Date: Fri, 22 Jul 2005 16:24:13 EDT
From: RitchChristopher@cs.com
Subject: briarwood-9
All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or
are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language,
please exit now.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
"BRIARWOOD"
aka "Whence Cometh My Help"
R.S.V.
A dramatic saga
by
Ritch Christopher
literary enhancement
by
Les Martin
<><><><><>
BOOK ONE
Chapter Nine
<><><><><><><><><><>
"Demons are prowling
Everywhere
Nowadays.
I'll send 'em howling,
I don't care---
I got ways.
No one's gonna hurt you,
No one's gonna dare.
Other's can desert you---
Not to worry,
Whistle, I'll be there.
Demons'll charm you
With a smile
For a while,
But in time,
Nothing's gonna harm you,
Not while I'm around!
Stephen Sondheim,
"Sweeney Todd", Act II(1979)
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
It was just past midnight when Cliff and Roger reached the
jail. Timmy was in a holding cell waiting for his father--or someone--to
post bail. As much as Rob wanted to be there for Timmy, he couldn't be seen
there involving himself and possibly ruining his reputation. Tom Woodrow,
Timmy's father, was nowhere in sight either, Cliff noticed. By this time,
Tom had already disavowed himself of any knowledge of his son's sexual
preferences. For all Tom knew, Timmy was guilty and if he even offered to
put up money for his son's bail, it would appear he was condoning Timmy's
alleged actions.
'Alleged' was a word Cliff hated. No matter the size of the town,
large or small, when someone was accused of molesting a child, he was
already assumed by one and all to be guilty. The reporters from the media,
both press and TV, had a field day. One asshole from "The Briarwood
Chronicle" had already visited Timmy's home and asked his mother how long
had Tim been molesting his students? Also, how many? The vultures of the
fourth estate always seemed to leave out the word, 'if'. To save face in
the town, Tom Woodrow had no choice but to lock his son out of his
house. He certainly wouldn't want people to think he was harboring a
criminal even though it was his own flesh and blood who was being accused,
Roger was furious with the desk sergeant. He demanded to know the
amount of the bail and how soon could Timmy be released.
The sergeant smugly said, "It's his first offence---that we know
of, although he's probably had others---so it'll take $50,000 to let him
out."
"Will a check do?" Roger snapped.
"If it's good.", the policeman smartly relied to Roger. "If it's
bogus, then we'll have to arrest you for contempt."
"Jesus Christ! There's no way I can get that kind of cash from an
ATM this time of night...Of course the goddamned check is good."
"Will you vouch for this man, Father?", the policeman asked Cliff.
"The check would be good if he added several zeros behind the
amount." Cliff quipped back at the officer.
"All right, I'm releasing him to your custody...and if your friend
wants to see his money again, just make sure that Mr. Tim Woodrow doesn't
skip town.", he added, nastily.
"I can assure you that Tim is going nowhere." Cliff replied.
A few minutes later, a very frightened Tim Woodrow appeared. His
face was pale white and there were marks on his cheeks where tears had
rolled down,
"Let's go, Timmy." Cliff said.
"Where to? My father hung up on me when I tried to talk with him on
the phone. He told me not to bother coming home, if I found someone stupid
enough to post bond."
"So much for the Southern Baptists and their doctrine of
forgiveness." Cliff thought to himself.
"You're going home with us, Roger and me...What's one more at
Cliff's Home for Wayward Guys?" Cliff said, joking to Roger..."The more the
merrier, or 'gayer', as the case may be."
Timmy rode in the backseat of Roger's Lexus. As soon as they drove
away from the police station, Cliff turned around in the front seat and
looked squarely into Timmy's eyes.
"Timmy, we're not in church and I'm not here to be your Father
Confessor, but as your friend. I want you to tell me everything that
happened."
"Nothing, Father Cliff. Absolutely nothing. I was as surprised as
you are when the police knocked on my door and arrested me. I don't even
know who accused me. I sat in that cubicle going over the names of everyone
who might even do such a thing to me...and I came up empty...I can't think
of anyone."
"I already know the answer to this one, but I'll ask anyway. Did
you do the thing the police accused you of?" Cliff asked.
"No, Father, since we had our talk and you got me and Rob together,
I haven't had a bad thought about any of my students. Please believe me."
"I knew that's what you would say and I thank you for saying
it...because I DO believe you."
