Date: Sat, 27 Apr 2002 01:01:04 -0700 (PDT)
From: Brandon Kies <brandonkies@yahoo.com>
Subject: No Choice But Love - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Eliza had been correct, I realized as we entered Rourke's. The place was
fantastic. A blend of mahogany and gold, rich deep colors that lulled the
customer, and invited him to relax and enjoy his visit. Soothing
classical background music that created an ambiance of quiet
contemplation and discussion. White table clothes and napkins, fine
china, crystal, and gold silverware enhanced rather than detracted from
the rooms character.

The Wilkins and their nanny had already arrived and Marcus motioned for
us to join them as we entered. I was still a bit distracted, replaying
the discussion Aaron and I had just had, when we reached the table. I
must have been on auto pilot, because I helped Aaron get Eric situated in
his high chair, sat were directed automatically, to the left of Aaron,
and agreed without hesitation when Marcus suggested we try the prime rib.

"Chris," Eliza asked?

Realizing I had been ignoring the current conversation, I quickly
gathered my thoughts and smiled in what I hoped was a sheepish grin.
"I'm sorry, Eliza," I apologized, "I was somewhere else, what did you
say?"

"I said," she laughed understandingly, " that this isn't really going
to be a family inquisition. Why don't you and Aaron just chat, get to
know each other, and we'll pipe up if there's something we want
clarified."

I nodded in agreement, then turned slightly so I could face Aaron
expectedly. "So," I asked, "Who starts?"

He grinned at me mischievously as he turned to face me and responded,
"Well since your a bit outnumbered here, why don't you?"

I thought something easy, not too embarrassing to start with, just
something to break the ice. "Why did you decide to attend Kingsridge?"
I asked. I was rather surprised at the reaction to my question. That
should have been an easy one, shouldn't it? But, he reacted like I had
slapped him. Looking at his father nervously, he cleared his throat. I
followed his glance and noticed the look of sadness and pain Marcus was
returning.

"I told you who Eric's mother was," he started, "but that wasn't the
entire story." Sighing deeply, resigned I guess to whatever my reaction
might be, he continued, "Linda, was a drug addict."

"We didn't know that of course. The pregnancy seemed to go off without
a hitch. She was often moody and tired, but she appeared to be healthy.
How she managed to hide what she was doing from the doctor, I still
don't understand."

"When Eric was born, we found out about the drugs and the consequence.
He was born addicted to cocaine and had some serious health problems. My
heart broke as I spent day after day in the hospital watching this
beautiful, gentle soul screaming in pain as his body went through
withdrawal."

"He went into cardiac arrest twice," the tears flowing down Aaron's
face as he told his story were a physical representation of the pain he
had endured, and demonstrated poignantly exactly how hard these memories
were for him to relive. "Eventually he stopped crying, not because he
was getting better, simply because he was too weak for even that small
action."

"I thought he was going to die, and I knew if he did, I would too. I
loved him already. Deeply, completely, unconditionally. I had loved him
since I knew he existed, and that love grew daily as Linda's pregnancy
progressed. He fulfilled me in a way I needed desperately, and if he was
taken from me, I would have no reason to live."

"I would sit near his incubator daily, watch him as he lay there with
wires and tubes covering his fragile, small body, and caress him. And I
talked to him. I told him about my life, how much I loved him, how much I
needed him, and prayed for him to hold on. To be strong, to have faith
that I would be there to protect him, to love him, if only he would stay
with me."

"Somehow, he started getting better. Stronger. He finished going through
withdrawal and began sleeping and eating normally. He gained weight, his
color improved. As bad as it was, it became that good. He was
flourishing, growing, laughing. And I was there for every moment of it.
Loving, supporting, and cherishing him and this second chance. Once he
was strong enough to go home, my obsession continued and grew. I had
graduated not long before he was born, so I had no outside
responsibilities to take my attention away from him. And I dedicated
myself to him. I realize it wasn't healthy, but my devotion was
absolute. I had an almost debilitating fear that he would be taken from
me at any moment."

"The fear became so bad it was paralyzing. Every time he would move,
breathe funny, or cry, I was certain he was going to die. I had to start
seeing my psychiatrist again, and eventually she was able to help me
overcome my fears. I was able to stop smothering him and allow him to
grow and experience new sensations and situations, and I was able to
really share his joy as he began to explore and learn about the world
around him."

