Date: Thu, 24 Apr 2003 13:55:26 EDT
From: KissAndCuddleGem@aol.com
Subject: Camping Capers With My Grandpa (Installment 5)

This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons
living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely
coincidental.

Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this story is presented
with the intent to condone, approve, or sanction their behavior.

The above-expressed disclaimer also does apply to any and all installments
of this story, including those preceding and following this installment.

All questions and/or comments are welcome; and, if you wish to contact me,
please feel free to email me at: KissAndCuddleGem@AOL.COM; and I will most
definitely respond to email, as appropriate.


I just kept staring at Kenny, Jr., watching him lying there in my bed.  I
was unsure what to make of this situation.  I mean it could have been an
innoncent mistake on his part while half-asleep and bumbling about; or
maybe he came in here to tell me something and passed out on the bed, just
from sheer exhaustion from his active day's events.  This was all just too
weird, too convenient.  I was overtired, not really thinking straight at
the moment; and I had no patience for any of this.

Kenny, Jr. was like a human clone of me at that age: dirty blonde hair,
freckles, and about 5-feet tall, but he was muscular, very, with "six-pack"
abs from working out; and, though just having turned fourteen only 1 1/2
weeks ago, he was exceptionally w for his age: In fact, I was the one that
insisted that he wear one of my jockstraps for wrestling team practices so
that his endowment did not draw attention and was safeguarded better.

"So what the heck was all of this?  Was this Kenny, Jr.'s not-very-subtle
attempt at seduction?", I wondered, finding my thoughts so jumbled right
then and there I just could barely take it.

 to tell mister, this is my home, my bed, and my life; and what I want to
do is what I usually do: sleep in my own bed and sleep in the buff, as
usual.  So if you don't like the setup, you can just get the heck out of my
darn bed...", I was sort of muttering in a barely audible tone, well-aware
that Kenny, Jr. was certainly not hearing anything I had just said.

On some subconcious level, I probably did think that perhaps I was finally
losing it, so to speak.  I chose not to let any such thought come to the
surface; and began to strip down to just my blue checkered boxers and then
remove the boxers, kicking them to the doorway like I was aiming for a
field goal in hockey.  I was just about to get under the covers and in
effect join Kenny, Jr., still sound asleep, when I became distracted by the
embroidered cover on the ottoman near my bedroom closet: For some reason,
it just in my mind resembled the detailed brocade on Aunt Charlotte's
tablecloth.

So, once again, I just sort of froze where I was and found myself
transported back in time to that period in my youth while I was being
reared by my beloved paternal grandparents in that all-American New England
town; and, now sitting on the ottoman, I found myself yet again deep in my
reverie, with the voices from that period in my past all bubbling up to the
surface.

"Charlotte, you do sound a bit under the weather, dear.  Are you sure you
still want Kenny over for dinner?  I mean you must preserve your strength
for Sunday's wedding festivities....", Grandma bellowed into the phone.

Within two hours from that call, Aunt Charlotte had picked me up and we
were en route to her home for dinner.  I knew that something major was up,
as Aunt Charlotte, one of the most loquacious souls of the universe, was
virtually completely tight-lipped.  I imagined all kinds of things, the
last being this overly dramatic type of quest in which I was fetched on
short notice and being brought in to make amends with my now-dying cousin
and best friend.  I rebuked myself at this imagery, dismissing all of this
as nonsense and chiding myself for watching too many late-night melodramas
on television.  Then it hit me: All of this must have something to do with
Grandpa; but this made no sense, as, as far as I knew, no one but the two
of us knew about Grandpa and myself.

We dined in a very relaxed manner in Aunt Charlotte's austere but
pleasantly-decorated formal dining room.  Aunt Charlotte briefly mentioned
that Uncle Floyd, her cherished husband, was on the road at present
peddling his vacuum cleaners but was expected back in town on Sunday and to
return in time for Sunday's nuptials.