"I do, too," Roger spoke up.
"Well, besides Rob, you're about the only two who believe me."
"What about your Dad? Doesn't he know you well enough to know
you'd never do such a thing?"
"Father Cliff, you know that my Dad is principal of the school, and
he would take the school's side over mine every time just to keep his
job. I guess Dad felt he had no choice but to suspend me until I get my
name cleared."
"Do you think your Mom would pack a bag or two of your clothes,
toiletries, and things if I called her to say you're staying with me at the
rectory?"
"She would if Dad didn't find out she'd done it."
"I'll call her around ten in the morning, after your Dad goes to
work, in case he's not too embarrassed to face the students and your fellow
teachers." Cliff offered,
"Won't the house be a little overcrowded if I stay there?" Timmy
asked.
"Not really. The way things were looking before Roger and I left,
we might just have a spare bedroom by the time we get home."
"Oh, is someone moving out?"
"Heavens, no! Let's just say we've had a merger in the household,
making it possible to add another housemate."
"If things keep going the way they are, we'll have enough to have
our own baseball team by spring," Roger joked. "We only need four
more...but then, who's counting?"
"You know, Roger, I may have to take you up on your offer about
adding a new wing onto the rectory." Cliff said, teasing to lighten the
mood.
"Just draw up the plans, only make them so we can add on to it if
we have to...The St, Genesius Dorm...How does that sound?"
"Scary as hell!" Cliff replied.
"Wouldn't it be great if Rob could move in with me?" Timmy asked
eagerly, not realizing what he had just proposed.
Cliff looked at Roger, he looked back at Cliff, and they rolled
their eyes upward and over, looking at the visors above the windshield.
Jay didn't mind moving into Troy's room, at all. In fact, Cliff was
surprised to discover Jay had already done so by the time Roger and he
returned with Timmy, Jay hurriedly moved his clothes and personal dildos
and such to Troy's closet while, at the same time, he cleaned up his old
room for Timmy to move in.
"Timmy, would you like a drink to calm down?" Roger asked.
"A glass of white wine would be nice, thanks," he replied,
"How about you, Cliff?"
"I'd like a full glass of scotch mixed with a little vodka and a
shot of gin floating on the top...no ice. please...and while you're at it,
fix me a tumbler of bourbon for starters!" Cliff joked. "No, Roger, I'll
just have a glass of wine, too, and thanks."
Roger left to tend to the bar duties.
"We all have piled a lot on your shoulders, haven't we, Father
Cliff?" Timmy asked quietly, his personal feeling of guilt showing through.
"No, Timmy, things like this come with my job...but usually, not
all at once." Cliff sighed. "Fortunately, I have Roger with me to help sort
things out."
"I'm sorry, Father. I truly am."
"Timmy, I don't know what's going to transpire in the next few
days, but I want you to try as hard as you can not to worry...Let Roger and
me do the worrying for you. I want you to stay here with us and feel
safe. No one's going to hurt you. I just don't want you talking about
anything to anyone outside the members of this household. Keep in touch
with Rob and let him know you're all right and tell him to come visit you
as often as he can, so long as he does it discreetly."
Roger returned carrying three crystal glasses of white wine.
"Timmy, I have a friend who's a lawyer, Walter Clayton, and he
handles all my financial affairs. I'll ask him to find the best criminal
lawyer he knows to represent you." Roger said. "First, we gotta find out
who made the false accusations. Do you have any ideas?"
"I've thought of a couple of students...One I kicked out of band
practice for being late constantly. The other is a kid I wouldn't let in
the band because he just couldn't play. He had no talent." Timmy
said..."But I've never had private conversations with either of them. I
can't imagine either of them saying anything about me." Timmy said.
"Timmy, I know you told me in strictest confidence, before you
started meeting privately with Rob, that you had had ideations of having
sex with one or more of your students. Did you ever approach any of them
to the point he, or they, might think you were trying to make advances
toward them?" Cliff asked.
"NEVER! I swear to God, I never did, Father!"
"All right. I believe you." Cliff assured him..."But it would seem
SOMEONE is out to get you...Do you know of anyone trying to get the band
director's position from you?"
"No, with my Dad being principal and all, I never had any worries
about my job in the music department."
"Whom do you think your dad will get to replace you?"
"I don't know. It shouldn't be too difficult to find someone now,
since football season is over and we don't have to prepare half-time
routines."
