Date: Sat, 29 Nov 2003 11:59:18 -0800 (PST)
From: Rick Beck <quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com>
Subject: BJJ/My15thYear -- Chapter 27

BJJ27
Dooms Day


The hours had grown intolerably long.  I didn't sleep much that night.  I
spent most of my time in the kitchen drinking ice water and worrying.  Ty
kept getting up to see if I was okay.  My stomach was all turned upside
down, and I just wanted to get it over with.  A couple of times I almost
left the apartment, but I couldn't.  I couldn't face the street again.
Being warm, well fed, and comfortable was more addictive than the streets
ever were.  They had lost all of their allure.
        
Todd came over at ten the next morning.  He was overjoyed that I had agreed
to go home.  We sat around the dinning room table and drank coffee.  Walt
tried to explain the conversation from the day before.  Then the talk took
a serious turn.

"There are complications about him going home, Todd," Walt said.

"Wait a minute.  He's not backing out?"

"I don't think so.  If they agree not to chain him to his bed, I think
he'll go for almost anything else.  It's just I talked to his father. He's
the problem."

A puzzled expression came over Todd's face.

 "He's offered a reward.  He's been in touch with the police on a regular
basis, also social services, and he offered to come out the day they found
his things up at the motel.  He seems to want him back.  What are you
talking about?"

"The cops have my things?  My bag?" I said, thinking they had been lost for
all time.

"Yes, what do you think happens when cops bust a bunch of street kids in a
motel room?"

Walt turned to me with solemn eyes.  "Billie Joe, I know what you told me
was in confidence, but Todd's a confidential kind of guy.  He could have
busted you from the start.  I think you better talk to him about what we
talked about.  It's an important factor in what will happen once you go
home."

"No, I don't think I should."

"It's up to you to tell him, Biilie Joe, but if you don't I will.  We are
talking some serious shit here and I know a lot more than you do about
this."

"I'm going out," Ty said.

"Please stay," I said.  "You're my only protection from these two."

"I don't want to hear this, Billie Joe."

"Truth hurts, Ty."  I gulped air to ease my chest.  "I'm sorry. You did
your best."

"I should have kicked your ass right off.  I should have forced you to go
home instead of letting you get all up inside my head.  I tried to keep you
out of it."  His face screwed up with anguish.  "I tried my best with you."

Todd watched us with interest.

"Look you guys, I'm a bit lost here.  What's this all about."
      
"Billie Joe's going to need to do some watching when he gets home," Walt
said.  "I don't think Mr. Walker is the kind of man that wants to hear
this.  I sure as hell won't be the one to tell him.  I don't even want to
see him.  I already talked to him once and to say the least, the man's a
handful of anger and aggression."

"Wait!  Wait a minute.  Ty you said Billie Joe was safe.  Careful."
        
"Look, Todd, when he was around me.  I kept him careful.  I don't know
anything after that.  I was taking care of Walt, after his last spell.  I
don't even want to know," Ty said.

"It was after Ty came up to help Walt.  After the police came and Gene and
I escaped out the window.  I holed up with him a few days.  Then we holed
up with other guys."  I took in more air as the words hung up in my throat.

"Shit!" Todd said.  "I see where this is going.  Jesus Christ!  I got to
face this man and tell him his kid might be Hiv+?  I can see why you don't
want to see him, Walt."

"Jesus Fucking Christ!  You ever think about AIDS boy?"

"No, sir. I didn't think about anything. Except not being in pain... or
hungry all the time... not hurting all inside... not seeing those other
kids hurt inside... so scared... so hopeless.  Nobody to care what happens
to them and I didn't care if I wasn't alone.  I guess that was it, sir.
I'd do anything not to be alone out there.  Alone was the worst thing of
all."

Walt swallowed hard, trying to hold onto his rage with me but suddenly
disarmed by something I said.  He looked at Walt and then Ty and back to
me, shaking his head, knowing there was nothing he could do for any of us.

I knew Walt would die soon.  Ty was going to die shortly after that.  Ty
told me.  I didn't know if I would die of it or not, but Todd was the only
one in the room that had no death sentence hanging over his head or lurking
nearby.  This reality shocked me as I dealt with the meaning of the words
for the first time.
        
We sat around waiting for eleven o'clock.  Todd grew quiet and less angry.
I think I preferred him ranting and raving to the silent treatment.  I
didn't know what was going through his head.

At precisely eleven o'clock he picked up the phone and dialed.
        
"Mr. Walker please.  Todd Dorsey here.  I think you were expecting my call.
Yes, sir.  I've spoken to Billie Joe.  Yes, sir, he is willing to come
home."  My father's voice was a tiny sound coming out of the phone but I
recognized it.  "You will.  Yes, sir.  I think I can set that up.  I'll
give you my numbers.  Yes, sir.  You call me and let me know when.  Yes,
sir.  I'm working on it right now.  Yes, sir."

Todd paused and listened again to my dad for a moment.  "Mr. Walker, there
are some things we've got to discuss.  Well, number one, Billie Joe is in
my jurisdiction at the moment.  I feel a responsibility when I get a boy
home to see he's treated fair.  Yes, sir.  Yes, sir.  I understand,
Mr. Walker.  My main aim is to see they aren't abused once they return
home.  If we can get him back to you and you have a mind to be fair, we
might be able to keep him home until he's eighteen by working together.
That's my only concern in the matter.  I don't want him out here on my
streets again in a few weeks, because you bust his balls, thinking you can
keep him home this time."
        
"Well, first, I'll contact the social services authorities there to express
my concerns.  They'll be asked to check on him and report back to me.  I
want him to be safe and able to get his life back in order.  We like to
have the co-operation of the parents.  Yes, sir.  I know they are a
handful, sir.  We know discipline is needed as part of the answer.  Maybe a
few therapy sessions to help him readjust, Mr. Walker.  We find that to be
helpful."
        
He listened again for a longer period.  "I don't think you understand,
Mr. Walker.  Your boy has been living on the streets.  There are no rules
on the streets.  Once these kids get out there, it's really hard to get
them home again.  We're lucky with Billie Joe.  If you push him, he'll be
gone in a Minneapolis minute, Mr. Walker and never doubt that.  I work with
these kids every day.  I know once they are on the street it's hard getting
them off."  He listened a minute.  "Yes, sir.  It's hard keeping them off.
It's going to take some effort on your part to keep him home.  You can keep
him home or you can run him right back to me.  He knows people now.  He
knows where to go.  He knows how to hide from me.  I know where he is now
and he trusts me.  You run him back out here and he'll know how to avoid
me." Todd looked at me, after taking a deep breath. "There is one more
thing.  I really don't know how to approach this.  He's been on the
streets.  He's been exposed to everything that's on the streets.  There
will have to be testing when he gets home, just as a precaution, you
understand.  STD's, Mr. Walker.  That is tests for sexually transmitted
disease.  I'm afraid so.  It's how they survive.
Mr. Walker... Mr. Walker...  please, Mr. Walker, listen to what I have to
say.  AIDS, Mr. Walker, is a serious problem on the streets.  Billie Joe
will need to be tested for the AIDS virus for his own protection.  I would
suggest immediately and then every couple of months for six months and once
a year thereafter.  Some people show it pretty fast and others take as much
as six months to develop the antibodies.  I'll make sure you get all the
information you need.  I know sir.  I wish I didn't have to tell you.
We're talking your son's life here.  It's better to be safe than sorry.
Well, you call my office or my pager number any time.  You can leave a
message or I'll call you back if you like.  You can give me the details and
I can set everything up.  No, sir.  No.  I don't think it's necessary to
keep him locked up.  He's in a safe house and he's ready to go home.  Yes,
sir.  Good-bye."
        
