Date: Mon, 13 Feb 2006 16:06:21 -0800
From: Ryan Miller <bluedragon314@gmail.com>
Subject: Bonding Energy: Opportunity Cost ch. 3

Consider this the second edition of my story. I looked back at my early
works and saw how much I have improved as a writer and thought it only
behooved me to polish up what I had written. So, I went through and edited
the story stylistically and structurally. The story is still the same, just
shinier.

Disclaimer: This is a homoerotic story I have written, so if you aren't
allowed legally, morally or ethically to read it, then don't. And don't
post this anywhere else without my expressed permission. Feedback is very
much encouraged, so hit me up at

bluedragon314@gmail.com


Ch. 3


I arrived later than usual to global politics the next day. (I stopped to
talk to Lidia about an assignment I had dropped off.) The rest of the
students were going on with business as usual. But, over at my table, Peter
and William looked like they wanted to strangle the life out of each
other. Both were sitting at opposite sides of the table, trying hard to
ignore each other and looking incensed. The tension around them was
palpable. I went over to Chris and asked him what was going on.


"You don't want to get involved," he said.

"I have to sit between the two of them for the rest of class," I
said. "I'll be involved if I want to or not."

"If you say so," he said, taking me aside. "Here's what happened: since you
weren't here, Peter was bugging me to let him copy my answers. I told him
not to, but he stole my work sheet anyway and started copying them. William
got out his work sheet and called Moony over to check on a problem. Peter
wasn't paying attention and Moony saw him cheating and took him aside and
had a little chat with him about ethics in the classroom."

"Ouch," I said. When Moony takes someone aside for a chat like that, it's
torture because he makes you feel so guilty about what you did. Not because
he demands it like some over-bearing mother, but because he is kind and
caring and you know he's right. You feel worse that you did it to
him--whatever it was--than that you did it.


"Yeah," said Chris. "So, when Peter got back, he was mad at William for
calling Moony over, saying that William did it just so he would get
caught. William denied it, of course. But that wasn't good enough for
Peter. He tore into William about how he just liked making other people
suffer because he was some goth-loner and didn't have any friends. That
shut William up and they've been like that ever since."


"Don't you think that was a little harsh?" I said. "I mean, I'm sure Peter
was mad, but it's just plain unethical to go after someone for not having
friends."

"You're concerned about he ethics of a guy who has copied your homework
almost every day of class?" said Chris. "Besides, I'm glad he got
caught. And after the talk he had with Moony, he won't be cheating in this
class again. No more arguing about worksheets. No more hiding test
answers."

"You know, he actually never cheated on tests," I said.

"Is that what he told you?" asked Chris.

"Yeah," I said. "He said he doesn't do homework because it's a waste of
time. But he has no problem with tests."

"I don't buy it," said Chris.

Moony went up to the front of the classroom and Chris and I took our seats,
being careful not to disturb William or Peter.

"Alright, class," said Moony. "Lets begin with the first order of
business. Next Tuesday, there will be a lecture at noon in room 168 about
the history of capitalism. Anyone who goes and writes a one-page review
will get extra credit. And I strongly advise some of you to take advantage
of this opportunity. Your GPA could depend on it.

"Next, I'd like to introduce the topic of our next chapter. For those of
you who read ahead, can you tell me what it is about?"

Chris' hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Mr. Richards," said Moony.

"The next chapter is about the history of economic development vs. the
history of government and how each affects the other," recited Chris.

"Very good," said Moony. "Straight from the text book. But what does all
that mean to us as students of politics?"

"I, um," said Chris. "I guess it's talking about how the way we handle
money effects the way we handle our government."



"A little catchier, but still not quite what I'm looking for," said
Moony. "Yes, Mr. Brewer."

"Politics deals with the flow of power," said William. "Since most people
get power from money, the flow of money is the flow of power. So, a
nation's governing structure is a reflection of its economic structure."

"A very philosophical approach, and a tad bit cynical," said Moony. "I like
it, but it's still not what I'm looking for. Yes, Ms. Piers."

"I think the chapter is talking about the way that governments and
economies evolve together," said Jenny Piers. "It asks, 'Which effects
policy more? The economy or the government?'"

"That's what I was looking for," said Moony. "Kind of like what William
said, but more to the point of asking, 'Who is really in control?
Government officials or their money?'"

"We all know it's the money that has the power," said Peter.

"Hold on, Dawkins," said Moony. "You're getting ahead of me. I was about to
pair you up for your first big project of the year. I want you and your
partner to write a report and give a short presentation on a country of
your choice, past or present, and write how you think their economy and
their government affect each other and which has more power."


"Can I be with Bethany?" asked Jenny.

