up to share pearls of wisdom between father and son. Sometimes it was to take Dirk hunting, fishing, to a ball game. Everything had a life lesson to be learned from it.

"Wake up boy, time to hunt coon."

Richard was bent over Dirk's bed, shaking him vigorously. Dirk moaned sleepily and rubbed his eyes, signaling to his father that he was, indeed, awake.

"Yes, Pa." Dirk yawned tiredly as he sat up in his bed. The Sandman's remnants rubbed from his eyes, finally. This was actually an exciting day for Dirk. At the ripe old age of ten, he was finally going to be allowed to use a hunting rifle on an actual hunt! He'd learned to use the .22 by shooting old tin cans and bottles. Dirk was proud that his father thought him ready enough to take hunting.

Richard Stevens left his son to get dressed and ready. As Dirk showered, then got dressed in jeans, hiking boots, t-shirt and what he called "hunting flannel," he could hear the dogs being set free from their kennels. Barking, howling and running about, vying for Richard's attention.

When Dirk placed the dark blue ball cap on his head, blond curls jutted out all around the base of the hat. He was too young to care that boys should have short hair that didn't curl around the base of their hat. And, while Richard wanted his boy to get a haircut, Catherine, Dirk's mother, insisted that her baby keep on being a baby for as long as possible. Catherine won that battle and Dirk's hair was allowed to grow long and untamed.

On his way out of the house, Dirk stopped by Abigail's room. He could hear her snoring behind the door. Slipping inside, he pulled the coverlet back up over her and placed a kiss to her forehead. A smile as he watched her for a moment, then he slipped back out. The lunches that his mother had prepared for father and son were retrieved from the fridge before he stepped out into the darkness.

Suddenly he was surrounded by a swarm of warm, furry bodies. He laughed as the dogs licked at his hands and barked their hellos. He greeted each dog with a pat to their heads and by calling them each by name. Wading through, he got to his father's truck and opened the tailgate. The dogs knew to jump up into the truck, without a single order given.

Once the dogs were loaded up, Dirk climbed into the truck, beside his father. The guns were held on a rack behind the seat. "I'm ready, Pa." Dirk smiled brightly and wriggled in his seat with excitement.

Richard smiled fondly towards his son and soon they were traveling down a dirt road that led deep into the heart of the heavily wooded estate. They arrived at their hunting destination for the day and the truck came to a halt. Leaving the lunch inside of the truck, Dirk climbed out, then set the dogs loose. "What do we do now, Pa?"

Richard had pulled the rifles and the boxes of ammunition from the truck and was walking over to the hunting stand. It was more like a little shack that had a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. He walked inside and gestured for Dirk to follow. Once they were inside, they sat on benches opposite from each other. Richard handed Dirk's rifle over and smiled.

"Son, I've taught you how to aim, how to fire, how to clean that there rifle." His Kentucky accent was thick and slow. Dirk clutched the rifle with both hands and nodded. No interrupting his father when he spoke. "Now you are going to learn what that gun is for. And you remember one thing. Don't you point that thing at anything or anybody you don't aim to kill."

"Yes, Pa." Dirk nodded, wide eyed. It never occurred to him that he might be pointing a rifle at a person some day. It was a heady feeling, holding that rifle and knowing that it, and he through it, could take a life. Whether it be furry or human, a life was a life. Dirk listened to his father, intently, as Richard continued the lesson about firearm safety. It was something that his father would repeat to him, several times, in his lifetime.

Finally dawn broke through the trees. The heavy morning dew left traces of fog and moisture everywhere. Dirk and Richard left the stand and walked out into the morning. The food that Dirk had left behind in the truck had already attracted raccoons and Richard cursed under his breath at the sight of a huge, red and gray raccoon perched on the passenger side window frame, the window left wide open by Dirk.

A loud report from the gun that Dirk held and he laughed when the raccoon fell from the window to the ground in a dull thump. The dogs howled and snarled, barked and literally had the dead raccoon torn apart and eaten within moments.

Richard could not help but laugh at his son's first kill. "That'll do son, that'll do."

"Five, six, seven, eight!"

It was an unusually warm, spring day in Eastern Kentucky. Dirk, along with the other children in his class, were standing on the asphalt playground, arranged in large circles. The entire sixth grade was there. Embarrassed giggles from behind tiny hands filtered through the air.

As the music began, the children began to perform the dance they'd been rehearsing for weeks. Hands held shoulder high, they opened and closed them, four times in rapid succession, fingertips striking the thumbs.

"Yes! Beaks,now wings!"

Mrs. Whiting was on the microphone in the middle of the playground, directing the children with her normal amount of hyper enthusiasm. The children followed her instructions, tucking their hands into their armpits and bouncing their elbows to the beat of the polka.