Todd wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at me.

"He's coming for you.  He'll fly here as quick as he can get a flight.  He
thinks it will be tomorrow before he can get out of there.  He says he
could go to O'Hare, but he thinks it will be better to get you right back
home without a lot of extra traveling."

"He mad?"

"That's not the word I'd use.  Your father is not a happy camper.  I'll do
what I can but he sounds like a pretty strong-willed man.  I don't think
life on the farm will ever be the same for you."

"Didn't expect it to be.  What about the AIDS thing?"

"I think that slowed him down a little.  He tried to tell me all the ways
you could get AIDS.  He left out sex, probably in an effort to delude
himself.  I'm afraid your father isn't ready for that yet.  I don't know if
I'm ready for that yet.  You're going to have a problem answering his
questions.  I'll do what I can for you."

He drew a deep breath, relaxing the tension that had built up while he
talked to my father.  He rubbed both of his temples before finishing up.
"He'll be here as soon as he can get here.  I'll call Walt as quick as your
father calls me with details.  Let's just stay close to the house.
 
"What are my chances?" I asked.

"Chances of getting it or chances of not getting it?"  Todd asked.

"Either."

"Billie Joe, the more risks you took the more likely you are to get it.
Most of the kids up in that hotel have it.  Half the kids on the street
have it or some form of STD.  That means you've been exposed however many
times you had sex out there.  The chances you've got it are good but maybe
you'll be lucky and escape with your life.  It happens but unprotected sex
is like playing with a loaded gun.  You play often enough, Bang!  For the
next six months you'll have to be monitored closely.  I'll make sure you
have all the information."
       
"How long if I got it?  How long will I live?"

"Pick a number.  That's the hardest part.  The people getting it now seem
to be living longer.  AZT and some other drugs are extending the lives of
AIDS patients.  Lifestyle has a lot to do with it.  If you live healthy you
will stay healthy longer and if you don't, you won't.  You could be dead in
a year.  You could still be going strong in ten.  There is no answer.  It's
a crap shoot."

"Oh yeah, Ty, you knew Harvey didn't you?"

"Yeah!  Little prick!  Loud mouth."

"They found him dead up near the park."

"Someone did him?"

"No.  It was AIDS.  They had him in custody after the motel raid.  They put
him up in the hospital.  He had pneumonia so they say.  He walked
out. Found him a few days later up near the park.  Natural causes.  If you
can call AIDS natural causes.  That's what happens when you don't take the
meds. Harvey was a hardhead."  He grimaced and looked into the distance,
superimposing the past on the present.  "No longer."

"I thought about Harvey.  I thought about all the other kids I'd met on the
street. I wondered how many of us would be dead this time next year?  How
many of us would be infected, sick, dying?  Their faces made trips back and
forth through my brain as I tried to breathe suddenly thin air.  I felt
weak and empty and even sorry for Harvey, who I still didn't like but I
didn't wish him dead, even though he was.  I didn't like the way he was,
but he didn't deserve to die in the gutter, alone.  I didn't much like the
way I was either and I didn't know what made Harvey that way."
        
Todd talked with Walt and Ty for awhile.  I sat there pretending to listen,
but my mind was elsewhere.  I tried to remember Harvey's face, then the
faces of the people I'd been with, and then the faces of the people I had
met while I was out there.  I could remember a lot of details but mostly I
was concerned with parts other than faces.  I had no desire for sex left
inside of me but it's all I thought about while I was out there.  I was
addicted to dick and mouths and assholes and it didn't much matter whose,
as long as they were hard, soft, and inviting.

How could something that gave me that much pleasure be deadly?  Now I had
to worry about touching anyone else.  For six months I'd have to be careful
of everyone I got close to, who might want to get with me.  I couldn't
allow myself to become involved with anyone sexually.  That was going to be
the hardest thing of all.  I still wanted to be able to have sex if I
needed it again.  But of course I would be in Minnesota ... and no one had
sex in Minnesota.  Not so's you'd notice anyway.

					*****

Chapter 28 Belly Of The Beast

	I couldn't wait for Todd to leave.  I didn't think I liked him
much.  He was big and powerful and didn't seem to like me much.  Ty was
silent and stayed seated opposite me.  Walt sat in his easy chair, looking
brighter and showing some color coming back to his pasty skin for the first
time.  He stared out the long window where the sun brightened all the
buildings surrounding us.

He seemed lost some place in distant thought or reflection at times.  Then
he turned and looked at me before signaling to me with a raised eyebrow and
a come-over-here jerk of his head.

I stood up and crossed the floor until I stood in front of him.  He looked
up at me like I might be tall.  His eyes were hollow but they were
sparkling black inside his head.  A smile crossed his lips as he extended
his arms towards me as an indication he needed a hug or to give me one.  I
fought my instinct to refuse him and it was only then that I found myself
crying in his arms.  He patted my head and brushed my hair as if I was his
favorite puppy.  He held me tight against his skinny sunken chest and I
sobbed.

"It will be okay, Billie Joe.  You might not have it at all, you know.  We
must look to the bright side.  I could be dead but as you can see, I'm not.
Now I'm taking medication that seems to be working.  It's stopped my fall,
maybe so I could have the pleasure of meeting you.  You, my friend, aren't
even diagnosed.  There is hope for you.  You've just got to be careful from
now on.  You've got to be careful about other people's lives as well as
your own.  It's a disease," Walt reminded me.

"A plague," I said, having heard it before.

"I blamed God at first, because the assholes said he gave it to me.  I was
angry with him.  I cursed him for giving it to me.  You know what, he
didn't listen to me.  He gave me AZT when I could have died.  He sent me Ty
and now you.  You see that's how I know it's not a plague from God.  He's
on our side, furnishing the answers.  I'll pray to him that you don't have
it, Billie Joe."

"I don't believe in God," I said, snuffling as I looked up to see his
suddenly radiant face.

"What do you believe in?"

