Date: Wed, 06 Jul 2005 23:44:38 -0500
From: Mike Logan <mlogan6969@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Reunion Show, part 6

The Reunion Show -- part 5
By Mike Logan

If you're not 18 or older, blah, blah, blah; you shouldn't be here.

If you don't like these types of stories, blah, blah, blah; you shouldn't
be here.

I've written a couple of stories for nifty in the past, and this one is
also based in fact.  If you like it let me know.  Constructive criticisms
are welcome also at: mlogan6969@hotmail.com.

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Nick, this part's for you, baby!

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"Alrighty Mr. Dell," I said.  "Tell me about your life."

All of a sudden a sadness fell over him like a ton of bricks.  I had
instantly regretted asking that
question.  "Dude, sorry, I just like to get to know people, is all," I said.

"No, man, it's alright."  He smiled weakly and said "I'm just trying to
figure out what parts to
leave out."

"Hey," I said, chuckling a bit, "I didn't mean to stir up something bad,
just was asking."

"Really, it's ok.  Oh, man" he said, sighing.  "Where do I begin."

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"Look," I said, "I didn't mean to pry.  It's just that since we're going to
be together for the next five weeks I thought-"

"Eight."

"Oops.  Eight weeks-that now'd be a good time to get to know you.  We can
talk about something else if you'd like.  Wanna talk about Christmas?" Now
I was trying to make light of the situation.

He chuckled a bit.  "Logan, it's alright."

"You know, nobody's ever called me that.  Always just Mike."

"Not Mikey?" with a grin.

"Uh...no.  Don't go there.  I always thought that nicknames were cool on
some people; just never had one myself."

"Logan it is, then."

"Well, at least I'll know who you're talking to.  Now if you ask me for
sex" referring to the drink the night before, and I just let it go at that,
laughing at my own dopey joke.

"So tell me about yourself.  Other than the fact that you cuss a lot."

I laughed a bit.  "Yeah, I do cuss a lot, don't I."  I noticed how deftly
he'd changed the subject from him to me.  Oh well.

"It's all part of your charm," Scott said.

"Now you're talkin'.  Well, what would you like to know?  Hey," I stopped
walking, "will this be, like, our first date?  With all these
questions...well, you know."  He laughed at that.

We continued walking.  "Well, for starters, are you from Georgia?"

"Nope.  I'm originally from New York."

"Yankee!" he said with a big smile.  Perfect teeth, dammit.  God, I dug
that smile.

"Yeah?  Fuck off.  I got enough of that bullshit from you when I moved
here" I said half- heartedly.

"What do you mean?"  He looked kinda puzzled.

"You don't remember, do you."

"No, I thought you said you were from Arizona yesterday."

"I said I moved here from Arizona, but I was born in New York."  He
snickered at that.  "What?"

"I'm not gonna say it."

"What?  'Yankee'?"

"Yes," he laughed a bit.

"Idiot.  And what's up with that shit anyhow?  War's over, pal."

"It's just how I..." and his voice trailed off.

"How you what?"

"Well, I was gonna say how I was raised, but I should correct that and say
how I was not raised."

"Ahh."

"Well why'd you leave New York?  City too big?"

"No, we lived Upstate near Rome.  When I was nine my dad took a job near
Phoenix and we moved out there."

"One extreme to another," he laughed.

"Yep.  We lived out there for two years.  I really liked it; had some good
friends.  Then dad took a job here and we moved to Stone Mountain right
after I finished sixth grade.  It's funny because I remember thinking that
Georgia would be the same as Arizona, with the city laid out in a grid and
you could ride your bike to the store or the arcade or school.  It's just
so damn hilly here that's almost impossible."

"True."

The sidewalks in this part of down are old and kind of crumbly and just
then the poor cameraman stumbled and fell.  We both helped him up and asked
if he was ok.  He said that he was but his camera was not and he'd have to
get a replacement.  He called one of the producers and they brought out a
car to get him, but not an extra camera.  Then we both realized that they
were leaving us without a cameraman.  It kind of confused us because we
were told that we could never leave the studio without a cameraman in tow.
Technically, though, we hadn't.  They were tailing us and then left us.  Oh
well.  Nobody told us what to do so we continued our walk.

"I wonder if they'll try to catch up."

"How do they know where we're going?" Scott asked.

"Well, nut, we're on video tape.  Their own, to boot.  If they can't figure
that out then I can't help them."

"Go on with what you were saying...about just moving here from Arizona."

"Oh yeah.  In Arizona I had quite a few friends and I was, well, not really
a 'leader' but I was someone who was always goofing off, sometimes getting
in trouble.  Then I moved here and it was quite a culture shock."