"Tail feathers!"

Keeping their hands tucked under their armpits, the children began to twist at the waist, shaking their behinds. Some twisted low, others were not so enthusiastic. The polka blared on through the loudspeaker.

"Four times!"

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP

Dirk turned and linked arms with the boy next to him, propelling himself forward to the next in line, a girl named Sarah. He stuck his tongue out at her as he linked arms with her, then propelled himself on towards the next.

It was spring in Eastern Kentucky, and that meant the annual May Day dance that the school put on. It was an end of the year affair that the parents were invited to. Each grade level performed their dances with proud parents watching and applauding their oh so adorable attempts.

The dance was two days away and Dirk was standing in front of a mirror in his bedroom. "But Ma!" He grimaced and tugged at the string tie, tied in a bow at his neck. "This thing is ugly! Why do we have to look like Colonel Sanders?" Dirk frowned at his image in the mirror. He wore a white suit with a black string tie. "Not cool, Ma, not cool!"

Once the fitting was over, Dirk changed into a pair of jeans with the knees torn out of them, a brown and yellow striped tee and his John Deere ball cap, parked backwards on his head. With a huff, he walked out of the store while his mother purchased the suit and paid for the alterations.

Once home, Dirk met up with a few of his friends. Russ and Gary were the best friends that ever walked the planet, in Dirk's eyes. Together, they climbed into Dirk's tree house and sat, commiserating about the unethical treatment of making them dress as Colonel Sanders for the dance. "Stupid chicken dance." Russ was the first to voice his opinion, as always. The two others chimed in, muttering their agreement.

A cooler in the tree house was kept replenished by Dirk's mother. Today's treat was Moonpies and R C Cola. As the boys ate and drank, they put their heads together to come up with a plan. It was their last year of elementary school and mischief was on their minds. Laughter flowed from the windows of the tree house. Below, Dirk's mother smiled as she hung the sheets out to dry.

The day of the dance arrived and the boys prepared for their prank in the bathroom. They could have been triplets, all blond, all blue eyed and all dressed in the Colonel's best. Shoe black was passed from hand to hand as they snickered. They did not speak of what was to come, but the gleam in their eyes should have alerted the teachers that the troublesome trio was up to no good, once again.

They took their seats, out there on the hot black top, as the production began. Dirk kept his hands together, sliding them slightly to keep the shoe black moist. As the kindergarten class began their dancing, Dirk groaned. It'd be forever until it was their turn!

In a moment of thoughtlessness, Dirk reached up and scratched at his nose. A bead of sweat had trickled from his forehead and caused an itch. The scratch left a long black mark on the end of his nose. A mark he did not even realize was there.

Finally, it was there turn to perform. Being the eldest in the school, they had to wait in that blistering sun for an hour and a half before they finally got to rise and take their places. Dirk smiled, but couldn't figure out just why the parents were snickering as he walked past them. His mother had a horrified look on her face and began rubbing her own nose, trying to tell Dirk to wipe the dirt off of his own.

Dirk frowned and brought his hand up to his face and wiped at his nose, leaving an even bigger smudge. Russ, who was right in front of him, turned and gave Dirk a confused look, then laughed out loud. "Stop rubbing your face!" But the warning was too late, Dirk had his entire nose and part of his cheek covered in shoe black.

As they took their places, Dirk began to squirm. The sound of whispering, then laughter as one child after another looked to see what was so funny. Soon the entire class was staring and laughing at him. Dirk frowned darkly and counted the seconds until the music began to blare. Never was he so glad to hear the first strains of The Chicken Dance blare from the loudspeaker.

The fifth grade class settled into their dance, and as they linked arms, Dirk took the opportunity to reach down and grab a handful of Sarah's bright pink dress. "Laugh at me!" He huffed and each girl that he passed got a hand print on their bright pink dress.

The song came to a conclusion and the children went to take their seats. While the parents were laughing hysterically in the stands, the teachers had anger in their eyes as they stared at the three boys that had caused the ruckus. And there was no denying just who had done it.

Once the parents had left and the children were back in class, Dirk was whisked away, by himself, to the principal's office. Still, with shoe back on his face, he got laughed at and pointed at as he made his way down the halls. He felt his face grow hot as his temper rose.

Once in the principal's office, Dirk glowered as he sat himself. He wanted out of the suit so badly it was killing him. And his face itched something terrible. Worst of all, he had been laughed at, pointed at. He was in a terrible mood. What they had thought would have been hilarious had turned horribly wrong.