I grabbed a Kleenex from the box next to his bed, blowing my nose and
wiping it.  I sat back but I stayed beside him, sitting on the edge of the
bed.
  
"Nothing.  I believe in life.  I believe in living life."

"You think all this was a huge accident?  We're just so much protoplasm
stacked up?  Just dust in the wind, Billie Joe?  Is that what you think we
are?  You think we reason and experience intense feeling by accident?  You
think birth is an accident?  A flower is accidental?  A tree?  A star?  The
song of a bird?"

"Yes....  I don't know."

"Ah, hah!  You see, you just don't know.  It's okay.  Whatever you feel is
your right. God gave you the right to feel as he gave you a brain to think
with, not to follow what other people say, but to follow your own heart.
You don't have to accept him.  Just give him a little room.  He'll be there
for you in the end because God believes in Billie Joe and so do I.  I
believe you'll be okay.  I believe you are okay."

"He's never been there yet."

"Never?  Not one place where something happened that helped you out big
time, and you don't know how it exactly did happen?  Things were just going
all sour, and then all of a sudden you were fine?  Got clear of it without
knowing how?"

"Maybe once."

"Ah hah!  Maybe?  Maybe someone was looking over you, boy.  Is it possible,
even though you aren't sure?"

"I don't feel like that."

"It's okay.  You don't have to, but when you get in the next fix you're
in... and you will, Billie Joe.... I've seen you in action ... when you
paint yourself into that next corner, remember when you get out of it.
Think about how you got out of it, that's God at his best."

I looked up at Walt's face.  It was serene and innocent like a child's
face.  Like my face had never been.  I'd never felt very innocent.  I'd
always felt bad about myself.  How could God allow that?
  
No! I wasn't buying it.  Life is what happens to you.  No one cares.  No
one's watching over you.  You get by.  That's allyou can do.

"You go home and make the best of it.  You get in a bind, well, I'm not
telling you you can stay here with me but if you showed up at my door and
said you couldn't possibly live at home, I'd consider letting you live here
with Ty and me.  We'd talk to Todd and ask his help, but I wouldn't let you
go back to the street, Billie Joe.  I want you to know that.  No matter if
they come and arrest me for it."

"That's cool," I said, studying his sincerity.

"You are going home then?"

"Yeah!"  I took in more air than I needed.  "I'm ready to go home.  I need
to be in school.  I can't make it without high school."

"That's smart thinking.  You do need that diploma.  You've got to make a
future for yourself."

"What future?  If I got it I'm dead."

"You don't have it yet.  You might not have it at all.  Think positive.
Just be careful and try to make it at home.  It is where you belong for a
few more years.  Your parents must want you.  They've put out a reward to
find you."

"Yeah!  Hard to explain to their friends why their pride and joy took a
powder."

"You're a cynic. Mr. Billie Joe.  Your parents love you.  I'll guarantee
it."

"They've never bothered to clue me in on that fact.  I'm just a gigantic
pain in their asses most of the time.  Never did anything right, and never
will."

"They just want the best for you."  He leaned back.  "You just said you
were their pride and joy!"

"They don't even know me."

"Perhaps it is time you got acquainted.  Quit waiting for them to come to
you.  Ask them what the problem is.  Ask them what they want.  Speak up for
yourself."

"My best friend, Ralphie, died.  That's why I left."

"He killed himself?"  Walt asked.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Was he gay?"

"I'd say no, except he left a note saying he was.  I was his best friend
and he never told me.  Just offed himself.  I hate him."

"You hate him so much that you ran away rather than face his death."

"Yeah, dumb huh.  Why didn't he tell me?  I was his best friend.  He killed
himself because he was gay.  Why didn't he tell me?"

"He was scared.  He was afraid you'd dump him.  It's an awful thing to be
afraid.  Some of us can handle that kind of fear.  Forgive him for being
weak, but you aren't weak.  You'll fight to stay alive and that's as it
should be.  I predict you can do any damn thing you want."

"Yeah, I tell my old man I'm a fruit and he'll kill me.  I won't have to
worry about doing anything."

"Don't tell him then.  Billie Joe, it's up to you to know who you are.
It's up to you to decide what that means.  You don't have to tell your
father or anyone else anything that you aren't comfortable telling them.
Being gay doesn't take away your right to be you.  You tell those people
you need to tell and fuck everyone else.  It's your call and you don't tell
everyone just so you can make your life a living hell.  You've got to
consider the consequences before you ever reveal that to anyone.  Just
ignore your old man if he gives you a hard time."

"You talked to my old man.  You don't ask him anything.  You listen and you
better jump when he says jump.  That's why I'm always up against it.  I
stopped jumping.  I just tune them out mostly."

"You're going to have a new start.  Take it to them.  You've survived the
mean streets.  You can do anything!  It takes courage and guts to do that.
Don't take it from them.  Take it to them.  Talk to them and let them know
you intend to try."

"Sure.  Right after I get out of my room in ten years."

"Cut it out.  Sure you're going to be punished, but I'd punish you if you
were my son.  I'd punish you because I loved you."

"Carl loved me.  He's the only one.  He made me feel like I belonged to him
and with him."

"Carl from back home?" Walt asked.

"No, I met him on the bus."

"You fell in love with a guy you met on a bus?  You sure it wasn't lust you
fell in love with?"  "He was going to Japan.  We spent the entire time he
had left, five days, in a motel room in Seattle.  It was like being in
heaven.  I've never felt so good about myself, my life.  He was big and
strong and he loved me and I loved him."

"And you don't think there is a God.  I'd say he was looking out for you.
Makes me want to go ride the bus all over town."

Walt hugged me again.  I was a million miles from Carl and those few nights
in Seattle.  I clung to Walt and wondered if Carl and I would ever be
together again.

Todd came late the following morning.  There wasn't much said.  Ty stood to
the side when Todd took me out.  We were going to the police station where
my father would pick me up.  My father had rented a car from the airport
and drove into San Francisco.  We were leaving in four hours to return to
Minneapolis.  Todd said nothing after giving me those details.

He parked at the front of the police station in the no parking area with
the yellow lines marking off the forbidden zone.  We walked up the steps.
I stayed four steps behind him.  He was a huge man.  I got to the door and
stopped.  I felt a tremendous rush of fear come over me.  I looked to the
bottom of the stairs where the police cars parked.  Uniformed officers
trotted up and down around me.  I looked up toward Castro and back at the
door where Todd had disappeared.  My legs shook and I wasn't sure if I
wanted to run or not.  I wanted to cry.  I did not want to face my father.

The door swung open and Todd's big black hand reached out to grap my arm
before I could change my mind.

"Don't even think about it.  It's too late to back out now, kid.  You're on
your way home.  You're off my streets."

My father stood up off the wooden bench as we came through the second set
of doors.  I shook as he glared at me long and hard.  I stood behind Todd
so he couldn't see me completely and so I couldn't see his face.  He did
not move but stood there, glaring.

