Date: Sat, 4 Jun 2005 15:36:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jason Calme <jasoncalme@yahoo.com>
Subject: Snow Day Chapter 1

This story is about male/male relationships and contains
graphic descriptions of sex.

You should not read this story if it is in any way illegal
due to your age or residence.

This is a work of pure fiction. It mixes fictional
characters and events with real people. However any real
person mentioned in this work is purely an actor playing a
part. This story in no way is meant to imply anything about
the sexuality, personality, or behavior of the actual
person.

Copyright 2005 Jason Calme. This story is the sole property
of its author and may not be copied in whole or in part or
posted on any website without the permission of the author.

Questions and commentary can be sent to:
"JasonCalme@yahoo.com".
My blog: http://jcalme.blogspot.com/

--------------

I've been waiting for someone to write a story about Howie
Day, the singer/songwriter from Bangor Maine, but no one
has. Does Howie have no other gay fans?!

Well, assuming there's at least one of you out there, this
story is for you!

--------------

Snow Day - Chapter 1

If this were a movie it might start this way...

FADE IN:

An overcast sky with flakes of snow softly falling. The
camera pans down to a row of snow covered trees.

CUT TO:

A snow covered, tree lined road. The snow is falling
rapidly. There's a small snow bank on each side of the
road, and while the road itself is still reasonably clear,
the snow is starting to accumulate.  A green Honda CRV
zooms on screen and continues down the road.

CUT TO:

The interior of the car. The driver, SAM, about 19, wears a
heavy coat, knit cap, gloves, and appears to be a bit
chilled. He's watching the road very carefully.

Looking out of the windscreen we see a black SUV parked on
the side of the road, the hood up, a figure standing at the
front of the car.

CUT TO:

The side of the road. We can't really see who the person by
the car is, but they look up when they hear the car and
step out onto the road, waving their arms.

CUT TO:

The interior of the car. SAM realizes the person is trying
to wave him down.

						SAM
			Shit!

He slows down and lowers the passenger side window.

                        STRANGER
          Hey!

						SAM
          "What's the problem?"

                        STRANGER
          I dunno. It broke down and I can't
          get it going, and my cell phone doesn't
          work here.


Okay, wait. It's heavy going reading a script, isn't it?
And as much as the film student inside me would love to do
this as a script, this isn't a movie, it's a story. Movies
are visual; you can't write about what characters think,
you have to do it by showing.  In a story you paint
pictures with words and can describe characters thoughts.
With a script you get the worst of both worlds; no visuals,
and no exposition.

So, even though I'm tempted to write a script, I'm going to
write the rest of this as a story. I promise. So here goes.


It was late March 2001 and my hopes for an early spring had
been rudely dashed. Damn, it was cold! I had on a heavy
coat, gloves, and the heat cranked up and I was still
freezing. I just wanted to get home, but home was half an
hour away and the snow was getting heavier. To top it all
off, the heater in my car was barely working. The guy at
the garage had said there was air in the system or
something. It wasn't really a problem for the car; it just
meant little heat for me. I had decided to wait to get it
fixed, but now I wished I hadn't.

The snow was picking up, and I was getting nervous. I
needed to get off this back road and get on a road with
more traffic and a few ploughs.

I was about five miles from the highway when I came around
a corner and saw, about five hundred yards ahead of me, an
SUV on the side of the road with the hood up. I could see a
figure standing in front of the car, and I wondered if he
was stranded, or just topping up the coolant or something.
Maybe he was low on windscreen washer fluid. I just hoped
he didn't need help because I really didn't want to stop
and give it to him. Firstly, I know nothing about cars, and
secondly, it's not a good idea to stop for strangers;
particularly on lonely backcountry roads.

'Shit!' I sighed. The guy was stepping out from behind the
car and waving his arms at me.

For a second I thought about just ignoring him; you know,
acting like I didn't see the guy. But then I felt guilty,
so I slowed down, pushed the lock to lock the doors, and
then pushed the button to lower the passenger window just a
few inches.

I stopped and the guy came over and leaned down to the
opening in the window.

"Hey!" he said.

The large hood of his coat obscured most of his face, but
he looked young - about my age - and he looked a little
pale.

"What's the problem?" I yelled across the seat and through
the window at him.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "It broke down and I can't get it
going, and my cell phone doesn't work here."

"Oh," I said.

"Is there a town around here?" he asked. "Somewhere I can
get the car fixed?"

"Uh, I don't know what's around here. I think maybe down
the next exit, about fifteen, twenty minutes away," I
offered.

"Oh."

He stood there, obviously unsure what to do. I didn't know
what to do either, but I could see that the snow was
picking up.

"You better get in," I finally said. "I can take you down
to...well I'll take you somewhere."

"Yeah? That'd be great...thanks. Thanks very much," he
said, and he smiled.

I reached over and unlocked the door, but he didn't open
it.