"How so?"

"Well, there's lots of Southern pride and lots of people still fighting the
Civil War.  Add that to me moving here and starting school in seventh
grade, when everyone was already in their own group.  It was just tough.
What can I say.  But then, what are ya gonna do."

"You said you knew me in elementary school?"

"Oh man, I tried to steer clear of you," I said chuckling.

He chuckled a bit too and asked "How come."

"Man, let me tell you this as gently as I can...you were the biggest
asshole to me."

"I was?" he asked, looking over at me.

"Oh my God.  I guess I also forgot what it was like to be the new kid on
the block after I moved here.  I was the newbie in Arizona too.  Some of
the guys who were shits I actually ended up befriending and most things
turned out pretty cool.  I actually benefitted from the Arizona experience
because oddly enough, after Christmas break there was when some of the
douchebags became pretty cool to me.  So I figured that the same thing
would happen here; believe it or not once Christmas break was over I made
more friends here as well.  I sorta knew it would happen.  But then, some
of you guys were just...shitty."

He laughed a bit at that "Man, I'm so sorry."

"Hey," I said.  "Don't sweat it.  I don't hold any grudges.  I mean hell,
that was years ago, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Oddly enough, even at that time I had..." I almost told him then that I
used to have a crush on him.  I guess I could have, seeing as there were no
cameras around.  But I try not to get my sexuality involved in most
conversations.  I mean, straight people don't walk around saying "Hi, I'm
Bob and I'm straight."  Plus, Scott was straight, right?

"You had what."

"You know," I laughed "right as I said that I lost track of what I was
saying.  I have to say, though, that you stood out in my mind as the worst
of all the guys."

"Really."

"Oh, yeah!"

"Why's that?"

I paused for a moment.  "Is it really important?"

He stopped walking and touched my arm with his hand, turning me towards him
a bit.  "Yes.  It is."  I could see in his eyes that he was sadened, or
upset, or something.

"Man, you were pretty friggin' mean and it didn't stop until after ninth
grade."  We continued walking.  By this point we had just turned onto
Piemont and were heading north towards the park.

"What'd I do?" he said quietly.

I sighed.  "Well, first there was that time you slugged me in the back in
Miss Harris' class.  (Note to the readers: In the South we call every woman
Miss so-and-so, whether or not she's a Miss or a Missus.  Just so's you
knows.)  For no reason at all.  I actually turned around and you said if I
hit you back you'd kill me.  Nice move.  You used to throw my books from my
hands, break my shit.  The hardest thing for me to forget, since you
obviously want to be tortured with your past," I said smiling over at him
"is when you sorta body checked me in ninth grade."

He looked over at me.  "Sort of?"

"Well, we were up in the wrestling room during gym class.  I was walking
towards the weight room, I think it was, and you came running across the
mats and dove feet first into mine, knocking me over.  The hardest thing I
think to get over was I knew that my pride was really hurt."

"How so?"

"Well, if I had known how to defend myself, stand up to guys like you, or
at least how you were then, I...I don't know how to explain it.  I guess I
lost a little self respect."

"Esteem?"

"No.  I don't buy into the whole 'self-esteem' psycho-babble.  I lost self
respect because I didn't have the balls to try and defend myself.  Not that
I ever could, mind you.  You were tougher than I was.  Hell, for that
matter my cat was tougher than I was."  He smiled at this.  "So in a way I
lost some self regard for not standing up for myself."

"Why didn't you?  I mean, why'd you take it?"

"Didn't want to make enemies.  Didn't want to make things worse.  Sort of
like Europe appeasing Hitler by surrendering Poland.  Knew I'd get my ass
kicked and didn't want to cry in front of everyone.  I'm tellin' you man, I
was a wuss.  I knew that nobody'd be on my side.  What was I going to do?
I actually smiled after you did it, so I wouldn't get upset."  I sighed and
said "Scottie, you really were a prick."

"I'm sorry."  I could hear in his voice that he was and he kept looking
away from me.

"Hey pal, don't worry about it.  Trust me.  I got over it."

"No, I really am sorry for causing you that kind of pain.  I know I used to
be a real shit-suck, but I've never talked to any of the people I'd picked
on.  You know, I actually remember doing some of that stuff.  I just asked
because I wasn't sure if you had; I'd kinda hoped that you hadn't.  Mike, I
really am truly sorry for that; for how I was."