I'm not sure how or when, but somewhere, some when while he was speaking
I reached over and clasped his hand. I guess I wanted him to feel human
contact as he faced these inner demons, I'm sure I did it to comfort
him, but somehow, for some reason, the contact, his hand squeezing mine
back as I squeezed his gave me just as much comfort.

"As my counseling progressed, the psychiatrist and I were eventually
able to discover the underlying problems that was causing my fears. I
didn't think I was worth loving. I could accept it from my family, from
my son. Parents, siblings, children, they are suppose to love you
unconditionally. And I needed that love. I yearned for it. And I knew
Eric was going to be my only child. If I lost him, if he died, that love,
his love would be gone and I simply couldn't envision any other person
loving me, needing me as he does."

"So we decided I would give college a chance. At least a year. Spend
that time trying to recognize that I am a worthwhile person. That I
deserved love, and had the capacity to share it with someone that
completes me. That is my equal."

"Why were you so sure Eric would be your only child? Have you ever been
in love?" I asked.

I realized the question was dangerous when I saw the reaction of Aaron's
family. Eliza's gasp, the look of pain on Marcus face, Candice's shock
as she turned white and started biting her lower lip.

"Chris..." Eliza started.

Holding up my hand, I motioned Eliza to silence. Turning back to Aaron I
saw the pain the question had caused. His eyes were haunted, filled with
pain. He looked lost. Afraid to speak, afraid to remember. The strange
feelings I had been experiencing about him intensified. My stomach was
churning, and I wanted desperately to have not asked that question. But
somehow I knew that he needed to tell me, somehow I knew it was important
to him. To me. To us.

"Aaron," I said reaching up to cup his face and turn it towards me.
"Look at me, Aaron." Staring deeply into his eyes, I tried to convey my
support for him. I allowed my sympathy to show, my compassion, and I
hoped, my acceptance.

"Trust me. Whatever it is, no matter how hard it may be to tell me,
we`ll still be friends." I pleaded, squeezing his hand trying to impart
my confidence in him, and the feelings for this gentle man I was
beginning to have. This special man who had such a large capacity for
love. "Trust me!" I almost begged.

"I... umm...," he stuttered. Licking his lips, he quickly reached for a
glass of water, took a deep drink and re-cleared his throat.

"I was 16 when I met him," he said as he looked deeply in my eyes,
looking for a reaction. I'm not sure what he saw, but whatever it was,
it was enough to allow him to continue.

"He was 17, a senior at my high school, and I thought he was gorgeous,"
he sighed.

"I was in love with him. Real love, the happily ever after kind, the I
want to spend my life with this person kind. And I thought he was just as
deeply in love with me."

"I wasn't really comfortable finally admitting to myself that I was
gay, but Josh, that was his name, was patient. He spent an amazing amount
of time soothing my feelings, assuaging my fears, and assuring me that I
wasn't evil or weird. Finally, I couldn't ignore what I was feeling for
him. It got to the point that each time I did I felt I was betraying him,
betraying us, betraying the possibilities of what we could have."

"But even though I was able to admit I was in love with another guy,
that I was gay, I still wasn't ready for sex. I wasn't able to release
my inhibitions enough to share the intimacy, the openness, the trust that
required. It put stress on our relationship. Josh was frustrated, but
continued to be patient."

"At some point, his gentle caring slowly evaporated and he began to put
pressure on me. And I decided, finally, that he was right. That I was
being silly and childish. And that we needed to share that intimacy if
our relationship was going to survive, to develop into something
lasting."

"So we made plans. Mom had some society function she was attending that
day, Candice was spending a few days at our grandparents, and Dad would
be at work, or at least we thought he would be. But he'd had another
doctor's appointment, and returned early. I'm not sure why he came into
my room, I can't remember the last time he had, but he did that day.
Josh and I were undressed, in my bed, kissing passionately when we heard
him open the door."

He paused a moment to take another quick glance at his father, taking a
deep breath he continued, "It took him a second to recognize what was
going on, what we were about to do. He just stood there quietly. He eyes
flickered with emotion. Hurt, disappointment, finally anger."