"I gotta get my stuff," he said, turning and walking back
to his car.

"Okay," I called after him.

He lowered the cars hood, then he went to the back and
opened the hatch and started taking out some bags and I
realized he was intending to bring quite a bit of stuff
with him. I put the car in park and hopped out.

When I got over to him he was pulling out the second of two
guitar cases.

"You've got a lot of stuff," I said, looking at those and
the other bags in the back of the car.

"Yeah, do you...you think it'll all fit?" he asked me.

I looked back at my little RAV 4 and compared it to the
Ford Explorer, and wondered if it would fit, but I nodded
anyway.

"Sure," I said. "What is all this?"

The guy stopped for a second. "My guitars, clothes, stuff,"
he said rather unhelpfully.

I nearly said something, but then I wondered if the guy was
homeless and lived out of his car.

"I'm a musician," the guy then added.

"Oh."

"On the road, this is kind of everything I need, you know."
He stopped for a Moment and brushed some snow off one of
the bags. "I'm supposed to be playing in Boston tonight,
but I've been trying to call them and the phone just won't
work."

"Well, you can call from town," I suggested. "Or maybe the
phone will work further down the road."

"Yeah." he paused. "I'm Howie," he said, and put his hand
out.

"Sam," I said. I shook his hand quickly, and realized he
was shaking a little. I wondered how long he'd been
stranded.

"Come on," I said, and I helped him carry his stuff over to
my car. It took me a Moment to lower the back seats and
tidy up things and then we loaded up the RAV4. Howie locked
his car and we were off.

The snow was heavier now, and I was relieved when we got
onto the highway. It was only a little better than the back
road, but at least now I was moving with other traffic.

Hopefully I'd get home.

Now I was wondering where to drop the guy. There were a
couple of exits before home, but I didn't really know the
towns and didn't want to spend half an hour driving around
to find some place for him to stay. Forget about finding a
place to get his car fixed.

Glancing over at my passenger, I saw that he was shivering.

"You okay?" I asked.

He turned and nodded. "Just cold," he chattered. "Does the
heat go any higher?"

"Sorry, it's not working too well," I apologized, and now I
started to worry. He didn't look good; he was pale,
shaking, and he looked kind of out of it. In his condition
I wasn't sure I could just drop him off at some motel; not
and feel good about it.

After a couple of minutes fretting about what to do, and
seeing that the snow was just getting heavier, I made a
decision.

"Hey, how about you come back home with me?" I asked. "You
can warm up and call whoever you need to."

"That's not too much trouble?" he asked, his jaw shaking
badly.

"No trouble," I said, accelerating down the highway.

We made it back to the house in pretty good time
considering the weather and road conditions, but my
passenger seemed to be getting worse every minute. His
shaking - even though he had his arms wrapped tightly
around his chest - was becoming disturbing.

I stopped close to the door, and jumped out and ran around
to the passenger door to help him out. He literally tumbled
out, and I had to grab hold of him to keep him up.

"Come on," I said.

"My stuff," he gasped.

"We'll get that later," and I half carried, half dragged
him to the front door, pushing the doorbell and hoping Mom
was home as I opened the door and helped him inside.
My mother came walking out of her office, a curious
expression on her face.

"I found him stranded on the side of the road," I said by
way of explanation. "He's really cold."

My Mom came up and looked the guy in the face, and felt his
forehead. Damn! I couldn't remember his name, I realized.

"I'm going to go fill the bathtub," she said to me. "Get
his wet clothes off and bring him up to the bathroom."

"Okay," I said.

My Mom ran upstairs, while I turned to the stranger and
looked him over again. He didn't look good. He was pale,
his teeth chattering so bad his jaw was almost flapping. I
realized that his clothes - the jacket and the jeans - were
soaking wet too. Probably while he was running around he'd
maintained some warmth, but once he'd sat down and stopped
moving, things had gotten worse for him. I kicked myself
for not even thinking about this.

"You gotta get these wet things off," I said to him, but he
just stood there. I heard the bath running and my Mom came
down the stairs with a comforter and put it on the bench.

"Put this on him," she said, so I went to pick it up.

"When you get the wet things off him," she added.

"Oh," I said, turning back to the guy, who hadn't made any
move to undress.

"Hey, man," I said. "You gotta take these clothes off." I
stood there waiting for him to do it.

"Sam," my Mom said. "You're going to have to help him."

"Me?" I said, turning to question my mother, who had
already turned and was disappearing back up the stairs.

"Fuck!" I hissed under my breath and turned back to the
stranger.

I stepped towards him. He seemed to be trying to undo his
coat, but his hands were shaking so badly he wasn't making
any progress.

"Here," I said. "Let me," and I quickly unsnapped the
buttons, unzipped the coat and pulled it off him and threw
it on the floor. Underneath he had on a black hoodie, which
looked wet, and I unzipped it and pulled that off too,
leaving him in a green t-shirt. The t-shirt looked a little
damp too, but I decided to leave that where it was.