After three to four most delectable courses of Italian-American cuisine had
been devoured, Aunt Charlotte croaked: "Dessert is served, it is pistachio
ice cream with raisins and a cranberry glaze, Jeffie's favorite."

Jeffie was smiling.  I smiled at Jeffie and Aunt Charlotte; and Aunt
Charlotte smiled, too.

"With all this smiling going on, it sure would be a hoot if someone were
dying", I mused.

After dinner, we all were instructed by Aunt Charlotte to join her in the
living room and to kneel with her on throw pillows in the center of the
floor.  "Oh, I get it, Aunt Charlotte is holding a seance, perhaps
contacting some relation long since past on and on 'the other side'", I
thought to myself.  Aunt Charlotte was known especially by those she held
dear as being a religious zealot and at times even a bit, well, perhaps,
more than a bit, eccentric.

"Let us hold hands together and pray...come, come, don't be bashful", and,
with that, we all grasped each other's hands forming our own little human
chain-circle.

Finally I had to ask this, so in the quietest of whispers, I queried,
addressing in a most respectful tone this small slip of a matronly plump
aunt: "Forgive the interruption, but for what are we praying for, Aunt
Charlotte?"

"Well, if you must know, Kenny, we are praying for the strength to do what
we believe is right."

I felt my heart sinking into my stomach, I really thought I was going to
pass out right then and there.

But then Aunt Charlotte told Jeffie: "Please go into the study and return
with the family Bible in hand."

Jeffie quickly returned and re-joined the circle.  Aunt Charlotte pulled
out an envelope, creased and a bit dusty, addressed to her. She yanked out
the correspondence from the envelope and began to read in a high-pitch
tone: "My dearest Charlie...", interrupting yourself to give an
explanation: Only your father, Grandma LIla's adored prodigy of a son,
Steve, ever called me "Charlie".  She went on, myself at this point
believing she had taken out some very old letter from my dad: "I know that
by now you and Mama and Papa all must think that I have departed from this
earth.  Well, in truth, I have been on a journey of sorts but one of
recovery...I had a breakdown, a nervous breakdown...."

"What?!...", I gasped.  "You mean, my dad is alive?"

"Yes, very much so, yes, indeed...though he had apparently cracked up."

"Cracked?", I questioned.

"Yes, like an egg, it appears", Aunt Charlotte interjected, my face, upon
hearing these words spoken, immediately informing her that I did not really
appreciate the humor in her phrasing.

But Jeffie laughed at this, to my dismay.

Aunt Charlotte, from that point on, was relishing her power in having her
knowledge; and let it rip with regard to all that I knew nothing about but
should know as to my father and long-absent mother.

"Well, can't we all just get on with this?  I mean it has been a long
day.", Jeffie chimed in impatiently.

"Yes, of course, dear", Aunt Charlotte responded.

Jeffie, at my aunt's request, left the room and came back with a pitcher of
lemonade.  We all quenched our thirst on the beverage, sipping from
ice-cube-filled glasses as Aunt Charlotte proceeded with the business at
hand.

"Well, isn't there something you'd like to share with us, Kenny?  Jeffie
tells me that you and Grandpa are surely up to something no good at Forest
Grove on those camping trips of yours."

I felt my complexion turn its palest to date.  I was about to blurt out the
whole sordid mess, but somehow the words just were not coming.  All I heard
from my lips was this: "Grandpa loves me, I know that he does."

Aunt Charlotte appeared to feel that she was losing control over the
situation perhaps; and so went almost immediately back to her story, saying
in a most sober tone: "Well, love certainly has always had a place in this
family, amen."

I exhaled, relieved that the questioning had ceased.  Aunt Charlotte
explained that the long and short of the letter was that Steve, my dad,
wants his boys back; and that he was now reunited with my mother, who had
returned from Europe after a failed attempt at a singing career there to
again be his loyal and devoted wife.

I just sat there, trying to absorb all of this: I felt a great deal of
pressure on me, to say something appropriate in reaction.  But all I kept
thinking about was that this was a way out for me, an escape, a safe haven:
I mean I did love Grandpa and enjoyed what we shared together; but I did
not want all of this to continue on for years and years to come.  Plus I
did not want Jeffie to find himself in Grandpa's "clutches"; and I was very
much cognizant of Grandpa definitely having an eye on him.

