Date: Wed, 23 Oct 2013 10:06:12 -0400
From: Ronyx <ronyx@woh.rr.com>
Subject: Birds Don't Sing Before a Storm   Chapter 8

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to anyone are purely
coincidental. The story is intended for a mature audience. It may contain
profanity and references to gay sex. If this offends you, please leave and
find something more suitable to read. The author maintains all rights to
the story. Do not copy or use without written permission. Write
ronyx@themustardjar.com with your comments. Ronyx is a prolific Nifty
author. Visit my personal website at www.themustardjar.com for more
stories.


Birds Don't Sing Before a Storm        Chapter 8


When I walked out of the subdivision, I turned left, instead of right. When
I walked to school with Lane, we always headed right. I was looking for a
bus station, so I figured I would have a better chance going in a different
direction.

I wanted to get away. I didn't care anymore. I was going to give it a try,
mainly because I had become attached so quickly to Lane. However, he wasn't
enough to make me want to stay. The city appeared large enough to have a
bus station. I was hoping I could get a ticket to Atlanta. Greyhound had to
have buses that traveled south.

At home, I didn't get along with my mother, but we tolerated one
another. It had been working until a few years ago. However, I knew I
couldn't stay with my father. If I did, Curtis or I would eventually end up
killing the other. He definitely had issues, but I was too unconcerned to
care. I couldn't even imagine a situation in which we could even tolerate
each other. For some reason, he had a hostile attitude towards me. Living
under the same roof would be impossible. Rodney wouldn't always be around
to step between us like he had today.

I could see a few tall buildings in the distance, so I walked toward
them. It took me about an hour to reach the center of town. I asked an
elderly woman on the street where I could find the bus station, but she
clutched her purse as if I was going to rob her and scurried away.

When I turned the block to continue my search, I saw a stalled car in the
street. I heard the clicking of the engine, and I knew the person had a
dead battery. A young boy jumped out of the car and attempted to push it
out of the street.

I hurried over and helped him push from behind as he pushed from the
driver's door. He looked back and nodded appreciatively at me. When it was
safely out of the way of blocking traffic, he wiped his hands and walked to
the back of the car.

"Thanks," he smiled as he extended his hand.

"No problem," I replied as I looked at the older model silver Honda. It had
several dents in the side, and the side window was duct taped with heavy
plastic. I asked, "Dead battery?"

"Yeah," he replied as he wiped sweat off his brow. "Third time this week."
I studied him as I watched him look down and scowl at the car. He was about
my age, but shorter than me. His brown hair was short with a curly spike on
top. He was wearing round framed glasses that he kept pushing back up on
the bridge of his nose. His appearance reminded me of Daniel Radcliffe in
one of the last Harry Potter films. When he spoke, I expected him to speak
with a British accent. However, his voice was a Southern accent that Lane,
Mike and the other people I met spoke.

I laughed when he kicked the rear bumper and a piece broke off and fell to
the street. "Piece of shit," he muttered as he picked it up and tossed it
into the rear seat.

I laughed and suggested, "Maybe it's time you bought another car."

"Wish I could," he replied, "but I'm working two jobs now, and I can hardly
keep up with the gas and insurance on this one." He looked at his watch and
said, "Damn it. I'm going to be late for work." He looked over and added,
"I guess I'll only have one job now. This makes the third time this month
I've been late."

I asked, "Where do you work?"

"Did," he replied as he saluted me. "Welcome to Burger King, Sir. We do it
your way."

I began laughing. "You're an idiot."

He smiled and extended his hand again. "I'm Shade."

I shook his hand and replied, "Casey. Casey Barrett." I gave him a puzzled
look and asked, "Shade? Is that your first name?"

"Naw," he said. "My first name is Almon, but if you call me that I may have
to get my rifle out of the trunk and shoot you." When my eyes widened, he
laughed and added, "I don't really have a rifle in the trunk."