The stranger was starting to shake more violently, and I
grabbed the comforter and put it over his shoulders, then I
took a deep breath and crouched down and unbuttoned and
unzipped his jeans.

Probably if things had been different - okay, definitely if
things were different - this would have had more of an
effect on me. But given the situation, I didn't really have
time to absorb it all. I was just trying to help him.

With the fly undone, I grabbed the jeans and yanked them
down, barely registering the checkered boxers underneath.
Then I realized he still had his boots on.

Damn!

"Eh, you better sit done," I said, turning him around and
walking him over to the bench, which was a little difficult
given his pants were around his knees. He almost fell
against the wall, but I got him turned around and seated.
Then I got his boots off, and pulled off his pants. Why
couldn't this kind of thing happen to me more often I
wondered?

But there was no time to enjoy it; he looked pretty bad, so
I pulled him up to his feet and wrapped the comforter
tightly around him. He was still shaking and without really
thinking I put my arms around him and hugged him to me
tightly. I'd read somewhere about transferring body heat
and how you should both strip down, but I wasn't going to
do that now.

"It's about ready!" I heard my Mom call, so I disentangled
myself from the guy, and started to lead him up the stairs.

"I'm so cold," he barely gasped, as we went up.

"You'll be okay," I tried to reassure him, while hoping
that I was right.

He stumbled at the top of the stairs, but I caught him, and
I walked the rest of the way with one arm around him and
the other holding his arm. I nearly knocked him out on the
doorway - well, banged his shoulder really - before
maneuvering him into the bathroom, where my Mom was
standing waiting for us. The water was still running, but
the tub was almost full.

"Okay, you get him in, and stay with him," Mom said. "You
might have to hold on to him," she added cryptically, then
she walked towards the door. "I'm going to go and make some
hot chocolate, and get a bed ready...I think I might put
him in your room."

"My room?" I complained.

She stopped in the doorway. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I moaned.

She stared at me for a Moment, looking thoughtful. But then
she just said, "Hurry up and help him into the tub."

As much as I'd like to, I wasn't too happy with the idea.

"Couldn't you do it and I'll go make the chocolate?" I
offered.

My mother gave me a look like I was being stupid. "I think
he'll be more comfortable if you help him," she said, and
turned and left.

I rather doubted that. He wouldn't be comfortable with me
helping him - if he knew more about me - but it was too
late now. I turned and saw the guy was just standing there
shaking.

"Come on man," I said, kicking myself that I still couldn't
remember his name.

I pulled off the comforter and the t-shirt, but left the
boxers on. I then lead him to the tub. He slowly stepped in
and then I kind of hovered as he crouched down and sat into
the water. The shaking become more violent, and I literally
put my arms around him and hugged him tight for a second as
I lowered him in.
Thankfully, the shaking subsided as quickly as it had
started, and the color started to come back to his body.

I was so engrossed in holding him in the water, and he'd
been so out of it, that I hadn't really paid attention to
him until I looked up and found myself staring into his
eyes. His very wide-awake eyes that were just inches from
mine.

I stared into them all too long before I realized quite
what was going on and I pulled back in surprise.

"Are you...how are you?" I squeaked out.

"Ah...bit better," he whispered.

I nodded. "Well, stay in for a few minutes more," I said,
recovering my composure.

The door opened and my Mom came in.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Ahh...I think better,"

My Mom stared at him, and I looked at him too, relieved now
that I'd left his underwear on and provided him with some
modesty.

"How are you feeling?" my mother addressed him.

"Uh...better thanks," said the guy, who had casually moved
one of his hands over his groin.

My mother just stood there, and I don't know what the guy
thought, but I was starting to feel embarrassed myself, and
I wasn't sitting there in just my shorts. And then she
turned to me as though the guy wasn't even there.

"Okay, you should get him out in a couple of minutes, get
him dried off. I'll go find him some clothes, you bring him
into your room."

"I think he has clothes in his bags in my car," I offered,
but my Mom disappeared towards my bedroom and I wondered if
she didn't hear me, or was ignoring what I said.

I turned back to the guy, prepared to give him the
universal 'sorry my Mom is so weird' eye-roll, and
discovered he was lying there with his eyes closed. Well,
he was breathing calmly, and his color was looking pretty
good. Actually, he was looking pretty good all around.

He had a large, cherub-like face and dark brown hair that
was clumped up and pointing off in all directions. The rest
of his body, though not body-builder perfect, looked damn
good to me.

But I couldn't stand there all day admiring him; could I?
As much as I wanted to, the last thing I needed was for him
to open his eyes and catch me perving on him.