"Boy.  Say hello to your father."

Todd moved away from me, exposing me to inspection as he and my father now
both looked at me.  My eyes immediately went to the floor.  My knees
trembled.

"What happened to him?" My father said to Todd.

"The street."

"He looks older.  So much bigger than he was."
 "Your son's growing up, Mr. Walker.  You haven't seen him in months.  You
didn't know if he was dead or alive.  Of course he's changed.  Can't we
have a little hug here or something."

My father and I never touched one another when I wasn't getting spanked or
the back of his hand.  He hesitated uneasily before stepping forward.  He
almost closed the distance between us but at the final second he relented,
sticking out his hand to keep the safety zone between us.  I shook it
without feeling.  I made every effort to stand up tall and my eyes slowly
went up to meet his.

I don't ever remember looking into my father's eyes before.  They were cold
and angry eyes on a face without expression.  He was collect his property.
He intended to take it home where it belonged.

"Billie Joe," my father said in a cool, cool voice.

I nodded, afraid to speak, because my voice might break or squeak.

"I'm telling you now Mr. Walker, I'm going to follow up on this.  I've
contacted the authorities in Minneapolis.  I've told them what my
evaluation is.  I've told them what I want to see done for Billie Joe to
keep him home.  They are going to ask your cooperation.  There are two
things I don't want, Mr. Walker.  There are two things I won't tolerate.
Number one, don't let me hear from Billie Joe.  Don't let him have to call
me and tell me your heart isn't in this homecoming.  Don't let me catch
this boy back on my streets, Mr. Walker.  You don't want that to happen.
I'm not sure what I'd do if I found him back on my streets before he's
ready to come for a visit after he's eighteen.

Todd paused and looked at me.

"You got a good boy here.  He's smart.  You better give him a hug now and
again.  You don't know how long he's going to be around.  I'd hate to see
you want to hug him after he's gone.  It's too often kids are gone when
parents figure out they loved them."  Walt made a dismissive gesture once
he finished talking.  "That's it.  That's all I have to say.  I'm out of
it. You two better make an effort.  That's all I have to say."  Todd paused
and looked at us both again as if to fix a memory inside his brain.
"That's all.  Make an effort."

He turned and walked back out through the doors.  My father walked toward a
rear entrance.  He turned his head and looked at me as I stood waiting for
instructions.  He gave me the hard look I always got when I was fucking up.
I knew he expected me to follow him.  I looked at the front doors one more
time and contemplated making a run for it for about a second but I knew
Todd would now be standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me to
run.  He'd stay there until enough time had passed that he was sure I was
gone.  I followed my father out of the opposite side of the building to the
red rent-a-car that waited at the parking meter for us.  "Our plane leaves
in a little over three hours.  Is there somewhere I can get something to
eat?"

"Yes, sir," I said, as he backed the car out and made it lurch when he
braked and put it into gear.

"Where?"

"Left.  Up the hill."

"You know how worried your mother is?  You know what you've put us
through?"

I smiled in amusement.  Not because he was saying something funny but
because it had taken him only three minutes to start telling me what a
terribly disappointing son I was.  The marvelous thing about these tirades
is that long ago I learned to tune them out.  I always felt that the
pressure and the air weighed down on me and forced the air almost out of me
while he went into tiresome detail about each of my indiscretions back as
far as time permitted. This time was different.  I not only tuned him out,
but it didn't bother me to have him doing what he always did.  I thought,
maybe I didn't care any more.

My father's power over me was gone.  I once more thought of Walt's words
and smiled.  I could stand up for myself.  I didn't have to be beat down
any longer.  In my nicest voice I interrupted him in mid sentence, "Where's
my bag."

"What," he said, surprised by the interruption.

"My bag.  They said the police had my bag.  Didn't they give it to you."

"I put it in the trunk."

"I want it."

"You'll get it when we get to the airport."

"I want it now."

"You heard me.  You'll get it at the airport."

"I want my fucking bag," I screamed insanely, like this was some battle
over life and death.

The brakes of the car shrieked as the car slid to the right and bounced
hard enough to put the front right tire almost on the sidewalk.  I waited
for the hand or fist but heard the door opening far too hard.  The trunk
lid bounced the car as it sprung open and then slammed.  I felt myself
shaking as I saw my father's form standing at the door.  The bag came
sailing at my head and the cloth handle smacked me across the face as I
deflected it with my hand.  My father threw himself into the seat, the back
of his hand knocked my head back against the door jam with a thud.

He said in an angry low growl, "Don't you ever talk to me that way
again. I'm your father."

I ignored him and rifled through the bag.  Carl's picture was out and on
top of the letter he'd sent.  The envelope was all torn and tattered.  I'd
kept it carefully in the pocket where it would stay protected.  I looked at
Carl's picture and my father looked at me looking at the picture.
 
"Who's that?"

"A friend."

I finished going through my things.  I turned each sock inside out.

"Where is it?"

"Where is it what," he said, as he looked in the mirror and pulled back out
into the street.
 
"My money.  I want my fucking money. Todd said the cops had it," I yelled.

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and a dozen bills
slapped me in the face and cascaded onto the floor.  As I bent to collect
them a handful of coins hit me and followed the bills rattling all over my
side of the car.  I collected all that I could find.  There was a hundred
and twenty eight dollars in bills and seven dollars in coins.
 
"Where'd you get all that money?"

"I made it."

My father glared at me in a quick glance and then stared out through the
windshield without any followup.

"Where's this restaurant?"

"Up top to Lombard.  Make a left.  It's still a ways up."

"Look, Billie Joe. Your mother needs you home.  She wants you home."

"What about you?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Why?"

My father drove awhile.  He acted like I was no longer there.  He watched
the mirrors more than necessary.  Much out of character he held both hands
on the wheel, I suspected in order to keep from pummeling me.  I took off
the too big shoes with the white tops and put on my tennis shoes.

He cleared his throat several times.  After awhile, he spoke once more,
trying to pace his words and to speak in a softer tone.

"Your mother wants you home.  She blames me for this.  Your mother's going
to leave me if I come back without you.  Is that what you want?  Do you
want to break your family to pieces?  Is that it?  Do you really hate us
that much?  What did we ever do to you?"

"Why do you hate me, Dad?  Why haven't you ever done anything with me, Dad?
A ballgame Dad?  Fishing Dad?  A long father and son talk Dad?  Why is it
so hard for you to love me Dad?  Why haven't you ever done anything with me
as your son Dad?"  I jerked each "dad" out of my mouth in a mocking
twisting disrespectful tone.

"It's how I was raised," he said.  He paused for a moment, looking straight
ahead at the road.  "I want you home.  Your mother wants you home.  That's
it."

"I've got two stops to make.  One on the way to the restaurant and one
after you get there.  You can take me or I can get out and take myself.
It's up to you."