"Good," I responded nervously. "I'll be sure to call you Shade."

He folded his arms and studied his car. "I don't know what to do. I gotta
get this piece of crap off the street or the cops will ticket it."

I suggested, "Can't you call your father?" I was surprised when he stepped
back and roared with laughter.

"My old man lives in Pensacola," he replied. "I ain't seen that old coot in
about ten years."

"What about your mom?"

He looked at his watch. "She's working the tables at the diner," he
said. "Besides, she doesn't have a car. She rides the bus."

Talking to Shade, I had almost forgotten why I was downtown. "Is there a
bus station around here where I can catch a Greyhound bus?"

He gave me a puzzled look. "Where you headed? It's a Saturday, and the
buses don't run as regular on the weekends."

I replied, "Atlanta."

"What's in Atlanta?" he asked, "Kinfolk?"

"No," I said. "I'm trying to get away from kinfolk." I had never used the
word before, and I wondered if it sounded strange coming from my mouth. If
it did, Shade didn't seem to notice.

Shade studied me a minute and said, "Uh, oh. Sounds like you got a tale to
tell." He pointed to his left, put his hands on the back of the car and
said, "Help me push this piece of shit into that parking lot, and we'll go
get something to eat." I went to the driver's door and grabbed the steering
wheel. A few minutes later, we had pushed the car out of the street.

"Should be okay here," he said as he locked the doors. "I hope someone
steals it, though. Then I can collect insurance on it."

"Wow," I laughed. "What will you do with the fifty dollars?"

He smiled and said, "Smart ass." I followed him through the parking lot and
down a side street. A few minutes later, we were on the main street. He
looked around, "What do you fancy?"

"I don't have much money," I informed him.

"Me neither," he laughed. "McDonald's then?" I nodded and we walked a few
blocks to the restaurant.

"I worked here about a year ago," he said as we entered. "If the old boss
is here, maybe I can get my old job back."

I laughed, "Is that the only work you do, fast food?"

He frowned and replied, "I do what I have to do to get by." He pointed to a
booth and told me to have a seat. I watched as he walked around the counter
and talked to a woman who appeared to be about forty years old. They talked
for several minutes, and then she walked away. A couple of minutes later,
she returned and handed him a large McDonald's bag. He came around the
counter and headed to the table with a large smile on his face.

"I take it you got your job back?"

"Yep," he replied proudly. "I start tomorrow." He put the bag on the table,
opened it and pulled out several sandwiches and three large fries. "I also
got us a free happy meal," he said with a laugh.

I looked at the large assortment in front of us. "It looks like more than a
happy meal."

"I'm happy," he stated. "You're happy, so it's a happy meal." We each
grabbed a double cheeseburger and started eating.

As I took a bite, I stared at Shade. "What?" he asked as he wiped his
chin. "Did I dribble some mustard on me?"

"No," I laughed. "Has anyone ever told you that you..."

"No!" he shouted as several people looked over at our table. He leaned
toward me and whispered softly, "Please don't say that." He sat back and
grinned. "I get told that about ten times a day. People even stop me on the
street and ask me. I ask them what would Harry Potter be doing living in a
hellhole like this place."

"It's not that bad," I quipped without thinking. It opened up the door for
him to ask a question.

"Then why are you leaving?"

I took a bite of my hamburger and reached for a fry. He grabbed my hand and
stared into my face. "Why?"

"Shit, Man," I replied. "I really prefer not to talk about it."

"Shit?" he asked bemusedly. "I got a friggin' car sitting in a parking lot
with a dead battery. The cops have probably towed it away by now. I lost my
job..."

"But," I interrupted as I looked at the front of the restaurant. "You got
another one."

"Big deal," he said sarcastically. "She gave me twenty hours a week, and
I'll only be making $8.50 and hour."

I responded, "At least you have a home."

Shade sat back and studied me for a minute. "So that's it," he said. "You
homeless?"