I realized that I should keep tabs on the water and make
sure it wasn't getting too cold, so I carefully stepped
over to the end of the tub, crouched down, and stuck my
finger in the water. I was down by his feet, so I figured
it was safe if he opened his eyes again. It was still warm,
but cooling off, and I realized that either I should add
more hot water or get him out.

I glanced up and saw that his eyes were half open.

"Uh, hey," I said.

His eyes opened a little more and focused on me.

"You should get out," I said.

"Okay," he nodded, and started to get up. I stood up too
and went and grabbed some towels and brought them over to
him, wrapping one around his shoulders, and offering the
other to him to wrap around his waist.

"Okay?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said.

"Come on," I said, and I lead him out and down to my
bedroom. I found my Mom waiting there with the bed pulled
down, an extra comforter, a cup of hot chocolate, and some
sweat pants and a top of mine.

I was still a little put out that Mom had put him in my
room. Why not down in the guest room was what I wanted to
know? But then I remembered how cold that room could be.

But was Mom thinking I was going to sleep with him?

My Mom smiled at him as he came in. "How are you doing,
ah..."

"Howie," the guy said, and of course as he said it I
remembered his name.

"Well, there's some of Sam's clothes that should fit you
and hot chocolate."

"I have my...my bags are..."

"Sam will get those later, I want you to get into bed now
and get some rest for a bit. Make sure you're okay," she
said.

"I'm okay," he smiled at my Mom, a charming smile and my
heart melted, but my Mom seemed immune.

"Well that's good, but you should get some rest, so get
yourself changed and get into bed," she said, making it
clear there would be no argument.

"Uhh..."

"Is there anything else you need?" my Mom asked.

"Uh...I don't think so."

"Well Sam will get you anything," she turned to me. "Sam,
let him rest," and then she smiled at Howie and walked out,
leaving us standing there.

I looked at him nervously. It was kind of embarrassing my
Mom telling him what to do; it wasn't like he was a ten-
year old kid or anything.

He looked at me and gave me a half smile and I smiled
embarrassedly back at him.

"Uh...you can...uh," and I realized that telling him he
didn't have to do what my Mom told him to do was kind of
treating him the same way as my mother was. Whatever he
decided to do was up to him.

"I'll ahhh...let you get changed," I said, and started to
walk out.

"Yeah, ahh..thanks uhh..."

"Sam," I said, stopping to turn and face him.

"Sam," he repeated, and he held out his hand, a friendly
smile on his face. I took the offered hand and shook it for
the second time that day, this time without gloves, and
then I stepped outside the room, pulling the door closed
behind me.

I stood there nervously for a moment, wondering what to do.
Would he quickly change and I could go back in and talk to
him, or would he change and just climb into bed? Feeling
rather foolish just standing there, I ran downstairs to see
what my Mom was doing.

"Is he okay?" she asked as I walked into the kitchen. She
was busy mixing something; it looked like she was making
cookies. Cool! It's always good to have company over; you
get much better food!

"I think he's fine now," I said. "I don't think he needs to
be in bed."

My Mom looked up from the bowl and frowned. "Well, I just
want to be sure. That can be a real shock to the system so
it's best he rests for a while. I want you to make sure he
rests."

"Me?"

"Yes, you're his age. Make sure he feels comfortable."

"Jeez, I just picked him up, it's not like we're
responsible..."

"While he's here we are responsible," my Mom said firmly,
and went back to stirring the bowl.

I didn't like this whole business. I did the good deed by
stopping and helping, and I felt uncomfortable that somehow
I was still responsible for him. On top of that, I didn't
like that my mother seemed to be mothering him, which was
just plain embarrassing.

But the kicker was, he was kind of good looking and I'd be
lying if I wasn't attracted to him. Okay, so maybe it
wouldn't turn out to be a love interest, but what about
being friends?

"He's not a kid," I finally said.

"No, but he's not well..."

"He's fine," I snapped.

My mother gave me a look.

"Why didn't you put him in the guest room?" I asked,
changing the subject.

"Because it's cold and further away from us."

"You could have put him in Abby's room."

My Mom ignored me.

"Where am I going to sleep?" I persisted.

"Where do you want to?" she asked mischievously.

I sighed. My mother always had a weird sense of humor.

I'd known I was gay since I was about fifteen, but I never
told anyone until I came out to my mother a few months
before graduating high school. All things considered, she
took it pretty well. Maybe it was because I was the
youngest of three; my older sister is in college, and my
brother graduated a couple of years ago and is living in
Seattle. Being the extra boy, I'm kind of the spare, so my
Mom has always been a lot more easy-going about me. Maybe
I'm selling her short; I hope she'd have been just as
understanding if I were her only son.

So yeah, my Mom was pretty good about it; as were the few
friends and other family members I'd told so far. I haven't
told my Dad, but then he and my Mom split a few years back
and he moved out of state and I only see him now and again.