"Where?" he said in a sigh, resigned to do what it took to get me on the
plane.

"Make a right instead of a left at Lombard.  Next big intersection."

I guided my father down below the Castro and toward the old warehouses.  We
stopped at the end of all the deserted loading docks.  My father looked
alarmed and cautious as he gazed around at the vacant facility.  I hopped
out, leaving my bag on the passenger side floor.  I could feel his eyes on
me as I climbed the small hill and disappeared into the bushes.

"Jesus," I yelled out.

"Si," a voice came back in immediate response.

Jesus stood up out of the box.  He smiled when he saw me.  "Gene's
boyfriend.  Hello, Billie Joe."  "Hi. I wanted to bring you your shoes back
.  I wanted to thank you for being nice to me.  For helping me."

"Not always so nice," Jesus said, with sadness in his voice.

"Nice enough," I said, remembering the last time I saw him ranting and
raving at Gene and me.

"Has Gene come with you.  I have not seen him in some time."

"No, Ty said he went to Los Angeles with his friend Donnie," I said as
Jesus looked sad to hear he was so far away.

I hugged him and felt him tensing up from being touched.  His hands raised
up to the sides of my arms but it was obvious he couldn't hug either.  I
smiled at him as I backed away and I knew he'd be shocked when he found the
roll of bills I had put in his coat pocket.  I felt good about that.  Jesus
saved me for awhile.  I couldn't leave without a thank you.

Maybe there is a God.  Maybe that's why Jesus was there for us and maybe
it's why I couldn't keep the money I had and he was the only person I knew
to give it to.  Maybe someone did look over us.

I took my father into the restaurant on the block.  He seemed a bit
skeptical when we passed all the strip joints and dirty bookstores on the
way.  It wasn't crowded and we took the booth in the back.  The big guy in
the apron acted like I wasn't there.  I told my father I'd be back in a few
minutes.  He looked at me carefully but didn't say anything.  I nodded at
white apron as I left.  I could tell he thought I was with a trick.  Little
did he know!

I looked down each street as I walked toward the party hotel, hoping to see
one of the kids.  No one was out.  The hotel was empty.  I looked around
and saw signs of life that had vanished before I arrived.  The smells
tightened my stomach and reminded me of the seedy side of where I'd been.
I crawled back out of the tiny opening and slid back down between the
buildings until I was back on the street.
 
My father was picking at his food when I came back into sight.  A look of
relief came to his face.  He hadn't been sure I was coming back.  He drank
from his coffee cup as I moved to the last booth.  He looked down to his
plate and moved things around with his fork.

"Not bad," he said.  "I wasn't sure you'd be coming back.  I'm sorry I hit
you.  You shouldn't talk to me like that.  I'm your father.  I came to take
you home because it's where you belong.  Because I want you home."

"I'm sorry.  Bad habit I've picked up.  Taking up for myself.  It's one of
the first things you learn on the street."

"We are going back together?" he asked.

"We are going back together.  I'm not stupid, Dad.  I need to finish
school.  I need to finish growing up.  I can't do that here.  The only
thing you can do here is die."

"Why'd you come then?"

"To see."

"To see what?"

"To see."

"These tests.  I haven't told your mother."

"Why not?"

"She can't handle that.  I can't handle that.  I can't tell her that about
her son.  You're a child for Christ sake.  How could you have this thing?"

"The usual way you get it."

"How do you get it?"

"You need to read up, Dad.  I'm not going to discuss it with you.  You've
never wanted to discuss anything with me.  This isn't where we start.  I
don't even know that much.  I might not have it.  I might.  That's what the
tests are for."

"Who's Carl?"

I shuffled my feet around under the table.  My father was starting to hit
the buttons.  I watched my hands drum the table as I looked around
impatiently.

"He's someone I met."

"You want something to drink?"

"Yeah!  Yes, sir.  Coffee, cream."

My father looked at me and at his own coffee cup.  He seemed surprised.

"Bring my son a cup of coffee if you don't mind," he called to the counter
guy.  White apron looked up and then at me as he walked the coffee around
the corner of the counter and slid it in front of me as the liquid ran out
into the saucer.

"Thank you," I said, practicing for home.
 
"You've grown.  You look older."

"The streets age you."

"You don't look bad.  Just older."

"Shit!  I look like shit.  I've seen in a mirror."

"You'll get better.  You'll rest up.  School starts next week, but you'll
rest up until then.  You'll be okay.  Your mother will be glad to see you.
We'll be okay, Billie Joe."

"I know.  I'm sorry I hurt you."

"It'll be okay.  We'll do okay," he said again.

I drank my coffee and watched him shuffle his food around.  He didn't eat
much of it.  The conversation became strained, stifled by that uneasiness
when there is no more small talk you can make.  We desperately needed some
small talk but only the big questions were left.  Throughout my entire life
my father had told me how it was, and what I was going to do.  He'd never
asked me once what I wanted or needed, what I thought, or what I felt.  It
wasn't going to start in a cafe in the Castro.  We both knew that.

"Who's Carl," he said again, after the dishes were cleared away and he was
cradling his third cup of coffee since my return from the hotel.

"You read the letter.  You know who he is."

"Is he what this is all about.  Is that why you ran off."

I started laughing.

"This has nothing to do with Carl.  He'd have stopped me if he could.  It
has to do with me."

"So tell me who he is."

"He's a marine.  He met me on the bus.  When he left, I couldn't go
home. That's it.  I couldn't go back to Minnesota.  I couldn't just go
home."

"Why didn't you talk to us?  Why didn't you tell us what was going on?"

"I can't talk to you, Dad.  You tell me.  That's it.  You don't talk to
me. You tell me.  I found out something I couldn't just go home with.  I
had to deal with my feelings before I could go back home."

"What was so terrible that you couldn't come to us with it?"

"Remember Ralphie, Dad?  You remember that cute little kid that was always
over our house?  He was my best friend.  I couldn't talk to you about his
death, because of that damn note he left.  Ralphie was a coward."

"We don't need to talk about him.  Ralphie's dead, Billie Joe.  You've got
to face up to that and go on.  Is that what it's about?"

"Dad, Ralphie killed himself rather than face who he was.  I ran away
rather than face you with it.  That's why I couldn't go home.  That's what
it's all about."

"Carl?"

"Carl was just someone that I met and he got my mind off Ralphie, but then
he had to leave me too, and I did what I did because I was afraid to tell
you I'm gay."

My father choked on his coffee.  It ran off his chin.  He blotted it with
his napkin and coughed on my words.  He drank some water and blotted some
on the spots on his shirt.  He didn't look at me.  He couldn't talk.  There
were tears in his eyes.  I don't know if they were from the choking or from
finally hearing the admission coming from the horse itself.

"We'd better go.  Should be there at least an hour early.  Got to turn in
this car.  You want anything else?"

