Date: Mon, 10 Mar 2003 12:07:07 -0500
From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com>
Subject: In Memory of Steve - Chapter 7, A/Y,  interracial, incest

Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado
Corporation. All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without
written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive,
Florissant, CO 80816

This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If
this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This
material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters,
locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

************************************************************************
In Memory of Steve
by Tom Cup
Chapter 7
Homemaker

When you're young, and it's summer, days can pass with uncanny speed. Mom
and Dad did their best to keep my days full. Unlike previous summers, where
I was left to fend for myself (my companions being the computer or T.V.,
while my parents went happily to work), they planned my days. One day I
would be at Brad's house, the next at Brian's -- I was even shipped off to a
youth mission trip for two weeks. But my nights were still filled with
longing for Steve.

It was in the still and quiet of the night that I missed him the most: my
arms wrapped around my body, my hands rubbing my sides and back, pretending
that it was Steve holding me. I was lonely but the holding of myself, and
pretended whispers back and forth, helped ease my pain.

I did have fun with my friends, doing all the boyish things that kids do
during the freedom of summer days. But no amount of burgers and fries,
running unfettered through the neighborhood, unsupported laughter could fill
the desire of my heart. More than once during that summer my friends labeled
me a space cadet. I would only smile. I had out grown my childhood.

Dad never asked me if anything was bothering me (I suppose that Mom asked
enough for them both) but I caught him watching me. He was looking for
signs, reasons why I wanted to escape from a place he thought was a kid's
paradise. I understood that he longed for me to be happy. But happiness on
his term -- like in a Norman Rockwell painting -- that was not the happiness
that I sought. So I hugged him occasionally, letting him know that I did
love him; and secretly apologized, realizing that I would never be the son
that he wanted.

Mom continued to fuss about me, as always trying to make things perfect. I
let her. What was the use in casting off the things that made them happy? I
remembered a time when these small efforts would have overwhelmed my heart.
Now, they made my emptiness fuller.

But I was allowed to talk to Steve at night. We were careful. Angie was
always in the background. I could tell that he was never free to say what
was on his heart. Neither was I, really. But hearing his voice as I drifted
off to sleep, that was the salve to soothe my hurt. It gave me the comfort
to sleep and the strength to face a new day.

Often, I thought about running away during those days. I whispered my fancy
to Steve. I could hear the distress in his voice. They would blame him, of
course, if I did anything so foolish. And the truth was if I did runaway, I
would only be running to him. It didn't make much sense. But those were my
thoughts.

What I didn't know was that things between Steve and Angie were
deteriorating. Had I known, I am not sure what I would have done. I hated
Angie for taking him away from me -- but she was also the reason that he
remained in my life, that seems such a simple realization now. But my youth
showed when I learned that Angie and Steve were thinking of divorcing. I was
overjoyed. Finally, I thought, he'd be mine alone.

************

I noticed the strain in Angie and Steve's relationship during the Labor Day
weekend get together. Steve was moody. He didn't even seem to notice me. I
sat with him watching cable for most of the day. He didn't say much to
anyway. Christopher was toddling. Angie was looking a Weeble -- wobbling like
an over stuffed penguin. She eyed us suspiciously, every now and again
poking her sore face into the den; pretending to be checking on Christopher.

"What's wrong?" I whispered. Christopher had fallen asleep in Steve's lap.
He was a good-looking boy; long dark eyelashes, with loose silky, curly,
hair, and the permanent complexion of a well tanned boy. I envied him his
looks.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, there is."

Steve rose with Christopher in his arms. I didn't follow him but stayed
sulking in the den. If things were so bad that Steve couldn't talk to me, it
scared me. And it angered me. I thought back to when Angie was pregnant with
Christopher. I remembered how she had denied him intimacy. It appeared that
the same thing was happening again; only this time, I wasn't there to fill
the void.

Steve returned from putting Christopher to bed. He looked sheepishly at me,
with a half smile. "I'm sorry buddy. I guess I'm a little down today."

"It's OK. I know you have a lot on your mind."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I do. But we almost never see each other anymore. Let's
play some ball."

I leapt from my chair. I could hear Steve laughing behind me, as I ran to my
room to get the basketball. All I really wanted was to be with him. It
didn't matter that we couldn't get away alone together. I loved Steve; no
ifs, ands or buts about it.