But my Mom's sick sense of humor did sometimes throw me for
a loop. She never did anything to embarrass me in public,
or even in front of other people, but she'd do things like
say 'Hey, that guy's cute, don't you think' when we were in
the mall.

Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was plain
embarrassing. My Mom was always doing things to try and
'bring me out of my shell' as she put it. I'd die if she
did anything now.

"I thought you could use a sleeping bag and keep him
company," my mother said.

I rolled my eyes.

"Well, let's see how he's feeling later. If he's okay,
maybe you can banish him to the guest room."

"Huh," I snorted.

Well I was getting nowhere fast with this conversation, so
I decided to do something else. I went out to my car and
carried in Howie's bags and his guitar cases. When I got
them in my Mom came over and looked over his bags. She went
to unzip his bag and I cleared my throat.

"What?" she asked.

"You can't go through his bags," I hissed.

She stopped. "I was just going to..." she paused, then
seemed to think better of it. "I guess you're right. Why
don't you take those two up to him, they look like
clothes?"

"Okay," I said.

When I got up to my bedroom the door was still closed. I
hesitated, and then lightly knocked on the door. I waited a
moment, and then opened the door slowly. I was surprised to
find our guest in bed, fast asleep.

I went over to check him, afraid maybe he'd died or
something, but he looked peaceful, his breathing calm and
easy.

The hot chocolate was drunk, and he was wearing my sweats;
or at least the top. I stared at his face for a long while.
He really was handsome.

No, I decided, he was beautiful.

With nothing better to do, I went back down stairs.

"He's asleep," I said to my Mom. She nodded.

"That's probably for the best."

"He wanted to call some people though. Do you think I
should wake him?"

She frowned. "Let's let him sleep for a bit, then maybe
wake him up before dinner if he hasn't already."

"Okay," I nodded, and went to the refrigerator to get a
drink.

"So what do you think of him?"

"Dunno," I shrugged, staring into the fridge and trying to
act casual.

"Kind of cute, don't you think?"

"He's okay," I said noncommittally.

My mother just smiled, but I decided not to take the bait.
Instead I grabbed a can of soda and walked out into the
living room and stretched out on the couch.

The next two hours were some of the slowest I've ever
endured. There was nothing good on television, and I had
nothing to read. I so wanted to go and check on our
visitor, but I didn't want to wake him, and I didn't want
my mother to think I wanted to keep looking at him; even if
I did. And everything I thought of doing seemed to require
something that was in my bedroom, so I was stuck.

My Mom spent most of the afternoon working in her office.
She's a real estate agent, though she really runs the real
estate agency that my grandfather founded. She's often out
at odd hours, and she uses the downstairs bedroom that used
to be my brothers as her office away from the office.

After a couple of hours she finally went to the kitchen to
start on dinner. I was getting antsy. I really wanted to go
upstairs, but I waited. Finally Mom had dinner ready and
suggested I go and check on our guest.

I rather eagerly trotted up the stairs and into my bedroom
and found him still fast asleep. I walked up tentatively
beside him, trying to decide whether - and how - to wake
him, when his eyes fluttered open.

"Hi," I said softly.

"Hi," he grunted.

"Dinners almost ready. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I think so," he mumbled.

"Cool," I said, and realized I was standing there grinning
like an idiot. "Oh, you said you had to call someone."

"Oh, shit," he exclaimed, and started to sit up.

"You can use our phone," I offered.

"Okay, thanks," he said, and stretched and yawned.

"Come down stairs when you're ready, there's a phone in
Mom's bedroom, two doors down that away," and I pointed.
"Then come on downstairs," and I pointed in the other
direction.

"Okay, thanks, uh Sam," he said.

"You're welcome...Howie," and I nodded and walked out the
room.

I hurried back down the stairs and told Mom that he was up.
A few minutes later I heard some steps on the stairs and
turned to see him trotting down, still dressed in my sweats
and looking very...well really very good. He still looked
kind of sleepy, and his hair was such a mess, but he was
rather dreamy looking really. And the sweat pants were just
a fraction too tight on him. He's a little more solid than
I am, and I'm a little taller than he is. I had to tear my
eyes off the front of the pants, which bulged kind of
nicely.

He smiled at me as he strode into the kitchen.

"Okay?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Well the weather in Boston sucks too, so the
concert had already been cancelled."

"That's good then?" I asked.

He shrugged. "At least I didn't miss it," he said. "Now I
just have to figure out what to do about my car."

"That'll have to wait until at least tomorrow," my mother
said, coming into the kitchen. "How are you feeling Howie?"

"I'm fine thanks," he smiled. "Thanks so much for uh..."
My Mom and I both said "You're welcome," and he grinned.

"I really appreciate what you've done for me. I don't want
to be any more trouble. If there's a motel around I can..."

"Nonsense!" my Mom said. "You're welcome to stay as long as
you like," she went on. "And besides, you're pretty much
stranded here tonight thanks to the storm."