"Maybe he won't have to look if we can get this mess cleared up
soon." Roger said.
Just then the phone rang and Roger answered.
"Hello?"
Roger listened for a moment before slamming the receiver on its
cradle.
"BASTARD!!" Roger muttered.
"My God! Rog...who was that?" Cliff asked.
"Some asshole! It didn't take long for the town criers to find out
where Timmy was staying! The fucking hypocrites! It's always the media
that stirs up things like this! They try and convict someone every time
they hear the word 'molester', without an ounce of proof to back up an
accusation!" Roger preached. Maybe he'd left the priesthood too soon. or
better yet, maybe he should have switched over to another denomination like
the Southern Baptists. They were known for shouting their sermons.
"That was probably the first of many crank calls we may get, so
I'll just connect the answering machine and one of us can monitor each call
as it comes in. The main thing is for you, Timmy, NOT to answer the phone
for any reason. I heard at the police station that your mom and dad have
already been approached for interviews by several reporters. I don't think
they got much because I heard your mom slammed the door in their faces,"
Cliff told him.
"Yeah, both my parents are good at slamming doors in faces...mine
included." Timmy said solemnly.
Jay entered the bedroom smiling, "Guess who I heard tap, tap,
tapping at our back door?"
"Well, since ravens don't fly at night, it must've been someone
else." Roger said.
"TA DA!" Jay exclaimed, holding his arm in the air, as Rob entered,
rushing to Timmy and embracing him.
"I'll leave all of you, if you don't mind. I have things to
unpack...and a deep massage to give," Jay said, exiting.
"My God, little guy, how are you and who put up your bail money?"
Rob asked.
"I'm fine, babe, and the money was posted by the generous angels of
St. Genesius."
"Damn! Father, I don't know how much more we can ask you to do. It
seems since you arrived you've been in a constant flow of dilemmas and
personal problems that've been piled on you. I bet you're sorry you ever
came to St. Genesius'."
"No, Rob, I'm just glad I was here to help. However, I have someone
special besides God in my corner." Cliff said, smiling at Roger. "Rog and I
have been a team all our lives and we've always been there for each
other...and for anyone else who needed help."
"I bet the church selection committee didn't know they were getting
a package deal when they hired you," Rob replied, smiling his thanks.
"We'll just keep that a secret among the six of us...you, Timmy,
Troy, Jay, Rog, and me." Cliff said. "What the others don't know...well,
they don't have to know."
"God bless both of you." Rob answered, the sincerity showing
plainly in his voice.
"Rob, do you know who started this rumor?" Roger asked.
"No, but I have a pretty good idea."
"Who?"
"It sounds like something the alluring, elusive Miss Kitty might
have done...some of her malicious handy-work!" Rob said.
"I can't believe she would do a thing like this, with Kendall's
death and all." Cliff said.
"You're new here. You just don't know what she's capable of. She's
known for her vengeful vendettas. I just can't understand why she chose
Timmy to be her latest victim."
"Well, we just can't openly accuse her without having any proof."
"I bet I can hire a private detective to find out." said Roger.
"What would he do? Pretend to be some student's parent?" Cliff
asked.
"With her money and deviltry, she thinks she can do anything she
wants and get away with it!" Rob replied.
"I wonder if I could trap her if I talked with her, privately?"
Cliff interjected.
"I don't think so, Cliff. She still blames you for Kendall's
accident." Roger added. "However, if she DID cause this trouble for Timmy,
then I'm afraid Miss Kitty doesn't know she's finally met her match. I'm
prepared to spend whatever it takes to prove Timmy's innocence."
Cliff looked at Roger trying to read the plan in his masterful
eyes.
"Hey guys, it's late. We should get some sleep. I have to start a
new week with Morning Prayer in about three hours." Cliff said, trying to
stretch the tension out of his shoulders and neck. "Rob, can you spend the
night with Timmy?"
"That's why I came by. I thought he might need me." Rob said.
"I do, Rob--I really do." said Timmy.
"Rog, you ready to hit the sack with me?" Cliff asked.
"On one condition."
"I KNOW!...TAKE THE GODDAMNED PHONE OFF THE HOOK!!"
"You got it!" Roger shouted. He put his arm around Cliff's neck and
led him toward their bedroom. Rob and Timmy were locked in an embrace as
Roger and Cliff left. If anything, this latest event would only bring the
two of them closer together.