Angie watched us play from the screen door of the kitchen. Dad and Mom had
uneasy smiles. Steve was freer, happier, than he had been all day. So was I.
All of my parents' worries, and Angie's bitterness, disappear as we shot
hoops; laughing together on Labor Day weekend, the smell of bar-be-que rich
in the air.

************

The baby was born three days after Labor Day. It was a girl. Steve named her
Meesha. Angie wasn't happy about it but I could tell she wasn't going to
fight him about it. I sensed that they had come to an agreement -- most
likely unspoken -- she wouldn't fuss about the name of the baby and he
wouldn't leave, at least not immediately. Mom was so happy being a
grandmother again that she couldn't see the unhappiness in Angie's eyes. I'm
not sure what Dad saw; he and Steve busily prepared for the baby's
homecoming. Steve visited Angie dutifully until it was time for her and the
baby's release from the hospital.

My little niece gave me the opportunity to see Steve again, on a regular
basis. Poor Angie needed help. She was exhausted from caring for the new
baby, and Christopher was a little over a year and a half old. I was back in
school, but she asked if I could come over afterwards and watch Christopher
while she and the baby napped. Of course I could. I was a few months away
from my twelfth birthday. I was comfortable babysitting Christopher. And
there were other things I could do.

Taking the bus from school to Angie and Steve's townhouse, I would arrive
about 4:15. Angie would immediately turn Christopher over to me, and then
head to bed with Meesha. Christopher was propped in front of the T.V. -- a
child-rearing trait Angie no doubt picked up from Mom. It was Christopher's
saying that he was hungry that gave me the idea.

Being raised as an only child had taught me to fend for myself. Making
dinner for Christopher, I decided to make enough for Steve too (I'd have it
waiting for him when he got home like any good wife should).  I know it's a
conventional thought and offense to women but that's the way I thought. I
realized, though, if I made dinner only for myself, Christopher and Steve
that Angie would get pissed. So I made enough for everyone. That first night
we had hotdogs, baked beans and salad. It wasn't gourmet but both Steve and
Angie thanked me. They were happy they didn't have to cook and pleased that
I took such good care of Christopher.

Mom and Dad were concerned about my homework. I showed them that I had
completed it. I worked harder on my schoolwork than I ever had before. My
free period and lunch were spent getting a head start on my evenings
homework -- sometimes by the end of the bus trip to the townhouse I was
finished. My grades improved. Mom and Dad had no reason to forbid my going
over to the townhouse. I was helping Angie by doing the dishes and general
clean up. I was making dinner most nights. My grades were improving. And
with less stress, Angie and Steve appeared to be getting along better.

Steve drove me home after we ate dinner. I still had to be home by 8:00. I
didn't mind. It was being with Steve that mattered.

"Mikey, thanks for everything man. You've been a big help."

"You're welcome. I don't mind."

"I know but man..."

"What?"

"She acts so fucking helpless sometimes. It really pisses me off."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault buddy. You take better care of me and the kids than she
every did."

That statement warmed me with an inner glow. It was what I wanted to do. I
wanted to take care of him, be his perfect mate. To have him acknowledge
that I was succeeding made my day.

"I'm going to ask Mom and Dad to let me take you camping for the weekend.
Now don't get all over heated. But I think with all that you've done lately,
they won't say no. I've heard Angie telling Mom that things are going better
between she and I since you've been around..."

"She said that?"

"Yeah, better for her maybe," there was real bitterness in his voice when he
said that. I guessed that his needs weren't really being satisfied. "Anyway,
it's true that at least we are civil to one another now. But I need to get
away. I'd like it if you wanted to come."

"That depends," I teased.

"On what?"

"On whether or not there'd be anything a kid like me would want to do when
we're out there, in the woods, all alone."

"Mikey, I bet we could find something that you'd like."

************************************************************************
To support this and other writings by Tom Cup, visit http://www.tomcup.com

Send comments to: comments@tomcup.com


************************************************************************
The Paratwa Partnership, Inc. is a publication and marketing company and is
not responsible for the content of the Tom Cup Library, TomCup.com or its
affiliate sites, or stories written by Mr. Cup or his associates.

************************************************************************