"He started yelling, accusing. He began calling us vile names: faggot,
queer, perverts, and I honestly thought for a moment he was going to hit
Josh. I'd never seen him so angry in my life, and I'd never known him
to hit anyone. I was scared, hurt by his hateful accusations, but
determined to protect Josh from his wrath. I jumped between them, still
naked, and began to yell myself. I tried to explain we were in love, that
what we were doing wasn't sick or evil. That we weren't twisted. But
every word I said seemed like I was plunging a knife into him. He
flinched at every word, and finally I stopped. I just couldn't bare to
cause him anymore pain."

"He turned to Josh at that point, completely ignoring me, and asked him
how much. What would it cost to get him out of town, out of his sons
life. Josh just stared at him in obvious confusion so he began quoting
prices. 20,000. 30,000. 40,000. I was stunned. He just didn't
understand, we were in LOVE. Josh didn't care about the money, he cared
about me. At 250,000 I discovered I was wrong. Josh did have his price.
Refusing to look at me, to acknowledge me, he accepted my dad's offer.
He agreed to be out of town as soon as the money was transferred to his
account, got dressed, and walked out of my bedroom, out of my life and
out of my heart."

"I was devastated. It wasn't a business transaction to me, it was a
betrayal. A betrayal of the trust I had in my father, and of the man I
thought I would spend my life with, and I couldn't understand why. I
became depressed. Suicidal. Mother got me into treatment. Got father into
counseling. But it wasn't helping me. My feelings for Josh had been
real, and were all consuming. He didn't corrupt me, didn't make me gay,
it wasn't a phase. It was me, it was who I was. And my father couldn't
accept it. The person who I thought was my boyfriend abandoned me. I just
had no will to live. I think if Linda hadn't gotten pregnant, if Eric
hadn't come into my life, I would have eventually succeeded and
committed suicide. I wanted death, the pain was unbearable, I yearned for
release."

"Eric saved me, he gave me a reason to live. But I still hadn't
resolved my feelings of self loathing. I'm not sure I ever will."

He searched my face as he finished his story, searching for the
condemnation he was certain would be there. "I'll understand," he
finally said, "if you don't want to be my roommate. I'll find another
place to live." The pain as he made that statement, as he confessed his
expectations of my reaction to his confession tore at my heart.

I reached up gently and wiped the tears from his cheeks, from his eyes,
and gently turned his head so he would look at me again. "Aaron," I
said, "I'm not Josh, I know you don't really know me yet, but I
promise, you can trust me. I'm not going to run, no one's going to buy
me, and nothing... NOTHING you tell me will ever force me to abandon
you." I'm not sure why I said that, but I knew as I did that it was
true. That something was happening between the two of us and he could
trust me, depend on me, lean on me, and I could do the same with him.

Stroking his cheek on last time, I watched as our waiter brought our
order to the table. Dropping my hand to my lap, I made a decision.
Actually it was the look of disgust I saw in Anne's face that helped me
make my decision. I had to return this man's trust. He deserved to know
he wasn't alone, that I could empathize with him, but more importantly I
could trust him as completely as he had trusted me. He needed to know
that although there may be Anne's in the world, people that would judge
him, condemn him, or hate him, he wasn't alone. There were other people
like him.

"My mother was 30 when I was born," I began our gazes still locked
together, mine willing him to focus on me, to listen to me, to forget his
pain for a moment and really hear what I had to say. Once I was sure I
had his attention, my eyes glazed over as my vision turned inward, as I
forced myself to relive my life, and share those experiences with him.
"My father a year older," I finished.

"I'm not sure why they waited so long to have children, I never asked.
I think, probably, they didn't plan to have me. I'm sure I was an
accident, an inconvenience, and they resented me right from the start."

"As far back as I can remember, I feared them. I don't think I ever
loved them. I remember being happiest when my father was working late,
and my mother would finally pass out after drinking herself senseless. We
lived on the outskirts of town, on a broken down farm. The land seemed a
metaphor for my childhood. Bleak, colorless, and lifeless. Every year my
father would try to scrounge a crop from the land, but the harvest was
never enough to support the farm, the family, or my parents addictions.
He had to supplement our income as a factory worker. And he hated it.
Hated the long hours, and resented the money he had to re-invest to
maintain our home."