As Cliff went down the hall, he stopped to tap on Troy's door.
"Everything all right in there?" Cliff asked.
"Not exactly!" Jay yelled, "Troy wants me to do something 'dirty'
to him while he dangles from the trapeze bar and I've already broken two
teeth and gotten a bloody nose."
Roger spoke loudly through the closed door, "Just remember,
Jay. Since you've moved in with Troy, you no longer qualify for workman's
comp."
"I'm not worried about myself," Jay continued to joke. "I'm just
afraid I'll give Troy AIDS from all the blood spewing out of my
nostrils... JUST KIDDING, JUST KIDDING!!"
Cliff often had the thought that Jay's mental faculties remained
just short of a quorum. Jay always seemed to find something funny to say
and lighten the mood, no matter how serious the situation was. That's one
of the things Cliff loved most about him. A week ago, Jay was near death's
door, and in spite of that, he had never lost his sense of humor. Cliff
was glad he'd found Jay in the park that day...but better yet, Cliff was
glad Jay came into Troy's life. Cliff didn't know how serious Jay and
Troy's relationship was, but somehow he felt it was an act of God that they
had found each other just when they had. From Cliff's viewpoint, Troy and
Jay were a match made in heaven...just as Roger's and his was. Cliff
thought, 'God must've been having a good day when he created Roger, and God
must've loved me a lot to place Roger in my life.'
Deep inside, Cliff knew everything would work out all right for
Timmy. Cliff's faith in God was evenly balanced by his faith in Roger.
With less than two hours for sleep, there wasn't much time for
'billing and cooing' with Roger tonight. Cliff had almost reached a point
he was afraid to make love with Roger for fear the goddamned phone would
ring with bad news. There would be many more nights when they could indulge
in bodily pleasures, but this morning Cliff just wanted to be held. In his
vocation he realized that one always had to put on a facade of strength
while having to stand up against the evils of the world and all the
problems that confronted the members of his parish. Cliff only allowed his
weaknesses to surface when he was alone with Roger, for in him Cliff found
the courage and fortitude to face his duties and responsibilities to those
who needed him. In Roger's arms, Cliff could, once again, become that
fifteen year old kid who used to like wrestling in the nude with his best
friend and lover. In Roger's arms was the only place Cliff felt safe and
secure from all the woes he couldn't face...the problems he couldn't
solve...and then he could carry on the duties with a strength he sometimes
had to fake. Usually after they had had sex, Cliff could drift off into
sleep almost immediately with the comfort of knowing Roger would be beside
him when he awoke to face a new day. Often 'love' is difficult to define,
but when anyone had a love such as theirs, there was no difficulty at
all. With Roger, Cliff knew the infinite meaning of the word 'love'.
Cliff lay down next to Roger, who immediately encompassed Cliff in
his arms. Cliff kissed him and said, "Roger, you DO know how much I
appreciate you and all that you do for me and my little friends, don't
you?"
"Cliff, thanking me is like thanking yourself. Everything we do or
say comes out of our being one. I'm so glad I left my church and rushed to
be with you. Two halves make a whole only when they're together, NOT 600
miles apart."
"Do you think we'll be able to help Timmy?"
"Sure, 'the truth will out' is what they always say...Now go to
sleep and let me see what I can do tomorrow."
"OK! Good night...I love you." Cliff whispered.
"Good night, 'Alexander'. I'll make sure your horse is shod and
bridled before you go crusading on the morrow. And, oh, yeah--hey! I love
you, too."
They slept.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The accusation made against Timmy had been voiced secretly behind
closed doors to Judge Wilkinson, who happened to be the head deacon of the
First Baptist Church of Briarwood. His appointment to the judgeship had
been made by the Republican administration before President Clinton took
office. He was a notorious right-winger and defender of his faith. In
spite of the oath he took at the onset of his life-long appointment, to
uphold the law for all people regardless of race, creed, etc., it was
generally known he showed no mercy for gays or lesbians. His daughter had
married a young man who later admitted he preferred men over women. She was
heart-broken and embarrassed over the ordeal, thinking society blamed her
for not making her husband happy. Her father, the judge, silently swore
revenge on all men and women who liked their own sex best.