The principal, Mr. Berk, handed Dirk a mirror first, then a box of wipes to clean off his face. "Dirk, you're graduating in three days. Even so, I'm not going to punish you for what you did to the girl's dresses. I think you've done enough damage to yourself, son." And with that, he dismissed Dirk from the room.

As Dirk looked at himself in the mirror, he stared, wide eyed with horror. He began to swipe at his face as huge tears of embarrassment fell down his face. Frustrated with everything, he threw the mirror and the wipes across the room. The mirror shattered against the wall, but Dirk didn't care. He was up and out of that chair and running.

He passed by more kids, laughing and pointing. He covered his face with his hands as he ran. Out of the school, his hands leaving black marks on the door as it was pushed open. Running, running, past his house to the creek that ran along the property line between the farmlands that he had been born and raised on, and the adjacent farmlands of the McCrackens. The suit was clawed at and left in tatters as he stripped down.

Diving into the creek, he washed himself clean of the boot black. The frustration and embarrassment of the day took it's toll and Dirk ended up sitting there, waist deep in cool water, crying.

Nothing was said to him, as he walked into the farm house, naked as the day he was born. Abigail was asleep in her room, and he was glad of that. Dirk marched into his bedroom and slammed the door behind himself. Throwing himself onto his bed, he clutched his pillow tight and sobbed into it. His shoulders were still moving and tears still streaming down his face as he drifted off to sleep.

"Come on man, it won't kill you. What are you, a pussy?"

Dirk sat in the tree house, knees to his chest. It was the only way that he and his friends, Russ and Greg, could fit into the perch amongst the leaves. He'd hit a growth spurt and in that summer, he'd gone from five foot even to five foot six. And he was only fourteen.

The small room was filled with acrid, sweet smelling smoke. Dirk waved it from his face and turned his head. Lifting the dark blue fabric, he stuck his head out of the window to get a deep breath of fresh air.

"Naa, we shouldn't be doing this."

Dirk let the flap of material fall back, obliterating all light from the window. He turned his blond head and considered his friends. He knew what they were doing was not only wrong, but illegal. What was it that their health teacher had said? He couldn't remember the statistic regarding teenagers and the use of marijuana as a starter drug to more heavy things. Truth be known, it was hard to think about such things when his lungs were filling with the second hand smoke that filled the room.

His eyes watered and were bloodshot. Russ and Greg were in the same state, only they were laughing. Dirk couldn't figure out what was so funny, and he watched them curiously. Marijuana couldn't be that bad, if they were so happy, right?

Wiping his eyes with one hand, he stretched out his long arm and took the offered cigarette from Greg. He'd been watching Greg closely and put the joint to his mouth. His lips puckered and he sucked on the end.

His eyes went wide as the smoke invaded into his nose, his throat and his lungs. It felt like the smoke was expanding and going to make him explode. Fingers pinched the joint tightly as his body was wracked with convulsive coughing.

Russ and Greg burst out into fits of riotous laughter. They pointed and shook their heads, held their bellies and stomped their feet. Once Dirk gained composure over his breathing again, he frowned darkly. He hated to be made fun of.

With the "I'll show them!" attitude, Dirk brought the joint back up to his mouth. He inhaled deeply, then held the joint out to Russ. He held his breath to keep from coughing. It was a war with his diaphragm and invaded lungs to keep from expelling the ever expanding smoke in a huge, hacking cough.

And then the sensation hit him. Leaning back, he rocked a bit when his back came into contact with the firm wood of the wall of the tree house.

"Holy shit."

His eyes glazed over and he grinned stupidly at his friends. Russ and Greg laughed again, but this time with nods to their heads.

"Yeah, that's it! See, it's good shit, isn't it?"

Greg was talking, but the words weren't synched to his mouth's movements. Dirk laughed at the way it sounded in his ears. As if in slow motion and underwater. Dirk's head went back against the wall.

"Yeah, good shit."

The three shared the joint, laughing raucously at each other the entire time. At one point, Dirk thought he saw an orange unicorn perched upon Greg's head, a purple one on Russ' shoulder. He stared at them, and the unicorns stared back with black, beady eyes.

"Whoa."

When Dirk blinked, the unicorns were gone.

"The heck you staring at?"

Both Russ and Greg waved their hands in front of Dirk's eyes, Russ snapped his fingers.

"Unicorns. You had unicorns."

Russ and Greg stared at Dirk for a moment, then at each other. Then the laughter began, all over again.

"Unicorns! Unicorns!"

An hour later, Dirk's mother stepped out of the house and called him in for dinner. Laughing, and stumbling over one another; Dirk, Russ and Greg left the tree house. His friends giggled as they passed the corner of the house and disappeared into the woods; on their way home to their own dinners.