"We never had family meals, discussions, or trips. Mother drank her
dinner. Dad snorted his, and I would scrounge up cereal, soup, or toast.
For the first 8 years of my life, I simply didn't exist for them. They
ignored me as much as possible. There were days I would go without food,
because they couldn't be bothered to buy any. I can't count the number
of times I would cry myself to sleep because I was hungry, cold, or
lonely."

"We had this old, massive, claw foot bathtub. It was amazingly deep with
a backrest that was angled very nicely for sliding. Baths were my
favorite time of day. I would fill the tub about a third of the way and
spend an hour sliding down that backrest."

"It allowed me an escape, it was my sanctuary. In that small room,
playing in the tub, my family was normal, I was loved, and the world was
a beautiful and wondrous place."

"When I turned 9 everything changed. I'm not sure why he came in that
day. The tub was filled, I had just climbed in, and was about to began
sliding when the bathroom door opened. There wasn't a way to lock it
when you were in there, the locks all required those old skeleton keys,
and they had been lost ages ago. I was surprised and shocked that he was
there. I couldn't remember the last time he had come in while I was
bathing. It seemed to be an unspoken rule of our house, bathroom privacy
was sacrosanct."

"He was looking at me strangely as he entered; I assumed he had heard
the splashing and noise and had decided to put an end to my fun. I sat
quietly in the water and grabbed a wash cloth. Soaping up, I began
washing my arms, peeking surreptitiously at him as he brazenly examined
me. He just stood there for a while watching me bathe as I got more and
more nervous. Finally, he ordered me to stand up. I did so reluctantly
and watched in fear as he approached the tub. He grabbed the bar of soap
from me, kneeled down, scooped some water in his hands, lathered up, and
began washing my legs."

"I was too scared to say a word. I just stood there frozen as his hands
moved across my body. I started crying when he started massaging my
genitals. I still hadn't made a sound, I just stood there crying
silently as he stroked me. Staring intently into my eyes, he stood up,
unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and slowly lowered them. Taking my
hand in his he guided it to his penis. He began moving my hand back and
forth. I don't know how I knew it was wrong, but some instinct cried out
deep inside me telling what was happening was wrong."

"Eventually he moved his hands to the back of my head and began forcing
it towards him. I knew what he wanted me to do. I just couldn't. I hated
him. I hated my life. I hated that he was forcing me to do this. I was
crying uncontrollably now. Great racking sobs of pain. Begging him,
pleading with him not to make me do it. But he ignored me. I was 9 years
old. He was bigger, stronger, and my father, what was I suppose to do?"

"I did what he wanted. It didn't take long, I had barely taken it in my
mouth when I felt him shudder, when I felt it swell, and he filled my
mouth with his sperm. As he released me, I collapsed into a ball in the
tub. He said the first thing to me since the entire incident had begun.
Warning me not to tell anyone what had happened. Warning me I would
regret it if I did."

"I should have listened to him. I should have realized he wasn't making
an idol threat, but I didn't. I waited until he went to work the next
day and told my mother what had happened. Her reaction surprised me. She
began beating me. Yelling at me. Calling me a liar, a faggot. She
screamed at me to admit I had made the entire thing up. That I was sick
and deviant. She hit me and hit me. I honestly thought she was going to
kill me. So I recanted. I told her I made the entire thing up."

"She sent me to my room, and I retreated there quickly, laying on my bed
in a fetal position for hours, tears and snot running down my face. It
was then that I recognized the truth. In this entire world, not one
person loved me. Since everyone else was loved, then the fault must be
mine. There was something about me that wouldn't allow people to love
me."

"I heard my father come home at one point and tensed up, certain that I
was about to be beat again. But no one came to my room, no one yelled for
me to come out. I finally fell asleep, exhausted, emotional destroyed,
and certain I would be better off dead."

"I woke the next day to find him standing over my bed, looking down on
me. Motioning for me to follow him, he left the room. I got up slowly. He
never said a word, just continued walking out the back door towards the
barn, checking periodically to make sure I was still following him. He
led my through the barn, to the small building we used for slaughtering
the chickens and hogs we kept."