"No, sir."


Chapter 29 Clean Getaway

The plane shuddered, catching my attention as the weight lifted off the
landing gear, making us airborne.  It was my first jet plane ride and I
watched the ground move away from us at a rapid rate of speed.  We passed
over Alcatraz, Golden Gate Bridge, and headed out over the Pacific.

I wasn't the brightest bulb in the box but I knew Minnesota was in the
other direction.  As I was about to suggest to my father we had gotten on
the wrong plane it started to bank, while continuing its climb, and was
immediately back over land.  I relaxed and figured the pilot probably knew
what he was doing.

Once I was convinced we would stay in the air I went back to digging in my
bag for the notebook that was still tucked safely under the protective
reinforcement flap at the bottom.  I had started writing down everything
that happened to me, until the cops raided the hotel.

Settling into my seat, I opened it and went to the letter I'd started
writing to Carl only about a month earlier.

 Where to start?

What do I tell him and what do I save for later?  What will he understand,
and what will he hate to hear?  I wouldn't lie to him but while he was
still over there it wasn't a good time to tell him all the details.  If we
were going to have a chance it would be necessary to get to know him
better.  That would be where I started.

I went to a fresh page and started a new letter with the current date.  I
explained that I'd been separated from my belongings and notebook, but that
I was okay and I had gotten everything back.  What else could I tell him
that would be worth talking about?

My father and I had resumed our usual relationship.  He said nothing to me
after getting into the car at the diner and starting toward the airport and
I responded in kind.  We avoided looking at each other and I was sure he'd
thought over what had taken place between us that day just as I had.

I had followed him into the car rental place at the airport uninvited and
then I followed him through the airport to the boarding gate.  If I didn't
know better I'd swear he was hoping I'd get lost or run.  He never looked
once to see if I was still behind him, but I was.  I was going home whether
he wanted it or not.  I was going home and I would finish school.  The rest
had to take care of itself.  When we got on the plane he led the way and
stood in the aisle, indicating by stance and slight body movements that I
should take the inside seat.  We'd always had a silent way of
communicating.  I'm sure many fathers and sons do.

I'd only written a paragraph telling Carl I was fine, or thought I was
fine, or hoped I was fine, but I knew I didn't want to talk to him about
it, so I stopped there.  I turned a few pages and at the top of another
clean page I wrote:

Billie Joe's Journal

I decided that I would write about the most important things that had taken
place during my summer of misadventures.  Carl came first and beside his
name I put a heart with an arrow through it.  I wrote C L's B in the middle
of the heart and I admired it.  I crossed it out and reached for the
bracelet that was up on my elbow.  I drew a second heart and wrote inside,
B Love's C and I smiled.
 
Raymond came after Carl and I wrote about Raymond and what a jerk he worked
at being and how confusing it was to know someone like him, especially
then, at the earliest stages of my awakening.  So, I just described him,
leaving out the more graphic details, although they were still fresh in my
mind.
  
I wrote about Sven and Ingmar and tried very hard to picture them
accurately in the words I put on the page.  I couldn't write any more than
the basics then but in my mind I still saw them too as clearly as if we had
parted that morning.  Raymond still made me feel warm in my pants but
Ingmar and Sven made me feel warm in my heart.
  
I could no longer picture the villain on the highway that chased us into
that big trucker's arms.  I knew he looked like the terror that sometimes
chased me inside my dreams, but I never again saw his face.  It's one of
those things I had probably blocked out in order to have peace.  He was
always there in the dark but way back in the shadows.

Earl was harder to write about.  There seemed to be but a single dimension
that concerned me and, and those were the details I wouldn't try to put in
words on the plane.  It was something that would be left to the quiet and
privacy of my room, for those times when I needed no more than a little
relief.  Earl would always have a kind of sexual power over me, but that's
all it was.

Harvey was easy, and I grouped him with Dennis and John, where he belonged.
I knew Dennis and John weren't bad people.  They simply took advantage of
someone who allowed that.  Everyone I met had a roll and each played it
according to the rules they'd learned about life.  Harvey was a seller and
Dennis and John were purchasers of favors they could no longer get any
other way.

Once I was on the street, I understood better why Harvey didn't care and
didn't mind them using his body.  When you are alone out there and someone
wants you for anything, that gives you a certain amount of power.  I
thought I could relate to what Harvey felt sandwiched between the two
middle-aged men while I watched through the crack in the door.  I even
thought I understood his need to blow the money on pizza.

Funny how clear things get after you have some experience with the bottoms
of barrels.  Harvey wasn't a bad kid, but I could never have truly liked
him, because he had already given up on life.  It did not surprise me he
was dead because I thought he was a little dead even when I first met him.

The first images of Ty, Sharon, Gene, Donnie, Bryce and Gil, and of Tony
and Tim were all centered around the first time I went to the party
hotel. I could describe them physically, but I saw each of them sexually
every time I closed my eyes.  These images never ceased to arouse me and
when aroused I found I was repulsed not by the images but by my erection as
the smell of their frequent discharges stayed with me long after their
faces faded from my mind..

Still I knew if I was ever faced with the scene inside the hotel again, I'd
be in the middle of the action a lot sooner.  Even knowing what I now knew,
and even considering the danger, it wouldn't stop me from becoming part of
it inside of that time and space.  It was an addiction, rubbing bare skin
against bared skin, until you were so hot you'd do anything for anyone up
there.  All the desires came mixed up together and then you just fucked and
sucked until you collapsed and you rested a few minutes, knowing someone
would be at you right away to draw you back into the all night action.

There is a power inside the group that doesn't exist for us anywhere else.
There is power in breaking all the rules and flirting with death.  There is
a power in loving and being loved by everyone at once.  From time to time
you could be alone with one of them but the next time you look, they are
alone with someone else, and you are too, each being intimate and faithful
with whomever we were with for the moment.

It was glorious to care so much about people you hardly knew, intimately
involved with each cock, each asshole that was presented to you as a gift
for as long as it took to wear out your welcome.

I was surprised to look down on the tops of clouds.  The sky was a vivid
blue up that high.  I watched out the window for a time, not thinking about
anything.  I went back to writing to Carl.  I told him I was on my way home
and that my father and I had had a rather stormy reunion but things seemed
to be going back to normal.

Each time I started writing to Carl, I stopped after only a sentence or
two.  I wasn't looking forward to getting home and facing my mother, but
she'd be easy compared to my father.  The question would be whether or not
he'd tell her about AIDS or just make sure I got the testing done.  It
hadn't been mentioned and I assumed my mother already knew my questionable
status.

School would be tough.  There was no doubt my exploits would be known
through the kids of my parents' friends.  Nothing stayed secret too long
among them.  I don't know if they'd hear something about me running off for
the same reason Ralphie offed himself, or if they'd just say Ralphie's
death so upset me that I sort of went off the deep end.