If there was to be a trial or a hearing for Timmy and if it
happened to be held in Judge Wilkinson's courtroom, Timmy stood a better
chance of being voted Miss America than he did getting acquittal of the
charge of molesting a student of his own sex. Whoever Timmy's lawyer was,
he would have to have the persuasiveness of Clarence Darrow and William
Jennings Bryan, combined, to get a not-guilty verdict in that hall of
injustice. The only hope was to find enough evidence to prove Timmy's
innocence before a trial ever began...and that was going to take some real
detective work.
Roger not only called Marcia Clark who had been chief prosecutor
for the O.J. Simpson trial, but he also called Johnnie Cochran, counsel for
the defense, asking each for advice. Hell, Roger left no stone unturned,
he even called Mark Fuhrman, who was now a private investigator, to see if
he could come to Briarwood to dig up some dirt to help clear Timmy. If
Kitty Marsden WAS the culprit, then God help her by the time Roger was
through with her.
Cliff returned home from church chores around lunchtime and the
house had taken on the atmosphere of a Wall Street brokerage. There were
yellow legal pads and wadded papers strewn all over the couch and about the
living room. Cliff didn't know where or how Roger had gotten them, but, in
addition to the one phone at the rectory, Roger now had three cell phones
on which he was dialing, answering, and cursing at, all at once. Rob had
gone to work and Timmy was sitting quietly in one of the winged-back chairs
staring, in total awe of Roger's legal expertise. Troy was in his bedroom
exercising with dumbbells and Jay was running all over the house
straightening things and trying to keep the house in some simulation of
order. Jay was also busy making cookies in the kitchen and seeing to it
that Roger's cup stayed filled with fresh hot chocolate. Neither Roger nor
Cliff, were coffee-drinkers. Cliff often thought if coffee only tasted as
good as it smelled while it was brewing, he would probably love it...but it
doesn't.. and Cliff didn't...and neither did Roger.
Cliff was afraid to ask, but he did anyway..."How's it going,
Sherlock?"
"Great...I think we may be ON to something. I don't want to say
anything yet and get Timmy's hopes up. but things look a lot rosier today
than they did early this morning." Roger said excitedly. He put down two of
the phones long enough to ask, "Timmy, do you know or have you ever heard
of a man named Howard Errico?"
"No, not off hand, I don't," Timmy replied..."Why?"
"I just wondered...that's OK...never mind." Roger said,
mysteriously...and then once again he was back on all three phones at the
same time.
Jay crossed through the living room, hawking, "Anyone care for a
massage when I get through with Troy's? My fingers are magical in case
you've never felt them up and down your thighs."
" 'sfunny, Jay, but I thought when a person gave a massage, he was
suppose to relax muscles not stiffen them." Cliff joked.
"That's what makes my fingers so magical...I can relax every muscle
in the body...all but one...and with that 'one', you could raise a flag on
it and sing two choruses of 'My cunt 'tis true to thee'."
"Get outta here and go do your magic on Troy." Cliff yelled at him,
laughing for the first time today.
Since Troy had moved in, Jay and Cliff hadn't had time for a
serious one-on-one conversation with all that had been happening. How could
either of them've found the time? With Roger being busy on the phone,
concerned with Timmy's plight, Cliff noticed Jay motioning him with his
head to meet him in Cliff's bedroom. Cliff excused himself and nonchalantly
made his way to find Jay, who was already sitting on Cliff's bed and
looking up at him the way a baby bird would look up to his mother for food.
"How's it going, pal?" Cliff asked.
"I wanted to talk with you privately, Cliff, but there never seems
to be the right time." Jay said.
"Is anything wrong? Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm feeling fine...not the way I spelled 'fine' to Troy, but
REALLY fine. That's just it! I'm feeling TOO fine."
"Then what's the problem?"
"Do you think it's wrong of me to engage myself in a serious
relationship with Troy?"
"No, I don't think it's wrong. How does Troy feel about it?...I
mean, does he love you?"
"He says he does."
"And you?"
"Cliff, after I lost Lonnie and found out I had the plague, I
thought I'd never be able to love anyone again. I didn't want to get
involved due to the reality of my mortality."
"Jay, in today's world of bombings, shootings. diseases, car
accidents, heart attacks and all, one no longer asks 'how long will I
live?', but rather 'do I have time to do today, the things I want to do in
case there's no tomorrow'. We live in uncertain times. Sometimes we plan
too far ahead without taking time to enjoy the present and what we already
have. I have no guarantee that Roger or I will be alive later today or
tomorrow, but at the moment, we have each other and I'll treasure every
minute of this life I have with him."