Then something else hit me: something that I had almost missed altogether,
so focused initially on myself.  "Boys?  I don't understand.  What does dad
mean by 'boys'?"

Aunt Charlotte grasped Jeffie's hand and gently intertwined her fingers
with his; and then she held my right wrist, cradling it with delicacy like
it was a rose petal.  "I thought you might wonder about that...Well, let me
go back a bit.  Your mother, well, Kenny, you might not remember her at
all, as you were just a toddler, no more than two, had been away in Milan
about two months; and was not coming back anytime soon, as far as we all
knew.  Your dad said that he was stressed out, needed some 'space', and
just needed to get away from things for awhile.  Your baby brother was full
of energy; and he needed the love of a mother very much, as you of course
did.  At that time, all the family called the baby 'Jay Jay', sort of a
nickname that took and was taken from the initials of his first and middle
names, each beginning with 'J'...Well, anyway, Grandma Lila felt that she
could only take on one of the boys, she knew that she was not as young any
longer; and that her rheumatism would make it difficult even looking after
one child...."

"Aunt Charlotte, if I have a brother, where is he?  This is all news to me,
it feels so unreal."

Aunt Charlotte looked at me lovingly; and gently patted the top of my head.
"We all did the best that we could.  We did not know what else to do.
Uncle Floyd and I had been married for seven years already and not blessed
with a single child; and Cousin Georgia, my stepdaughter, was still away at
boarding school and in the custody of her mother at that time.  I said to
your Grandma that we must tell the boys early on; but she forbade it,
saying that she felt guilty about separating the pair and that both were
too young to understand the reasons for this, that it would all seem too
cruel even if either knew what had happened."

Aunt Charlotte took Jeffie's hand and placed in my own, saying in the most
overly-dramatic manner: "The brothers...the Harrison brothers...reunited at
last!"

Aunt Charlotte was beaming, as Jeffie and I stared at one another in
disbelief.

Aunt Charlotte poured lemonade, filling our glasses to the brim.  She was
about to propose a toast when I interrupted:

"It all makes sense to me now, perfect sense: why I was so without
hesitation to save Jeffie's life that day I was by the pool when he almost
drowned; why I feel so close to and protective of Jeffie; and why I always
feel so bad when I hear about him being sick."

Jeffie hugged Kenny, just as Kenny's last words were heard and said softly:
"I love you, Kenny.  We are brothers; and I love you and accept you as my
brother by blood and in every sense of the word."

The day immediately following that of Cousin Georgia's wedding, which was
one of the most beautiful weddings I recalled ever having witnessed, I
relocated with my father and my mother to their new home in a suburb of Los
Angeles and began a new life with them: I sometimes gave thought to the
past and the 'camping capers' with Grandpa, though I never revealed the
secrets and the secret relationship Grandpa and I shared.  Many years
later, a pen-pal correspondence with Lulu led to rekindled romance and
eventually love and marriage.  When I lost her, it felt like my entire
world had slipped from my grasp, with the exception of our son: Every time
I look into Kenny, Jr.'s eyes, those gleaming blue eyes just like his
mother's, I am reminded of his mother and the life we shared together.

Within moments, this time as a result of Kenny, Jr.'s breathing becoming
louder, I broke from my reverie, almost having forgotten where I had been
all this time.  I had to think about this further: "Kenny, Jr. was no fool,
was this a set-up?...Besides, this one horny dad did not want to end up in
the slammer anytime soon.  So I threw on the terry robe nearby, covering my
relaxed nude frame with haste, and went to Kenny, Jr.'s room to sleep.  But
what I found there ended up sending me back to my room and back to my very
own queen-sized bed with one pleasurably-throbbing hard-on, knowing very
well that by morn's early light, there could indeed be a "caper" of my own
to hold in memory and have to reflect about.