I wasn't about to go back to pretending I was straight.  That time had
passed me by.  I'd have to make a stand or everything I'd tried to do would
be a waste.  The point of running off was to become who I was, and to quit
hiding from it.  What problems this would create were still mysteries, but
I suspected my time on the streets of San Francisco would be good
preparation for the ordeal ahead of me.

I was sixteen now and growing up.  The question being, had I grown up
enough or would I grow up enough to deal with the people who would hate me
for what I was?  How would I find people that understood or could accept me
as I was? What would I have to do to not be alone again?  I was better
equipped to be alone but I wanted very much not to be alone.  Finding
people to sit with me and talk to me about my feelings would be difficult.
Finding people who would allow me to be honest would be hard.
  
I'd find them.  It would take patience and work but I would find them,
because I knew what to look for now.  If I was honest and up front about
who I was, there was a much better chance I'd make some friends I could
trust or who would at least respect me for my honesty.  Maybe there was
another gay kid or two that might come to me and let me know I wasn't
alone.  Maybe I wouldn't be alone.  There is always hope and Carl.  No
matter what else happened, he had taught me what love is and how it can
take you away from any pain or sorrow you know.
 
Once more I found myself staring out into the blue sky, finding some
solitude in the empty sky.  It was darker blue the further east we flew.
You could almost see forever above the clouds out there.  I wished I could
see all the way until I was eighteen and leaving home.  I wished I could
see to the next summer and meeting Carl at SeaTac.

I wanted to get there and be there but there was a lot of time and distance
between now and then.  There was a lot of uncertainty.  Would Carl still
love me?  Would he forgive me for what I had done?  Would he come back to
me in a year and could we start up where we left off?  Could I make it
through the year?  Could I stay at home without blowing up and running off
again?

It had been over two months since the last time I walked into my house.  My
mother would likely pretend I was with brother John most of that time, but
then there would be the questions.  They would come at dinner or while I
was entering or leaving a room.  She'd ask me about this or that, something
that was on her mind and a question she could no longer deal with.  I'd
explain away the question and make her smile.  She liked for me to make her
smile.  My mother and I were very much alike, and that made us very
volatile at times, but we always understood one another.  We thought we
knew how the other thought but she always sided with my father.

I was not surprised that my mother blamed my father for my leaving.  I
suspect she would now try to blame Ralphie.  He would be convenient and
we'd have talks about it being okay that it upset me, but that it wasn't
okay for me to run off.  We wouldn't mention my dirty little secret.  I'd
be told I should have come to her with my problems so she could help, only
I'd never come to her with my problems and she had never helped me in that
way.  My parents' lived well-ordered lives, always staying busy.  They
really didn't have time to devote to raising a son.  It would be hard being
home but not as hard as it had been being on the street.  If I could
survive the streets I could certainly survive a few more months at home.
That sustained me when I suspected I might not like being home very much.

I'd learned everything I needed to know while on the street.  I learned
that the network I was looking for didn't exist.  Gay society was no more
prepared to deal with gay youth than straight society.  Of course the mere
mention of the words "underage gay teen" would send waves of fear through
many adult gay men.  If caught in the company of or assisting said gay
teen, they were looking at molestation and contributing charges.  Even the
mere suggestion that an under age boy was hanging about could ruin lives.

No one fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen could be gay and ask for assistance
without running afoul of the law.  We simply had no right to be gay and
underage, much as some generations were criminals by virtue of their
homosexuality and society's determination to keep them at bay.  So we end
up with guys who are not supposed to be that way but are and they end up on
the streets with a gay society that would like to help but can't.

There were good intentions and some men who would feed you and give you a
place to stay for a time.  But always there was the fear that someone would
knock on the door and they'd be asked to pay for their kindness by facing
prosecution.  It wouldn't matter if there was any sexual hanky panky going
on or not, the mere appearance of impropriety was enough to raise the
temperature of any jury.  While Dennis and John weren't the sweetest guys
I'd known, they offered food, a warm bed, and protection from the street.
What kid wouldn't take them up on their hospitality for a night of safety,
when the most they had to worry about was being wanted too often.

While straight society refuses to help gay teens, gay society can't.  So we
end up with a class of kids too young to be out on their own but there we
are.  There is no place we can go.  You can't tell people you're gay
because you end up in the system.  If you still insist you're gay you get
tossed out, beaten up, or sent to even worse foster homes, where they
aren't so threatened by gayness that they don't take a little off the top
before taking you apart.

Quite clearly, no one should be gay until you are eighteen if you know
what's good for you.  That's the way society sees it, and because they want
it that way, they aren't about to lift a finger to help defiant kids.  We
should know better than to choose being lost on the streets that are filled
with drugs, and sex, and AIDS, and rape, and violence you can't conceive,
until you meet up with it.

Being on the street virtually assures that sooner or later you'll develop
intimate relationships with some if not all of the above.  For far, far too
many the streets become a death sentence as it had for Harvey.  Like the
death penalty, it's meant to be a deterrent to you and I.  If you choose
the street it does not come without a cost.  Like being gay, the choice is
in living a lie or facing up to what you are.  It takes courage to choose
truth.  It certainly is far safer to live the lie that's provided for you.

Being on the way home meant I didn't directly face imminent danger any
longer.  Now I was protected.  Once more I could live inside the family
cocoon.  The dangers to me would be subtle and unannounced.  The residue of
the streets would become an issue.  Do I have it or don't I?

If I do have it everyone will say, "Isn't it a shame!"

If I don't have it they'll say, "Isn't he lucky!"

I don't know what I'll say but I'll remember the boys I left behind, the
boys who aren't quite so lucky to have parents that would take them back,
once the street gets on them.  My parents would not ask me the hard
questions and thus a certain amount of peace would live at my house.

The issue of AIDS was relatively new to me.  The prospect of having it was
frightening because of Ty and Walt, but the fear passed quickly.  If I do
have it I'll deal with it at the time.  That's about all there is to that.
The damage is done. Should I escape the plague, I will know I was lucky and
I hope I have learned enough to avoid it in the future no matter how loudly
the boys call my name.  No matter what they have to offer me and how good I
know it will make me feel, while they are giving it to me.  I'll always
play safe now if I'm safe now.

As for those I left behind me, I couldn't have made it without them.  I
couldn't have made it without Raymond and his caustic lip, or Ingmar and
his gigantic heart.  I wouldn't have made it without Gene.  I wouldn't have
made it without Harvey and I didn't like Harvey in life and could like him
no more for the way he died.  I couldn't have made it without Tim and Tony.
I couldn't have made it without Walt.

I especially couldn't have made it without Ty.  Of all the people that met
me and saved me and took care of me, Ty was the only one that truly cared
only about me. The rest of us kids fed one another but Ty never asked me
for anything.  He was just there with his heart full of love and
compassion.  He wanted to help me off the street and he did, protecting me
in ways I still can't conceive.