"Not exactly," I replied.

"What's that mean?" I then explained to him about the living conditions in
my father's house. He stopped me when I mentioned Curtis's name.

"Curtis Crawford?"

"Yeah," I said. "You know him?"

He responded angrily, "Know him? He's made my life at school hell since the
sixth grade. He's a friggin' douche."

"You got right," I laughed.

"No wonder you're running away." His comment surprised me because I hadn't
said anything about running away.

"Who said I'm running away?"

He looked down at my bag, and then into my face. "For one, you asked me
where you can catch a Greyhound bus. Then you tell me you're going to
Atlanta." He looked at the bag on the floor. "And I'm guessing just about
everything you own is in that bag."

I laughed nervously. "Are you some kind of a private investigator?"

"No," he replied, "but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night." We
both broke up laughing.

He stopped laughing, leaned toward me and asked softly, "So, why are you
leaving?"

"Nothing is going right," I said as I choked back tears.

"Listen, Casey," he responded as he looked at the clock on the wall. "I've
only known you for less than an hour, but you don't seem like the kind of
guy who just quits."

"You don't understand," I mumbled softly.

He replied, "You'd be surprised. I have my own demons I fight every day."
He surprised me when he reached across the table and gripped my
arm. "You're strong, I can tell."

He looked up at the clock again. "I really have to get going," he
said. "I've got to get home and take care of some things before I go to my
other job." He stood and looked down at me. "Maybe I'll see you in school
on Monday?"

"Sure," I replied as I stood. As we were walking out, I put my hand on his
back and said, "Thanks."

Outside, we stood awkwardly facing each other. Neither of us knew exactly
what to say. It was obvious a friendship was forming, and we didn't want it
to end.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out what money remained. I handed it to
Shade. He looked at it and asked, "What's this for?"

"A battery," I replied. "There's a little over two hundred. Is that
enough?"

"Yeah, sure," he said with a smile. Then he attempted to hand it back to
me. "I can't take this, though."

"Sure you can," I said. "Besides, if I keep it, I just might get that
ticket to Atlanta."

He asked again, "You sure?" When I nodded, he stuffed the bills into his
pocket."

"I owe you," he said.

I smiled and replied, "That's what I'm hoping."

He winked, turned and hurried off down the sidewalk.

* * * * * *

No one was home when I returned. I don't even think they realized I had
left. Karen had written a note telling me that she and Lane had gone
shopping, she also inform me that my father was away on a business trip.

When I went to my room, Curtis and Rodney had rearranged it back into an
exercise room. I had about half the space I had earlier. The dresser had
been pushed up against the bed, and I had to squeeze into a small space to
get into the closet.

"Screw it," I muttered as I put my things away. Shade was right. I was
going to have to make do with my present situation. I could pack and
attempt to run away a hundred times. However, the reality was, I had no
place to go. I was beginning to accept the fact that I would have to remain
here until I graduated. Then I could try to make it on my own.

I liked Shade. He didn't really discuss his life much, but I was able to
pick up that his background was probably much worse than mine. At least my
parents had money. In fact, from what I had noticed so far, my father
appeared to be quite rich. I now understood how my mother had been able all
these years to live comfortably on a teacher's salary. My father must have
been providing her with child support, in addition to a generous alimony
payment.

Shade talked about how he and his mother didn't have much. They both worked
low waged jobs, but he didn't seem to complain. It was as if he was used to
a meager life. Driving around in an old car seemed normal to him, and he
seemed accustomed to working two jobs to help his mother meet their living
expenses.

In a way, I envied him. Even though he was living in poverty, he seemed
quite content. He didn't talk much about his mother, but I could tell he
seemed to worship her when he mentioned how hard she worked to make ends
meet. He didn't mention if he had any brothers or sisters, but I assumed he
did, or why else would the both of them work so hard?