"Well, I just..."

"Don't worry about it. So are you hungry?"

"Yeah," he said rather loudly and enthusiastically, and
then he grinned embarrassedly and my mother laughed. I
smiled and he glanced at me, smiling nervously and then he
seemed to look around the room not sure where to look.

"Sam, take Howie into the dining room and oh, get him
something to drink."

"Okay," I said, then to Howie, "Come on."

He nodded, and followed me out to the dining room.

"Why don't you sit there," I said pointing to one of the
places Mom had set. Now that it was just Mom and I most of
the time, we usually ate in front of the TV. It was a
special event to be eating in the dining room. Mom had set
the table up simply, but nicely.

"So what would you like to drink? Coke, milk, juice, or
water?"

"Uh, Coke, please," he said.

"Sure," I said.

I went back to the kitchen, got a couple of glasses and a
couple of cans, and went back into the dining room. Howie
was sitting at the table looking a little uncomfortable.
I put a glass and can in front of him. He glanced up and
smiled.

"Thanks," he said.

I went around to the other side of the table and sat down
facing him. He grinned at me and then opened the can and
poured it into the glass, and I did the same.

"Sam, thanks for..." he began.

I looked up at him and he froze for a second. "Uh, I just
wanted to say thanks for, uh...saving my life."

I felt myself redden. "I didn't save your life," I
demurred.

"I don't know, I was pretty bad there," he said.

"Someone would have been along and helped you. They might
have even had a working heater," I joked.

He grinned and nodded. "I don't know if it would have made
any difference," he said, "I was pretty frozen solid. It
was really...if you hadn't brought me home..."

"It was nothing," I said, embarrassed.

"Here we are," said my Mom, walking in with two plates
heaped with pasta and meatballs and setting them down in
front of us. "I hope you're hungry Howie, and like pasta."

"Oh, I do," he said enthusiastically.

"Well, you two don't wait for me," my Mom said,
disappearing back into the kitchen.

I reached for a bread roll and some butter and started to
work on that as Howie set about the pasta and meatballs. He
seemed to inhale it; I think his plate was half empty
before my Mom came back in with her own meal. She sat down,
glanced at Howie and then looked at me and smiled.
I looked back at Howie, who had stopped with the fork half
way to his mouth and suddenly seemed self-conscious that he
was the only one actually eating.

"It's nice to have someone who enjoys food," my Mom said.
"Sam always seems to pick at things."

"I do not!" I objected, and realized I'd been swirling the
pasta around with my fork.

"I just...uh...didn't have lunch," Howie said, reddening
slightly.

"Well, there's plenty more!" my Mom said. "Go on! Eat!"

Howie smiled and shoveled another forkful into his mouth.

"So we're supposed to get a lot more snow tonight," my Mom
said.

"How much?" I asked.

"Not sure. I might go down to your aunts after dinner and
make sure everything's okay there."

"Okay," I nodded.  My aunt lived a few miles away, but
she'd gone away on vacation and we were watching her house.

"So where are you from Howie?" my Mom asked him.

Howie chewed a couple of times and swallowed.
"Bangor...Maine."

"Oh, what's that like?"

"Kind of like here," he said, "but colder," and he raised
his eyebrows and my Mom laughed.

"But Sam said you were going to Boston?" my Mom asked.

"I was playing in Rochester last night," he answered.

"Playing?"

"Music."

"You're in a band?" my Mom asked.

"I play solo."

"What kind of music?"

"Uh..."

"Mom!" I interjected, "Don't interrogate him."

"I was interested!" my Mom answered lightly.

I rolled my eyes, and Howie grinned at me.

"I play...well I've written a lot of my own stuff but I
also do covers of uh...U2, The Beatles..." and he went on
and listed a couple of other acts, though more for my
benefit than my Mom's I think, as he probably didn't think
she'd know them.

"What U2 songs do you do?" my Mom asked. Look out Howie, my
Mom is a fan.

"Uh...I do One," he said.

"I like that song," my Mom said.

I hoped she wouldn't ask him to sing it right there.

"So where do you go to school?" my Mom asked.

When she said that I noticed Howie flinch slightly. He
looked up rather shyly.

"Ah, well, I decided I really wanted to do music, so
instead of going to college I've been playing colleges,"
and he grinned at the joke and glanced at my Mom for her
reaction.

"Oh," my Mom said, which was her 'oh, that sounds like a
silly think to do' response. She'd never have come out and
said it directly to him, but I knew immediately what she
was thinking.

Howie looked embarrassed, and I felt for the guy. He didn't
have to justify himself to us, even if we were giving him
dinner and a place to stay.

"How'd you start playing?" I asked him, and Howie,
seemingly relieved to have a softball question, talked
briefly about learning the piano as a kid, switching to
guitar, and his first show at his parents restaurant.