"Dude.  Don't beat yourself up too bad.  We all have our 'shit-suck'
moments," I grinned at him.  We continued on in silence until we got to the
park where we headed over towards one of the park benches overlooking the
lake, or pond, and sat down.  I've always enjoyed Piedmont Park.
Unfortunately there's an area where lots of guys are cruising for sex.  I
think it's a shame because lots of families hang out here, and they have to
put up with that bullshit going on.

After sitting in silence for a while I looked over at Scott.  He had this
far away look on his face; looking down the hill toward the pond he had a
stick that he was peeling and throwing onto the ground.  We were sitting at
a good "I'm not gay" distance from each other and I could see his features
really well.  Good square jaw and the goatee begged to be chewed on.

"Your hot," I said.  "Wanna neck?"

He burst out laughing at this, which was my intent.  "Logan, you say the
damndest things."

"Well, I had to bring you out of the depression basket.  Shit man, where
are you?" I asked, tapping his head with my finger.

"God I wish I could take it all back," he said, shaking his head a bit.

"I'm sorry I brought it up.  I really am."

"No, not just that.  I wish I could rewrite history."

"Why."

"Puhhh" he exhaled, "because it can suck."

I didn't say anything.

"I was not a nice kid."  He looked so sad.  "I hated everything.  Everyone.
You know I never told anyone this-"

"Are you sure you want to?"  I interrupted.  "I mean, we just really met
yesterday."

Scott took that in for a moment and said, "Yeah, but there's something
about you."

"You got gaydar too?" I smiled.

"Idiot," he smiled back.  He didn't get the gaydar comment.  "You say the
damndest things.  I'm serious, though.  You seem like a really nice guy."

I sat back, breathed out heavy and said "I am!" sarcastically.

"Dammit."

"I'm sorry.  I'm working on taking compliments better."  He looked over at
me.  "Go on," I told him.

"Well, you've been nothing but friendly to me since we ran into each
other."
  That's 'cause, Scottie, I want have a sword fight with our peckers.  He
went on.  "Always cracking jokes, you're easy to talk to...I don't know.
It's like...how do I say it.  There's something right with your soul.  Does
that sound right?  It's like, something I can sense.  I must sound like a
dope.  I know we just met and all, but I...there's a connection I can't
quite put my finger on."

"Actually, that's one of the nicest thing anyone's said to me."  I still
wanted to neck with him.  Plus he had something I'd like to put my finger
on.  I should break here and say that I'm not always thinking like a pig,
but looking back and writing this out, my piggy tendencies emerge.

"So Scott, what did you want to tell me."

"Oh God," he said.  He looked down at the water, still peeling the stick.
"I haven't shared this with anyone."  He looked over at me but I didn't say
anything.  "When I was a kid my step-dad was mean to me.  Not just mean,
but fuckin' cruel."  He looked up and shook his head slowly.  "He did some
evil things.  Not just to me, but to my brother as well.  My sister lucked
out because she had already moved out once Mom got remarried."

I just sat and listened.  Yes, I actually know when to keep my trap shut.

"At first it started with the switches.  He'd get so mad at us for no
reason, and then he'd start hitting us with a switch.  Hurt us like a
fucker.  Mom actually made him go see someone about that, but then he got
smart.  He'd hurt us in ways that you couldn't see."  Scott looked down at
the stick he was still peeling.  "I think that she was miserable and wanted
to have a man in the house; she must have known what was going on.  For
months he didn't lay a hand on us."

"How old were y'all?"

"Probably eleven or twelve, my brother John's two years younger.  Then he
started paying us for chores, but they were chores that we didn't ask for.
I guess he figured if he paid us we wouldn't mind."

"Wouldn't mind what?" I asked, my suspicions growing.

He let out an exasperated, cynical laugh and said, "Having sex."

I took a deep breath and looked around.

"What?  Am I freaking you out?" Scott asked with a concerned look on his
face.

"No.  I'm making sure that the camera guys are still gone," I simply
stated.

He sat up.  "See.  Just that kind of thing.  You're concerned about this
winding up on television.  I don't think that most people would give a crap
about that."

"Well, baby, I ain't most people," I replied, playfully backhanding his
shoulder.  He smiled at that.  "Don't say a word," I warned sarcastically.

"Yep, Frank paid us for sex."  He looked off towards the old granite
boathouse, but you could tell he wasn't seeing it.  After what seemed like
an eternity he went on.  "At first he'd do something like take our hands
and rub them on his ass or his crotch.  Then he'd fling a dollar or a five
at us and tell us that we'd earned our keep."  Turning to me he gritted his
teeth a bit and said, "I can't believe I'm telling anyone this."  He sat
back against the bench and put his hands on top of his head, still looking
at the boathouse.