I took off my shirt, removed my pants and put on a pair of athletic
shorts. If I was going to live in a room filled with gym equipment, then I
might as well take advantage of it. Besides, I might have to build myself
up if I was going to fight Curtis again.

I had been lifting weights for about ten minutes when someone opened the
door. I stopped and saw Rodney standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry," he
apologized. "I didn't know you were in here or I would have knocked."

"It's okay," I muttered as I lay back on the bench and returned to lifting
the barbells.

Rodney approached and asked, "Need a spotter?"

"Sure," I replied. "I want to add fifty pounds."

"Fifty pounds?" he asked as he looked at the weights on the bar. "You're
already bench pressing one hundred pounds." He walked over and picked up
two ten pound weights. "How about twenty, and then you can add more?"

"Okay," I replied as I watched him add the weights. I lay back, and he
helped me with the bar. I did ten lifts before he told me to stop.

"I think you've reached your limit," he said worriedly.

I replied angrily, "I'm not a wimp."

"No one said you are," he assured me as he glanced at my body. "It's just
that I don't think you've worked out lately. You don't want to overdo it."

I stood, grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off my forehead and
chest. "Perhaps you're right," I admitted.

I watched as he removed his shirt and lay down on the bench. His upper
torso was ripped. It was obvious he had spent a lot of time working
out. Even though my body was naturally toned, I still looked like a
weakling in comparison to his hard, firm body.

He didn't seem to mind that I was staring at his body. He reached for the
bar and asked, "Want to spot me?" I watched in amazement as he lifted the
120 pounds effortlessly. His muscles became taut with each repetition. I
wasn't keeping count, but he must have done about twenty lifts before
stopping.

"I'm impressed," I said as he stood and stretched his body.

He smiled and replied, "I've been involved in sports since I was seven. I
was kind of a runt back then, so I started working out. Four years ago,
when we moved here, Randy designed this exercise room for us."

A wave of sadness washed over me. While I only got the obligatory money
cards on my birthday and Christmas, my father was building Rodney and
Curtis a weight room.

Rodney squatted down on the floor. He suggested, "Let's do some sit ups.
I'll spot you." I lay on my back, and he grabbed my ankles. I put my hands
behind my neck and did about ten before I began slowing down.

He let go of my ankles and said, "Better not push it. We'll work you up to
them." He lay on his back. "Now, you spot me," he said.

It felt strange grabbing his thick, muscular ankles. I know it was
something he was used to doing with Curtis and other guys, but it made me
feel uncomfortable. Each time he raised his firm body and then rested his
head, his shorts would open slightly. I would get a slight glimpse of his
red bikini underwear hidden underneath. I tried not to glance, but it was
too tempting. Rodney was a very handsome boy, and I was only a couple of
feet away from his manhood.

He did fifty sit-ups effortlessly before sitting up. He looked at me and
smiled. "Coach says you're going to join the baseball team?" It was more a
comment than a question.

I began to laugh. "I don't know why everyone is after me to play baseball.
You guys must really suck if you want me on the team."

"Suck!" he replied excitedly. "We've won the state championship six years
in a row." He then explained how the team had only lost one game in that
time. "There's no school that can even come close to beating us."

I gave him a puzzled look. "Then why does Wentworth want me on the team?
I've never played baseball in my life."

Rodney scanned my body just like Wentworth and Mike had
done. Subconsciously, I folded my arms over my chest. "You're a little soft
in places," he said as he looked over my body, "but I'm sure Coach sees
something I can't see."

"Well," I replied. "He's going to be really disappointed. Mike wants me to
pitch, and I wouldn't know a curveball from a fastball."

"Maybe not," replied Rodney, "but if anyone can teach you, it's Mike. He's
the best."

I watched as Rodney stood and put on his tee shirt. It appeared about a
size too small for him. I wondered if he wore it smaller so it would
accentuate his chiseled upper torso. He looked over at me and smiled
slightly before commenting, "You do know Mike's gay, don't you?"

* * * * * *

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