I guess writing is hard work because I ended up falling asleep after we
left Kansas City, the next-to-last stop on our way home.  I don't remember
the last leg of the trip or the landing.  I simply drifted off as though
all my cares and problems had been left behind.  The next thing I knew we
were in a cab and pulling up in front of my house.

My mother stood at the door, waiting for me to come home.  The hug was fine
and the questions hadn't started yet.  It was good to be safe at home.

Ty and I would talk a couple of times a month after I arrived home.  I
think my parents were scared that denying me this contact would drive me
back to San Francisco, so they didn't.  Ty usually called me but a few
times I wanted to hear his voice and his warnings that kept me home.

We discussed how hard it was to walk away from one another.  I told him I
was really struggling to find a way to leave, and I was so completely
drained after spending those weeks on the street.  I just didn't want to be
close to anyone now.  I needed so much space those last days we were
together.  I told him I no longer trusted anyone after those weeks on my
own.  He apologized again for leaving me and then for being so distant the
last few days at Walt's, but he told me he loved me and that he knew I had
to go home for my own good.  He wasn't sure how long he'd be okay, and he
didn't want me around him if he got sick.

Walt always said hello while he was still alive and he encouraged Ty and me
to talk.  He was to die shortly after spring came the following year.
Actually, he lived longer than Ty expected.  Arrangements were made for Ty
to keep the apartment, and he too had started AZT treatments in the months
before Walt died.

Ty gave me the rundown on everyone during our phone calls.  It was always
the bad news first.  Ty seemed unmoved by the things he told me.  Donnie's
body had been found in an alley off of Route 101 a few weeks after I left.
A dark green van had been seen nearby shortly before the discovery was
made.  They never found his killer.  His brother Jake was sentenced to two
years in Leavenworth for desertion and he was dishonorably discharged.  He
couldn't attend Donnie's funeral.

My constant inquiries about Gene got no clear response at first.  He'd been
seen in Los Angeles, Seattle, and Las Vegas, but no one saw him in San
Francisco.  I wonder if he knew about Donnie?  I was sad for Gene, because
I knew he loved Donnie as much as he could love anyone.

Sharon was found dead in Golden Gate Park just before Christmas.  She was
fifteen years old and six months pregnant.  No one had any idea about the
father's identity.  Her cause of death was listed as suspicious but no
arrests were ever made.  She was a street kid that came to the end of the
road.

Bryce had disappeared about the time Donnie's body was found.  Ty said that
rumor had it that he'd been seen with Gene in Flagstaff and Portland.  Ty
figured they took up together after Donnie's death.  Gene wasn't a guy that
could be left alone for long.  He had to have someone with him all the
time.  I had known that while I was with him.  As much as he saved my life
I had saved his too.  I was glad that I didn't have to think about Gene
being alone in the world and Bryce had been an okay guy.

According to Ty, everyone else was fine and still appearing and
disappearing at regular intervals.  The cops came down hard on them and let
up after election cycles ended and mostly the flow of the streets went on
as usual.  A new arrival would appear every week or two and Ty resisted the
idea of saving anyone else.  He told me it was too hard being a guardian
angel for the lost and lonely.  He said it was too hard loving someone like
me.  He no longer had the energy to get involved with the new arrivals.

I wrote to Earl and he always ended his letters by saying there was a
school up the street and a warm bed waited for me.  Of all the people I'd
spent time with, I thought Earl would be the least likely to see me again.
It's not that the time with him wasn't intense.  It was.  But I think I
knew that intensity wasn't worth much without love and a future.  Earl was
only interested in one thing and almost anyone could provide him with that.
Earl was one of my professors.  I'd learned a lot about my capacity through
his constant attention.  His letters were always short and to the point,
letting me know what I had was what he needed and longed for as he had
longed for every other boy that crossed his doorstep.

When I finally got around to writing Ingmar, he wrote me back a nice
letter.  He wrote just like he talked and he told me Sven was going to
school at Stanford and Raymond was working nearby and they were sharing an
apartment.  Ingmar was still amazed at this but he said they really seemed
close the last month they were with him.  He was happy for Sven and even
got to where he didn't mind Raymond, who spent most of his free time
staring at Sven.  He no longer complained about the work and he had put on
some weight and didn't have the mouth he once had.

I added all of these facts to my journal as I collected them.  Ingmar and I
wrote each other but he mostly sent postcards from each town he spent time
in.  He was very happy I'd decided to go home.  He told me I had a job if I
ever needed it.  I guess he was my favorite character of all the ones I had
met that summer of "My 15th Year."  Ingmar was about as real and good and
decent as a person can grow up to be.  He too never asked me for a thing
but he made it known he was there for me still.

Just a few more footnotes:

Todd continues to help kids get off the streets if he got to them soon
enough.  He visits Ty on a regular basis and fixed him up with Jason,
another guy with AIDS who needed a place to live.  He was over twenty-one
and fairly healthy.  Ty said he and Jason get along well as friends.  He
said they could be brothers except Jason had the misfortune of being born
white.  A lot of that going around.

Todd always asked about me.

The party hotel burnt down right after the first of the year.  No one was
home and no one was hurt.

I pictured all the kids and all we had done and I wondered where they were
doing it now.  I wondered if I'd ever find anyone to do it with again.
Then, I remember my father scooting his legs to the side to let me out to
take a piss once we left Salt Lake City on our way home from San Francisco.
As I wandered aimlessly back to the bathroom one of the stewards started
watching me.  I was sure he thought I was looking for something to steal.

When I came out, he stood right next to the bathroom door and gave me the
biggest smile and then I saw his eyes do a quick dive to do an inventory of
my trousers.

How did he know?

I giggled at the thought that I knew exactly what he was looking for.

I heard Raymond whisper in my ear, "They all want it."

I wasn't that crude but I still rubbed the front of my trousers against the
back of his available hand as he stepped to one side to allow me almost
enough room to pass, while keeping his eyes on mine, he held my trailing
hand on his ragging erection.  I was hard before the front of my pants left
his hand alone.  He was cute and not all that much older than I was.  Maybe
he was pretty old but hot for me.

He was still watching me when my father scooted his legs out to let me back
in, oblivious to his son's flirtation.  I stared back at him each time he
passed our seats and wished we could be alone together for a few minutes or
a few days.

"My 15th Year" had been quite an adventure.  I wondered what "My 16th Year"
would be like.


THE END

Thanks to BP for his lovely edit of this story.

Read my other Nifty novels.

DISCOVERING GREGORY

IN SKATER'S TIME

Both can be found in the high school section at Nifty.

If you have any trouble finding them or my other stories or if you want to
communicate your reaction to this story, write me at:

quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com


My website:

www.writersrealm.net

My Book:

Antiques & Homicide/Homocide 

Available at Amazon.com
Under that title