The conversation then drifted off in other directions.
Thankfully, my Mom didn't continue the cross-examination,
and after a little while Howie started to relax. He still
came across as rather shy, which seemed odd for someone
that wanted to be a performer, but he joined in our
conversation about weather, movies and other things.

He cleaned the food off his plate long before my Mom or I
had made a dent on ours.

"Would you like some more Howie?" my Mom asked.

"No, it's okay," he answered politely, though I got the
feeling he said it because he didn't want my Mom to have to
interrupt her meal.

"There's plenty," she continued.

"I'll get it," I offered, standing up.

"No, it's fine," Howie said, but I walked around and
reached out for the plate.

"More of everything?" I asked him.

"Uh...well, okay," he grinned sheepishly.

I nodded, and took the plate into the kitchen and filled it
up and took it back out to him.

"Thanks," he said.

"Leave room for dessert," my Mom said.


After we'd finished the main course, I got the dessert -
ice cream and chocolate chip cookies - and then Howie
helped me clear the dishes away and put things in the dish
washer. We didn't really talk much; I didn't know what to
say to him, and he was quiet, so we just worked away and
then when we were done went into the living room and I
turned on the TV.

Howie disappeared to go to the bathroom, as my Mom came in
to tell me that she was going down to check on Aunt Jean's
place.

"You sure that's a good idea?" I asked, looking out at the
falling snow.

"It's not far," my mother said, in a tone that meant she
wasn't going to be dissuaded.

At that point Howie came back in with a couple of CDs in
his hand.

"Uh, this is my CD," he said shyly, holding one out to my
Mom.

"Oh, thanks Howie," she said. "I'll listen to this when I
get back; I'm just going down to check on my sisters
house."

"Okay," Howie nodded.

My Mom said goodbye and went out the back door to the
garage. I suddenly realized that we were alone, and I felt
nervous.

Howie turned to me and held out the other CD. "This is for
you."

"Thanks," I said, taking it from him. I stared at it for a
moment. The cover was a black and white photo of some kind
of fair ground or something, with what appeared to be his
head in silhouette in the lower right hand corner. The
title was 'Australia,' which seemed to have nothing to do
with the photo. Was the photo taken in Australia? Was this
the best photo he could find? I looked back up at him and
tried to look grateful.

"I'll put it on," I said.

I looked back down at the CD, not really sure what I was
getting myself into. Well, I'd said I'd put it on, so I
suppose I better do it.

I grabbed the remote and muted the TV, then I went over and
turned on the CD player and stuck the CD in. In my mind I
was trying to think of some platitudes to offer while
listening. I was really wondering what this was going to be
like, and I was uncomfortable that he was going to be there
as I listened. What if it sucked or I hated it totally?
What was I supposed to do then? Was I going to have to
listen through the whole thing, pretending to be interested
and liking it, or could I pop it out after a couple of
songs and suggest we watch a movie instead?

"You don't have to play it right now," Howie suddenly
offered.

Was he wondering if I wouldn't like it?

"Nah, I want to hear a bit of it," I said, hitting the play
button and figuring that by saying a bit I was only
committing myself to half a song or two.

Techno-drum noises wafted out of the speakers and I felt
uneasy, but then came Howie's voice, singing loudly and
clearly, and he didn't sound too bad at all. The song began
to grow and take shape and I realized I liked it. Or maybe
I was shocked that it was as good as it was. I turned to
Howie, a big smile on my face.

"This is good!" I said over the sound. Maybe I was a little
too relieved.

He nodded, a big smile on his face.

We stood there for about half the song and then Howie
stepped toward the machine.

"Well, hope you like the rest of it," he said, and I
realized he was going to turn it off and I grabbed his arm.

He turned to face me.

"Leave it on," I said. "I want to hear the rest of it."

"Uh, you're sure?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, is it all this good?" I asked, which, after I said
it, I realized was rather a blunt question to ask, but it
just came out.

"Uh..."

"Man, this is great!" I said, trying to cover my faux pas.

"Thanks."

So we sat down, and the next song started and I liked it
even better than the first. I was really bowled over. But
how many times can you say "This is great!" and not start
sounding like what you're really saying is 'Man, I thought
you'd be hopeless and this isn't! I can't believe it!'

The other thing is; it's kind of hard to listen to a CD
with someone else, because you can't really talk over it.
You're both just sitting there and it starts to feel a
little weird after a while.

Then the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Sam. The roads are much worse than I thought they would
be," came my mother's voice.

I was tempted to say something smart, but I bit back the
urge.

"I don't think I'll get back up the hill, so I'm going to
stay here tonight. Will you two be okay?"

I glanced over at Howie, who gave me a questioning look.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," I said.

"Okay, well either I'll see you in the morning, or I'll
call you. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Goodnight."

"Night."