"Frankly, I thought he was going to kill me, and at the time I really
wish he had. As I entered the building, I saw my dog, Trix. His head was
in a jury rigged pair of stocks. I knew what was going to happen. Trix
was my only friend, the only creature that I loved completely. He made me
sit there and watch as he butchered him, as he skinned him alive. And the
entire time he was working, he told me that it was my fault. Because of
me, because of my love, because I had told, Trix had to die."

"Things were different after that day. My father never approached me in
a sexual way again. I'm not sure why, maybe he felt that in some manner
my mother had believed my story. Maybe he thought I would say something
to someone at school. Whatever the reason there was never another sexual
encounter. But the beatings became constant. A way of life. I don't
think a week went by when I wasn't beaten at least once. I was in
constant pain, one huge bruise for the next six years."

"I withdrew into myself. I severed any friendships I had. I was just too
ashamed to allow anyone to know what was happening to me. Too afraid that
if they found out, they would wind up in the slaughterhouse. I became
timid and fearful. Jumping at shadows, certain each night when I went to
bed that I would be killed in my sleep."

"I was 12 when I realized I was gay. Of course, once I had made that
realization, I reviewed the sexual molestation I'd had with my new
reality. I thought my father always knew. I was absolutely certain at
that point that what had happened was my fault. That somehow I had wanted
it to happen."

"When I entered high school, I realized that there might be an escape
for me. If I could survive until graduation. If I could do well
scholastically, I could get away. I could go to college and never have to
return to this life, this place. I became obsessed with my studies, and I
discovered the joy of running. The endorphins it could release. The sweet
solitude as my muscles stretched and burned under MY control. It was
addictive."

I was completely lost in my memories as I recounted my story, but somehow
I was also aware of what was going on around me. I was conscious of the
waiter refilling glasses, clearing our meals. I was aware of Aaron's
tears as he shared my pain, of Candice's guilt as she reconciled my life
with her hurtful words from earlier, of Marcus and Eliza's looks of
sympathy, and of Anne's mocking glances. I cataloged these actions and
reactions, and continued my tale.

"I was resigned to my life. Never happy, always afraid, and never strong
enough to change my circumstances. Until my mother got pregnant again.
She gave birth to my baby brother after I had turned 16. She probably
shouldn't have tried to carry him to term. She was 45 and an alcoholic.
She never stopped drinking during her pregnancy, but Benjy was perfect. I
was certain my parents were going to abandon him. Put him in the foster
system so they wouldn't have to be bothered. But they didn't. I think
when all is said and done they were more worried about how they would
look to the rest of our small community."

"I was terrified of him to begin with. He was adorable, but I was afraid
to touch him, to get close to him. Afraid that if I allowed myself to
love him, my parents would find a way to corrupt it. Too turn it ugly.
Too take it away from me. But he didn't allow me to ignore him. I think
somehow he sensed how much I needed him. How desperate I was to have
someone to love."

"When he finally came home, he started to cry. I have to admit mother
did try to comfort him, it actually surprised me. I'd never seen her in
maternal mode, I didn't think she was capable of it. But she did make
the attempt. Benjy would have none of it though. No matter what she did,
how she tried, he continued crying. In frustration, she handed him to me
one afternoon and told me she had to get out, to shut him up."

"He stopped crying the instant she handed him to me. She started at me
stunned at that development. Watching to see how long it would be before
he started again. He never did. He just looked at me with those trusting,
innocent eyes that babies have, then slowly went to sleep."

"Have you ever really looked at a child's eyes? They are so wide and
full of wonder and delight. They haven't learned to mask their emotions
yet, so when they look at you, you can see what they are thinking, what
they are feeling. The eyes are the only human organ that a person is born
with that are completely mature at birth. They stay the same size for
your entire life. It's why they look so big, so wonderful in children.
And those eyes, I think, are the reason we are able to connect so easily
to them, to love so deeply. They look at us so trustingly, that intensity
compels our love and dedication."

"On Benjy's first birthday, dad got really high. I'd come to learn
over the years that when that happened, chances were pretty good that I
was going to get a beating. He had been watching me, watching how I
interacted with Benjy, and it was scaring me. He watched as I held him
protectively, smiled sadistically at me, and asked me if I thought Benjy
was good looking."

