Date: Wed, 14 Dec 2005 00:05:50 -0800 (PST)
From: Lusty <lustyville@yahoo.com>
Subject: Lucas and Lionel-Part 2. Tracing the Surface

     To say the past few days have been torture would be an
understatement. I haven't seen Lionel since the incident and
I'm fairly certain that he left campus. I called his cell
all night after he caught me, but Michael told me to give
Lionel some space, so I haven't tried to call him since. I
wish I could talk to Lionel, just so he can tell me what
he's thinking. I've been a wreck waiting for him to walk
through the door. I have had very little food. I only
showered once, right after the incident. I try to rush when
I use the bathroom because I'm afraid he'll come back and
grab some of his things, and I'll miss him. I won't let
Michael, or anyone else come over, because I don't want
Lionel to return and find me in the room with anyone. I want
Lionel to walk in and have no excuse not to talk with me.
     Knowing that Lionel is out there somewhere, harboring
my secret, is also nerve wrecking because I don't know if
he's told anyone or if he will tell anyone. And as if
worrying about Lionel isn't enough shit to deal with, the
basketball team will start practicing soon. What if Lionel
tells some of the other guys on the team that I'm a fucking
fag. I could just die. I love basketball almost as much as I
love Lionel. I can't believe I've made such a mess of my
life in such little time. I never expected that I would one
day star in my own soap opera.
     I asked some people on my floor if they have seen or
heard from Lionel, but all of them said no. I called his
mother and asked if she had talked to him. That was a stupid
move on my part. His mother got all worried and told me to
tell Lionel to call her as soon as I heard from him. She
didn't even ask what happened, she just assumed that Lionel
had run off again. Apparently he had done that before. She
told me he should be back in a couple of hours. It's been a
couple of days and I'm still waiting.
     Okay, so it's Monday night, and Lionel has been gone
since Friday evening. I am really worried about him. I
skipped all my classes today so I could stay in my room and
wait for him. I have no idea if he went to any of his
classes. If he did, he went without his books and his
notebooks. My mother calls because she's worried. She hasn't
heard from me all weekend and she knows something is wrong
because she can hear it in my voice. I tell her Lionel found
out I was gay. She asks how he found out. I tell her he
walked in on me kissing another guy. She asks when this
happened. I say Friday night and she really gets upset. She
starts yelling at me for not calling her sooner. She
complains that I wouldn't come to her in my time of crisis
and she reminds me that she is my mother and she can handle
any situation. I am tempted to tell her the truth is I was
getting fucked up the ass when Lionel walked in. I figure
that will test her tolerance, but I want to maintain some of
my dignity and telling my mom about my sex life will only
serve to make me feel even worse.
     I am about to tell her I have to go when I hear a key
in the door lock. My mother is talking about something, but
I completely ignore her as I stare at the door. I swear the
door opens in slow motion. Lionel walks in and closes the
door behind him. He is wearing the same clothes he had on
four days ago and I can't help but wonder if he's showered.
What used to be a shadow on his face is now a light trace of
a beard. He looks at me and I see the saddest look I have
ever seen in my life.
  I quickly say goodbye to my mother, "Mom, I gotta go." I
hang up the phone and sit still while I wait for some sign
from Lionel. Lionel stands and looks at me a few minutes
longer. I begin to feel uncomfortable with the silence and I
prepare to say something. It is the speech I have been
practicing for the last
three days. Lionel walks to his bed and sits down, never
taking his eyes off of me.

     "So how long have you known?" Gone is the sweet, jovial
ring that I use to hear in his voice. All that's left behind
is the sound of sadness.

     "For a long time, but I didn't accept it until our
sophomore year." I want to be as honest and as direct as I
can to all of his questions.

     "So you knew all of high school?"

     "Yes."

     "What made you that way?" I am flabbergasted by the
question, but the look of sincerity in his eyes tells me he
isn't trying to be offensive. I still love him, so I answer
the question.

     "I was born this way."

     "Oh." He looks lost in thought.

     "Your mother wants you to call her." I have so many

things planned to say to him, and when I finally get my

chance, I can't find the words. All I can do is relay a

stupid message.

     He seems to snap back to reality. "I already talked to

     her." "Oh." `Say something!' I think to myself. `Do

     it!'

     "So your friend's name is Lionel, too?"

     "No, it's Michael." I recognize the mistake right away.
I shouldn't have said that. I know what the next question is
going to be.


     "So why were you calling him Lionel?"


     "I don't know." I start to fidget on my bed.


     "Oh." He looks down at the floor and returns to his
thoughts.

   I watch him try to burn a hole in to the floor with his
eyes. He is staring at the same spot for so long that I take
a glance myself to make sure there isn't anything there. I
wonder what thoughts are bouncing around in that sexy head
of his. Then I verbally bash myself for thinking his head is
sexy at a time like this.  I finally can't take it anymore,
so I speak.

     "Did you tell anyone about me?"

     He looks up and I realize I have hurt his feelings. The
question was necessary, but the look of hurt in his eyes
made me feel like less of a person for even thinking to ask
such a question.

     "Of course I didn't! What type of a guy do you think I
am?"

     "I don't know."

     I hear him mumble under his breath, "Yeah, that's
right, you don't know."

  "Huh? What did you say?" I heard what he said, but I want
him to repeat it.

     "Nothing."

  "No, you said something." I have no idea why I'm pressing
him to repeat himself.

     "I said you don't know. I was going to say you don't
know, but you should know, but I thought I should keep that
to myself."

     "So how do you feel about this whole situation?" I
decided it was best for me to simply move on with the
conversation.

     "Well, I'm surprised. I never would have guessed that
you like boys. I want to say I'm okay with it, but I'm not
sure where I am on that issue, right now. All I know is that
you're my boy and I know we can work this out." He stand ups
and walks over to me.

  I am shocked because his reaction seems unrealistic. "Why
are you being so accepting?"

     "Three nights sleeping on the ground really puts things
in to perspective. I'm lucky to have a roof over my head.
I'm lucky that you've always been a good friend to me. I'm
lucky that we won't have the drama of fighting over some
chick." He smiled, and I saw a hint of hope in his eyes. I
happily smiled with him. "Now give me a hug." He opens his
arms.

     I stand up from my bed and enter his warm embrace. The
shear joy from his acceptance, or at least tolerance, of me
overwhelms my senses. I start crying and shaking in his
arms. He pulls me closer and softy says, "Ssh. It will be
okay." He rubs my back with his hands, creating heat and
setting my skin on fire. I bury my face in to his t-shirt.
It is then that I realize the weird smell that came in with
him, is not from his shoes. He stinks!

     I let him know in no uncertain times that he needs to
clean up, by taking a big whiff of air, and saying, "Phew!
You need a shower! You stink!" I lean back wiping my tears
away with the back of my hands.

   "Well you don't smell like a bed of roses either." His
comment makes me laugh, and my eyes start leaking tears of
laughter and joy. I know it wasn't that funny, but I can't
stop laughing. Lionel joins me in my laughter. We stand like
that for a while: me lost in his warm embrace, and both of
us laughing hysterically. Sometimes laughter can make you
feel better. Whoever said laughter is good for the soul, was
right on the money. We laughed until we couldn't laugh and
then we joked about it and laughed some more. I watched as
the traces of sadness began to vacate his eyes, and the
happy spirit I knew and loved returned. We weren't whole
again, but we were on the right track.


c Lustyville 2005
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