I hung up and then looked at Howie. "That was Mom. She says
the roads are really bad and she's going to stay down at my
aunts."

"Okay," said Howie, nodding, then he jumped up. "You want
to watch a movie?" he asked.

"What?"

He gestured at the stack of movies by the VCR. "Watch a
movie?" he repeated, and went over and switched off the CD.

"Hey, I was listening to that!"

"Well, you can listen another time. I've heard it before,"
he said, and grinned.

"Uh, well, okay," I said. "But I really liked it man," I
added.

"Thanks."

"You're amazing."

Howie blushed. "Thanks."

"I'll have to get you to sign the CD!"

"Yeah, sure."

We stood there for a moment.

"So what do you want to watch?" I asked him.

He shrugged.

"I have the Matrix DVD," I offered.

"Okay," he nodded.

We watched the Matrix. Or I watched it and Howie fell
asleep half way through it. When it was finally over I
gently pushed his shoulder.

"Time to wake up so you can go to bed," I said to him.

He opened his eyes and looked disoriented for a minute,
then he nodded and got up.

The thing was, going to bed made me nervous, particularly
as I was alone with this guy...this cute guy. This really
handsome, cute and probably straight guy.

We both stood up and I turned off the TV and the lights and
Howie followed me up stairs to my bedroom. Howie followed
me in and glanced around as though he hadn't been in the
room before. Maybe he hadn't really been paying attention
before.

"Hey!" he said, walking over to the corner and grabbing the
guitar case, "You play guitar."

"Nah, it's my brother's, I don't really play."

"Not at all?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Uh...a few chords," I said. "Not much, I suck pretty bad."

Howie grinned at me and looked back at the guitar case.
Then he looked up at me again.

"Okay if I look at it?" he asked.

"Sure, it's not much," I said.

Howie unlatched the case and opened it.

"Oh man!" he exclaimed.

"What?" I asked.

"Fuck, it's a D-28!"

"What? What's that?"

"You don't know what this is? It's a Martin D-28! It's a
great guitar. This one is a bit beat up, but still in good
shape."

He picked it up and strummed it and made a face.

"Oh, needs new strings. You haven't played it in a while."

"Nah," I shook my head as Howie started to tune the guitar.

"And it's your brothers?"

"Well it was my Dad's," I said.

"How old is it?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe twenty years old. Is it
valuable?"

Howie shrugged. "Maybe fifteen hundred. I dunno really."

"Wow!" I said.

"Yeah," he nodded. He finally got it tuned to his
satisfaction, and sat down on the end of the bed and
started strumming it. I sat down in the chair by my desk
and listened as he played something that sounded vaguely
familiar. Howie started to sing something softly to
himself, but then he looked up and saw I was watching and
he grinned and stopped.

"Don't stop," I said.

"Nah, it's okay," he said, standing up awkwardly. "It's
good," he said, holding up the guitar.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You should learn how to play it."

"Uh..."

"Or not," he smiled, and put the guitar back in the case,
latched it up and put it back in the corner.

"So, I'm gonna wash up," I said.

"Okay." He glanced at the computer on my desk. "Are you
connected to the Internet?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's really slow though,"

He shrugged. "Be okay if I checked email?"

"Uh, sure." I said. I turned on the computer and waited for
it to start up, then I connected to the Internet and stood
up. "There you go," I said.

"Thanks." said Howie.

I left him sitting at the computer and went to the bathroom
to wash up. By the time I got back to the bedroom Howie was
finished, the computer was shut off, and he was going
through one of his bags looking for something.

Howie looked up.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I answered, and went to the closet and pulled out my
sleeping bag and set it out on the floor. I was flattening
it out and I looked up and saw Howie watching me closely.

"Uh, you don't have to worry," I said. "You're sleeping on
the bed," and I nodded towards my bed.

"No way! I'll sleep on the floor," Howie said.

I shook my head. "My Mom would kill me if I put you on the
floor."

"Well, isn't there another bed?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but Mom said I'm to keep watch on you and
make sure you're okay."

Howie frowned. "I'm fine Sam."

"I got my orders," I grinned.

"Oh, I'm sorry man."

"Don't worry," I said.

"Uh, well, sorry," he repeated. Then he stood up and went
out to the bathroom.

By the time he was done I had got a pillow, found a
comforter to use as a kind of mattress under the sleeping
bag, and was already to zip up.

Howie entered quickly, grinned at me, dropped his clothes
in a pile on the open bag, then went and climbed into bed.

"All okay?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he nodded.

I went over to the light and turned it off, then went back
to the sleeping bag and climbed in and zipped up.

"Night Sam," came Howie's voice through the darkness.

"Goodnight Howie."

There was a moment's silence.

"Thanks for everything."

"You're welcome. G'night."

"Night."

I must have been tired. I was asleep just about as soon as
my head hit the pillow.

-----------------
to be continued.