"It means a lot that you trust me enough to tell me."

Scott smiled at that.  "It took me a long time, so fuckin' long to trust
anyone again."  Looking over at me he said, "I can trust you, can't I?"

I leaned up and said, "Do you trust your instincts?"

He sat for a minute.  "Now I do."  I could tell this was really hard for
him.  "Weeks went by and he'd get even worse; what could we do.  But hey!
The money was good!" he sarcastically said.  "Oh God, what an evil fucker
he was.  Is."

"Did you tell your mom?"

"Please.  I think somewhere deep down she knew her kids were being peddled
for sex.  No wonder she drank so much.  It got to the point where even
taking a shower wasn't safe.  Frank would pick the lock on the bathroom
door.  Then he'd rip that shower curtain back and push me to my knees."  At
this point the tears starting rolling down his cheeks.  I closed my eyes
and wished a silent prayer of death upon Frank.  "When he left the bathroom
there'd be a twenty on the counter.  Fuck!"

I sat there and was horrified that someone could violate a kid like that.
And that the kid's parent could sit back as it happened.  I didn't want to
show a ton of emotion, or horror, for fear that he wouldn't be able to
continue.  He needed this, and even if we were only going to be together
for eight weeks, I wanted to be there for him.  Hey, deep down past my
cynnical assholeness (there's a new one for ya), I'm really a good guy.

"How long did it last?" I asked him.

"Oh God, long enough."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I know.  It's just that I missed out on so much.  I hated everyone,
everything.  I guess I took out my anger on whoever I saw was weak, like
myself."

"Scott, you weren't weak.  You were a boy for Christ's sake."  He started
sobbing a bit at that, with his eyes resting against his fists.  "Man,
there are some things that we absolutely cannot control, and sometimes
horrible things happen to really great people.  But you were a boy!"

"I should've stood up to him!"

"Would you put up with that shit if he started it today?" I asked.

Turning to look towards me he said, "Oh, SHIT no."

"And why's that."

"What the fuck kind of question is that!"

"A damned good one.  Why wouldn't you put up with his shit today."

"Because I'm a fuckin' grownup, that's why."  I think he was getting kinda
irritated with me.

"Exactly," I said.  "Because you're a grownup.  You're bigger now.
Stronger.  You're a grown man, not a boy anymore.  You weren't weak.  He's
a sick, twisted fuck."

Scott just shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright 'strong boy-man at twelve', how many firemen did he rape?" I
asked.

"Huh?" he said, puzzled.

"You heard me right.  How many firmen did he rape?  How many cops did he
force himself upon?"

"None.  That's a stupid question, dude" he said, wiping his eyes.

"No it's not.  The reason he didn't attack any of them was because they
were grown men who would have ripped his head off and shat down his neck
had he tried what he did to you on them."  This made him pause for a
minute.

"True."

"Damn right it's true!  You became the target to a sick bastard.  Don't
give me this 'I was weak' crap.  You were a boy."  I leaned toward him and
put my hand on his shoulder.  "God damn, man, you were just a boy."  I said
this part a bit quieter and oh man, he really broke down at that.  I was
glad that we were somewhat shielded from the walking path because I didn't
want him to feel embarassed thinking someone was watching him cry.  His
crying broke my heart and soon I had tears rolling down my cheeks and a big
ole' lump in my throat.  I knew I needed to be strong for him.  He needed a
friend.

After he finally calmed down a bit I asked him about John.  "What happened
to him."

"Shit, poor kid really went into himself.  Where I picked on people, he
started drinking."

"Oh no."

"Yeah, he saw mom hide her life in a bottle; figured he could too.  Then he
started doing drugs."  I shook my head.  "Eventually he started whoring
around."

"Promiscuous, huh?" I said.

"No, actually whoring around.  He became an escort, or something worse.
Last I heard he was walkin' the streets, hookin' up with whatever John came
along.  Hah," he laughed bitterly, "John picks up Johns."  He shook his
head again.  Suddenly it dawned on me about his questions regarding the
guys who cruise the park.

"Scott, there's absolutely nothing I can say or do, but-"

"Yes there is, and you've already done it."

"What?" I wondered.

He turned to look at me.  "You were here when I needed someone.  I'll never
forget that."  More tears rolled down his cheeks.

This time I got tears in my eyes -- again.  I smiled at him and said
"Anytime."

Scott popped my knee a couple of times, in a manly "I'm not gay" sort of
way and said, "C'mon, let's finish our walk."