"Whew! That's sounds so negative coming from a priest."
"I'm not being negative at all. I'm just being realistic and that's
what you should do. Be glad you've found someone that you can love, if it's
only for one day...and if you both live to see tomorrow, well, then,
hooray! you have one more day to be happy. Since I don't have AIDS, as you
do, it's a bit difficult for me to relate to how you are feeling, but
remember you've had this condition for over a year, and you're still here
and you've met someone you deeply care about. Look at Troy, he was alive
and well before his accident, and in one brief moment he could've lost his
life and now he would only be a memory. But he's NOT a memory. He's alive,
alive to create more memories for those who love him. Roger's credo is
...'seize the day'...and I've adopted that as my watchcry as well."
"Seize the day, huh?"
"Exactly. Wake up every morning and decide to fill your day by
doing as many good deeds as you can in case you won't see tomorrow."
"Then you're saying it's all right for me to love Troy and ask him
if we can be lovers with or without being sex partners?"
"Little guy, I'm not just saying it's all right, I'm TELLING you
that you have my blessing...and Roger's. When two people love each other,
don't waste a minute because a 'minute' is only a memory a minute later, if
you get my drift."
"I gotcha." Jay said, running to hug Cliff. Then he left Cliff's
bedroom and all but skipped down the hall to return to Troy.
It was moments such as this that made Cliff's seven years of
schooling after high school worthwhile. Seeing a smile on Jay's face was
worth more than ALL of Kitty Marsden's millions. She would probably give
her last dime to see a smile on Kendall's face one more time. She had had
her chance to see lots of smiles on his face, but she squandered her
moments, trying to live his life for him...and now she had nothing but a
coffer full of memories...most of them unhappy.
Cliff walked across the living room trying not to interrupt Roger's
sleuthing activities, to get the mail. There was the usual tripe of ads,
magazines, bills, and requests for donations and prayers, but also included
was a bulging large manila envelope addressed to Cliff with no return
address on it. He went into his study and opened the mysterious package
carefully. It didn't feel like a bomb (whatever bombs felt like!) and
thought it was too early to get flack from Timmy's dilemma unless someone
had placed this object in Cliff's mailbox without going through the usual
process....but no, it had a postmark on it...so Cliff assumed it would safe
to open.
Inside, he found a letter and two rectangular boxes about six
inches long. Outside the envelope containing the letter, it said, "To my
Father". He slowly unfolded the paper and read:
"Dear Father Cliff.
You won't recognize the handwriting in this letter.
I am dictating it to Lars, the only one at my house I can
trust. I've told the nurse to call you because if I'm
dying.
you're the last person I want to see. In less than one
week,
you've taught me how to forgive and be forgiven and you're
shown me how to live my life for the first time in my
fourteen
years.
If I should die before you get here. I want you to
know
that the most important thing you taught me is how to love.
You see, you don't know it, but I love you with all my
heart,
more than I've ever loved my mother--or anyone. I'm sorry
for
the things that happened to Troy, and I figure since he's
for-
given me, then maybe God will too.
I've told Lars where I keep my cash allowance and if
you
see a couple of boxes with this letter, I told Lars to not
tell
my mother, but I wanted him to go down and buy gold ID
bracelets for Jason and Tony. I thought if I didn't ever get to be an
acolyte with them, they could look down at their wrists and know I was
serving mass with them.
Boy, I sure wanted to get to know them and be their
friend. Maybe if I get better I will. And if I don't, maybe we'll get a
chance to serve mass some other place.
That's all I have to say except to tell you one more
time that I love you,
and I hope you hurry and get to the hospital to see me.
Your almost acolyte,
Ken"
Cliff didn't even try to see the bracelets because of the flood of
tears in his eyes. He put his head on his desk and wept. Cliff needed to
cry. He hadn't realized fully the amount of pressure and emotion that had
built up inside him...and he wanted to get it all out!...let loose!...He
still had other problems to face, but for now, he needed some relief.
<><><><><><><><><><>
"And when one of us is gone,
and one is left to carry on,
well, remembering will have to do..."
P.Williams/K.Ascher
"You and Me Against the World" (1975)
<><><><><><><><><><>
Cliff called Jason's and Tony's mothers and asked if they would
drop the boys off at the church after school. He told them he needed some
input about the colors of the new vestments. Cliff had heard of boys
refusing to become acolytes because they didn't want to wear laces and
frills on their 'uniforms', but the real reason for inviting them was to
give them Kendall's gifts.