"I was furious, and I stood up to him for the first time in my life. I
told him, calmly and dispassionately, that if he touched Benjy I would
kill him. If he touched me again I would kill him. If he yelled at Benjy
I would kill him. And he believed me. Maybe it was the look in my eyes?
The tone of my voice? Somehow he knew I was at the breaking point."

"I also realized at this point that I had to revise my plans. I had to
find a way, when I left for college, to take Benjy with me. I was older
now, more aware of the illegality of my parents actions, so I made
preparations. When they would finally pass out, I would photograph,
document, and stash a part of whatever pharmaceuticals might be on hand.
I researched and drafted a set of legal papers that if signed would give
me legal guardianship. I figured I would try blackmail. When I was ready
to leave, I would show them copies of the photographs and logs. If it
failed, if they refused to sign away their parental rights, I would place
the drugs I was stockpiling in strategic locations and notify the
police."

I paused a moment in my narrative to study Aaron's face. I saw the hurt,
the empathy, and the understanding I was hoping for there. He knew. I was
absolutely confident that he knew, I would do anything to protect my
brother. Perhaps I should have taken a moment to try to understand the
connection we seemed to be developing. The almost telepathic way we were
communicating. But I didn't.

I did notice that he was the one holding my hand now. He was the one
trying to impart his strength through our touch. He was the one reaching
up gently to wipe my tears. He was the one stroking my cheek tenderly.
And these gestures to soothe my inner turmoil were strangely effective. I
leant on him, on his strength, and it allowed me to continue.

"Our lives were amazingly calm and uneventful my senior year. Benjy grew
happy and loved. I worked lunch hours and study halls for the school to
earn money. I continued to obsess over my studies. When graduation came I
had earned valedictorian honors. I was elated; I could pick any college.
I had scholarship and grant offers, enough to allow me to pay for living
expenses off campus."

"The day of graduation, I had to arrive early. My parents and Benjy
would arrive separately. But they never made it. I thought, the entire
time I was giving my speech, that they had missed the ceremony on
purpose. I was certain that they were trying, once again, to hurt me. I
was wrong."

"The semi-tanker that hit them was carrying gas. It exploded on contact.
They never had a chance. My father, mother, brother all killed. A second.
That's all it took, a second to wipe out my entire family."

"I was numb when I found out. Unable to grieve, unable to let go. I
withdrew into myself again. Locking my feelings up. Refusing to recognize
the truth. I think I was close to madness then, closer than I had ever
been."

"I probably would have plunged over the edge, taken that fateful step
into the maw of despair and insanity, if a representative of the trucking
company hadn't visited me the day of the funeral. Visited me and offered
me 100,000 dollars for my parents lives, and not one cent for my brother.
He stood there, cocky, certain that I would be grateful for any offer. A
back wood's hillbilly too stupid to know when he was being screwed.
Instead I was furious. He had the audacity to tell me my brothers life
was worthless!"

"I buried my family that day, and began researching. I looked for the
most successful wrongful death lawyers I could discover. I researched the
company's business practices. I researched how often they were assessed
fines for breaking government regulations. I delved into repair expenses
and policies. And I got lucky. I received an anonymous internal
communique, a memo that documented the repairs that had been ignored on
the tanker, and the illegal policy of forcing truckers into doctoring
logs so drivers could operate longer hours than allowed."

"The jury deliberated for all of 30 minutes. When they came back they
awarded me 150 million. The trucking company appealed, and my lawyers
told me that we were almost certain to win ultimately, but that the
company would and could keep the case in litigation for years."

"I reapplied for school and scholarships, and began to move forward with
my life. I hadn't heard of Kingsridge University at the time, but
somehow they heard of me, and began actively recruiting me. Eventually, I
decided the school would suit me and signed my letter of intent."

"My lawyers were astounded when the trucking company decided to enter
into settlement discussions, instead of pursuing the appeals, and three
months ago they agreed to pay 75 million, admit publicly to liability,
and agree to have outside auditor's review new policies for repairs and
staffing. Ironic isn't it? A second, that's all the accident took, I
lose the only person that has ever loved me, and gain a fortune I didn`t
want."