We headed out around the pond (lake, whatever) towards the main parking
lot.
  Unfortunately this was where the cruisers were.  All of a sudden this
really cute guy came running past us, wearing only jogging shorts.  It was
getting late in the morning and with all of the rain yesterday I could tell
it was gonna be a hot and humid day.  I'll bet the jogger thought that it
was so hot and humid that it felt like there was a gigantic, sweaty walrus
sitting on top of his head.  And I'm sure all the gay men, small children
and elderly grandmothers were watching him as he ran by.  I remember
thinking, "I'll bet his name's Nick."  Oh well.

As Scott and I walked towards Park Lane, which was where one of the park
exits was, I spied a family standing at the top of the hill, next to the
bridge, overlooking the abandoned train tracks below.  As we strolled over
the bridge I could tell Scott was looking at the cruisers.  I wondered if
he expected to see his brother.  I wanted to distract him so we walked over
to the railing so I could show him a restaurant that had opened up in the
old golf clubhouse.  When we got to the railing we looked down and saw what
the family was waiting for: their mom was at the bottom of the hill,
beneath the bridge, with her purple panties down around her ankles, taking
a piss.  I started hollerin' laughin' like I never had before.  Poor thing
must have been embarassed as hell.  I couldn't stop laughing though.  Scott
started pushing me down the street; he was laughing too but was in more
control of himself than I was.

Once the laughter subsided he asked me a strange question.

"Logan," I really liked hearing that, "what do you think of gay guys?"

Uh-oh.  I gave him my honest answer.  "I don't."

He looked kinda surprised and said "Huh?"

"I don't," I repeated.  "I mean, I don't just sit around thinking about gay
guys, or lesbos, or trannies, or blacks, or Mexicans, whatever."

"I mean, well, do you know any gay guys?"

I couldn't tell if he was on a fishing expedition or not.  "A few" I lied.
Most of the guys I knew were gay.

"Does it bother you?"

"A dirty Sanchez would bother me, or an Angry Pirate."

"What the frig are those?" he asked.

"Well, after you have a little butt-love you pull out, stick your finger in
there and then wipe it on their lip like a Ricky Ricardo mustache.  Hence
the name, dirty Sanchez."

Scott stopped and laughed so hard I thought he was gonna have a stroke.
This time tears of laughter replaced the tears of sadness from earler.  I
just stood there watching him convulse with laughter.  I tried my damndest
not to laugh.  When his laughter died down a bit he asked, "Well what's an
Angry Pirate?"

"Oh this one's really cute.  It's where you blow your load in your
partner's eye and then kick 'em in the shin.  With their eye closed they go
"arrrrrr" from the pain in their shin."

"Oh God!" he hollered.  "Oh shit!"  This time I had to join him.  We both
laughed like complete friggin' morons.

We continued walking and turned south onto Monroe.  "So it doesn't bother
you that some of your friends are gay," Scott said.

"Um.  No.  Why should it."  Oh boy.  Here we go.

"I don't know.  Just more conversation, I guess."  We walked on a bit more
and the street traffic had gotten a little bit heavier.

"Can I ask you something personal?" he said.

"Shoot," I replied.

He was getting uncomfortable.  I knew what was coming.

"Well, I really like you, and I honestly do consider you a friend, even
after such a short time..."

"And?" I said.

"I'm just curious.  In high school there were lots of rumors."  Oh goody
gumdrops.  Here it comes.

"There always are."  I was starting to get a little shifty, nervous.
"About me, I take it."

"Well, yeah."

"I'm probably jumping ahead of the question a bit, but do you remember what
I looked like then?"

Scott said "Yes, I do."

"Would you have dated me?"

He chuckled a bit.  "Probably not."

"Ok.  Does that answer your question?"  There that settles that!  Or so I
thought.

"No."

"Well, shee-it!"

"Are you gay?"  There it was.  The question of the century.  We walked on
for a second before I answered him.

"Out of curiosity, whatever the answer is, would it change how you treat
me?"

"No."

"Would it change your trust for me?"

"Nope."

"Would it change the flavor of my weeks at the beach?" I asked, smiling.

"Your 'sex', Logan."  He returned the smile.  Oh man!  I'm dyin' here.  I
opened my mouth to answer him when all of a sudden we heard a car horn
beeping.  We turned around and saw Mr.  Happy Camerman hurrying over to us
with a new camera.  I closed my mouth and turned back to Scott.

"Looks like we're back on the camera, Scottie ol' boy."  I smiled a big
grin.

"So you're not going to answer," he said with his eyebrows raised.

"Let's finish our walk."

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Ok fellows, that's it for this part.  I'm tired and fidna go to bed.

As always let me know what you think.

Mike

mlogan6969@hotmail.com