By 4:30PM, the two of them met outside the back door of the church
and entered to find their way to Cliff's office. Cliff always smiled just
looking at them. They were both fourteen years old, about the size of
Michael J. Fox...dark brown hair and eyes. If anyone ever decided to do a
remake of "The Bobsey Twins", Jason and Tony would win the roles hands
down. If anyone watched them from a distance, they looked like of a couple
of chipmunks clamoring over an acorn. They were cute enough to almost make
a gay man turn straight and want to have kids...well, maybe not quite THAT
cute, but they WERE cute.
"Come in, guys!" Cliff invited. "Have a seat. How was school?"
"Fine" and "OK" were the answers.
"What's up, Father?" Tony asked.."...we do something wrong?"
"No, no, quite the contrary...You did something right...very
right." Cliff replied.
"What'd we do?" Jason asked, completely mystified.
"Without knowing it, you made someone very happy, by just being
yourselves."
"So what'd we do, Father?" asked Tony.
"It seems that the great job you guys do every Sunday made a big
impression on one of the members of our congregation."
"Wow! Who?"
"Somebody who wanted to be just like the two of you."
"Father, are you talking about that boy 'Kendall'?" Jason
asked. '...the one who was supposed to meet with us a week ago so we could
teach him about acolyte duties?"
"Yes, I was referring to Kendall."
"You know, Father, we never even got to meet him. We saw him at
church every Sunday morning sitting with his mother, but we never got so
much as to say 'hello' to him...and then he got killed."
"I got to know Kendall very well before his accident and he told me
time and again how much he admired you and wanted to be your friend,
helping you with the mass."
"Why'd he wait so long to ask? Heck, Jase and I've been serving
mass since we were twelve...since right after we were confirmed."
"Things just weren't right for Kendall to do what you did when you
were younger...and when things DID become right, unfortunately it was too
late for him." Cliff tried to explain.
"You mean his mother was standing in his way, huh, Father?" Tony
blurted out.
"Now there's no need to start casting blame. Let's just say Kendall
wasn't quite ready to be friends yet...The reason I asked your moms to
bring you over to the church is that Kendall got something for you
both---something he wanted you to have."
"Wow!", "You're kidding!" they replied in unison.
Cliff handed each of them a wrapped gift box, the contents of
which Cliff had never seen. They glanced at each other in unison, and then
timidly reached for the small boxes, tore off the paper and slowly opened
the cases. Their faces lit up the way Superman's always did when he looked
at kryptonite.
"Gosh", "Golly" they exclaimed.
"My name is written on it!" Tony said, holding up his 24 caret
solid gold ID bracelet.
"Mine, too." shouted Jason. "Look, mine's got something written on
the back side."
"So does mine."
"What does yours say?"
"It's written in tiny letters. It says, 'lo, I am with you
always. Matthew 28'."
"Mine does, too!"
"Father, was Kendall talking about Jesus or himself, about being
with us always?"
"I think you can take it both ways, or either way you want to
interpret it...We'll never know exactly what Kendall's intention was."
Cliff said. "You boys never knew it but Kendall loved you from afar."
"I think we'd have liked him, too, if we'd ever got to know him,"
"I'm sure you would've...Just think, there may be some other kid in
the congregation that's admiring you the same way Kendall did."
"Wow, I never thought what we do is that important." Jason said.
"That's why you should always try to set an example for others
every chance you get. You never know whom you're impressing."
"Father, as long as we're here, could we talk with you about
something?"
"Of course."
"Can you keep a secret?" Tony asked as his bright eyes widened.
"You know I can't say anything to anyone that's said to me in
confidence."
"Not even to our mothers?"
"Not even to your mothers." Cliff assured.
"Well, Tony and me have been 'doing things' with each other at home
after school."
Cliff had suspected this but didn't know he would be confronting
the topic this soon.
"Oh? What kinds of things"? Cliff asked, sincerely.
"You know, 'things'...touching each other's pee-pees...'things'
like that...and we wanted to know if it was wrong."
"Have you talked to your parents about this?"
"WHAT? And not to be allowed to see each other ever again?"
"You think your parents would react that harshly?"
"Heck, I know they would. That's why we wanted to talk to someone
else...someone we could trust." 'Trust'? Cliff found his heart filled to
overflowing.
"All right, but I want to be careful about the things we talk
about. I don't want your parents coming down on me with fire and
brimstone."
"Don't worry, Father, anything you say will be just between us."
"OK, I presume you both know the meaning of the word,
'masturbation'?"
"Sure...beatin' off! We both know about that."
"So what seems to be the problem?"
"I don't know quite how to ask this, but if we put each other's
pee-pees in our mouths, will we get a disease or something...you know, like
they talk about on TV...AIDS and stuff?"
As much as Cliff respected their parents, he wondered where the
home education policy had faltered? Cliff's parents had taught him more
than Jason's and Tony's before he was eleven years old.
"First of all, if we're going to talk about adult things, maybe we
should use adult terminology."
"Like what, Father?"
"Well, for starters, 'fourteen' is a little old for referring to a
penis as a 'pee-pee'."
"Heck, Father, we know OTHER words, we just didn't want to
embarrass you...we say cock and dick and goober. things like that, all the
time."
Maybe they DID know more than Cliff had given them credit for.
"Guys, I don't feel it's my duty to explain sex to you. But I do
think it's my responsibility to tell you about 'safe-sex'. I assume neither
of you has been 'doing things' with other people and because of that, I
don't think you're in danger of getting a disease."
For the next fifteen minutes, the boys' eyes stayed glued on Cliff
as he spieled out the pros of condoms and various other precautions they
should be aware of in their early pubescent experimentation, as well as
later on in their adult lives. Cliff tried to make his lecture personal,
more on their level, than using the clinical approach he often took for
young married adults. As he talked, their eyes squinted and widened as the
subject of different kinds of sex kept changing. When Cliff thought he had
said enough, he stopped to get their reactions to see what kind of
impression his speech had made.
"OK, Father, you told us how to keep our 'penises' safe, but what
about our souls? Will we go to hell for doing the things we're doing?"
"I don't know what other churches might tell you about this, but in
OUR church, we look on the relationship between two people of the same sex
as natural. No, we don't teach that you're going to hell for what you're
doing. Someday, I believe that OUR church will sanction same-sex
marriages."
"You mean, someday Tony and I could maybe get married to each
other?"
"Same-sex marriage in the continental USA is a long way off, but if
it does come to pass, and IF you two love each other, then, yes, it's
possible."
"But we love each other now!...Is that wrong?"
"Of course not, but just be careful when and where you display your
affection toward each other. Not all of society approves of such
activities."
"You mean like the Baptists?"
"Among others" Cliff said. "You know what? I think you SHOULD tell
your parents about the way you feel. Who knows? They might like the idea
of having a new son in their families."
"You really think so?" Jason asked, excitedly.
"I'll tell you what. If either of you has a problem after telling
your parents, maybe I can arrange for all of us to get together and see if
we can find a remedy."
"That's great, Father. You're super!!"
"OK, now scoot out of here or you'll be late for supper...and I
don't have to remind you to take good care of your bracelets."
"We will, Father. We promise."
Cliff always found it delightful to talk with them. They knew each
other so well. They finished each other's thoughts and sentences. Cliff
suddenly wished he had a crystal ball and could see where they both would
be ten years from now. He showed them out and locked the door as he wanted
to call Roger before he left for home to see if Jay needed anything from
the store for supper.
Cliff called the rectory number since he assumed Roger's three
lines would be busy. However, he forgot about the answering machine, but as
soon as Roger heard Cliff's voice, he picked up the phone.
"Hey, babe!" Roger answered.
"Is this the infamous Jessica Fletcher?"
"You better believe it! BOY! Do I have news for you!!!"
"WHAT?...TELL!" Cliff said.
Roger started singing in a nursery rhyme, "I know who the culprit
is...and I know how to stop him..."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Cliff asked.
"I'm saying that I know who framed Timmy!"
"Well, tell me, damn it!".
"What'll I get if I tell you?"
"I don't know, but I KNOW what you WON'T get if you DON'T!"
"Ah hah! Thou doth threaten me with volatile threats!" he
exclaimed. "Listen, sweetheart, I don't want to tell you about it over the
phone. Be careful and hurry home and I'll tell you everything...but it
looks like happy days are here again for Timmy...and for us!"
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(To be continued in "Briarwood" Book One-chapter ten)