"I have taken the liberty of pairing you up myself," said Moony. There was
a unanimous groan from the class. "Don't worry. I didn't pair you up with
anyone you can't stand. But since it is still the beginning of the year and
everyone is getting to know everyone else, such a decision should be
arbitrary. Your partners are as follows: Mallory and Jensen, Piers and
Dawkins, Richards and Fuller, Brewer and Wilson..."

I looked over at William and he was glaring back at me.

'Great' I thought. 'Out of all the people in the room, I got stuck with the
ass who tries to sleep all class?'

"Don't look at me like that," said William. "You think I want to be your
partner either?"

"Just as long as I don't have to write your report for you," I said.

"Hey, pretty boy. I can write just fine," he said. "And I can write better
than that dollar bill crap you tried to push on Lidia."



"Wait a minute," I said. "Did you just call me 'pretty boy?'" Sure, he had
just impugned my ability to write. But I knew I sucked at writing. That's
why I was taking a class; to get better. But "pretty boy" was a new one for
me.


"Ok, class," said Moony. "I need you all to settle down so I can explain
the requirements of the project." The rest of class I took notes on the
project and tried to get used to the fact that I was going to be closer to
William Brewer than I wanted. I sure hoped he would carry his own weight. I
hated having to do the work of two or three people just to give them and me
a good grade.


At then end of the day, I didn't have to take the bus home. James came and
picked me up in his Tacoma. We all had to get ready for the funeral.

When I got home, Brian was already in a black suit and so was Aaron,
holding a tray of apple tarts. (He must have been a little edgy.) It didn't
take long for James and me to get ready, though it took a while for me to
find some nice clothes that weren't too happy. I hadn't been to a funeral
since I was little so I wasn't sure what to expect. But from the impression
James gave me, it would be very boring.

"Wait a minute, what's that?" asked James, pointing to a square bump in my
pocket as I got out of the truck in the church parking lot.

"It's my Gameboy," I said. "You did say this was going to be boring."

"It's a funeral, dipstick!" he said. "You don't go to be entertained."

"Why do we have to go, anyway?" I asked.

"We have to go because Brian has to go," said James. "And he has to go
because it's his mom's funeral and that's just what you do when your
parents die."

"Did you like going to our parent's funeral?" I asked.

"No, I hated it," he said. "It was boring, all the people were overly-nice
and my suit itched. But I had to go because our parents brought us into
this world and the least we can do is see them out of it. Now, leave your
Gameboy in the truck and lets go inside."


I had been thinking about why Brian would want to go to this funeral the
whole ride over there. His mom was the one who called her friends to warn
them of the danger her son posed to their families when she found out he as
gay. And she seemed really up-tight. Why would he want to go and honor the
life of such a woman?


Inside the church, there were a bunch of people milling around in the lobby
with a long line in front of a guest book and two ushers escorting people
into the sanctuary. From inside the sanctuary, you would hear an old lady
playing slow, somber organ music. A group of people was standing around
Brian shaking his hand and offering condolences. Aaron was standing in
front of a rack of gospel tracts looking intently at them as if willing
them to spontaneously combust. James walked in behind me, surveying the
scene and trying to keep a low profile.


It didn't work.

A bald man in a suit that was far too tight for his round gut walked up to
James and said, "Good afternoon, my name is Hugh Lambert."

"Hi, James Wilson," James said, reluctantly shaking the man's hand.

"Were you a friend of Lara's?" Hugh asked.

"No," said James. "We didn't know her. We're here with Brian."



"Ah, Brian," said Hugh. "Poor soul. Ever since his mother took ill, he has
had a rough road to travel. The Lord seems to be testing him greatly. But
he is holding up rather well, I'd say."

"He certainly is," said James. "Well, we'd better go sign the guest book
before the service starts. It was nice talking to you."

"It was good to meet you, George," said Hugh as James grabbed my arm and
walked over to Aaron.

"I hate funerals," said James. "Everybody acts like they're your best
friend."

"I think I've discovered a trick," said Aaron. "If you hold a hymnal,
people think you are supposed to be here and don't bother to introduce
themselves to you."

"Hey, guys," said Brian, as he walked over to us. "Pastor Meyers said the
service will begin in a few minutes."

"Don't call him that," said Aaron.

"Don't start, Aaron," said Brian. "We'll be here for ten more minutes and
then we can leave and you can complain about the church all you
want. Anyway, he said that I can go up and talk about my mom after the
first song."

"Song?" said Aaron and me, incredulously. I looked forward to singing as
much as Aaron looked forward to praising God.

"Come on, guys," said Brian. "You don't have to sing or anything. Just sit
in the back and we can leave as soon as I'm done."

"Brian, I'm so sorry about your mom," said a girl from behind him. She was
blond and wearing a simple, black dress and looked awful perky for someone
at a funeral.

"Uh, thanks, Lucy," said Brian, turning a little pink.

"I mean, it's so sad what happened to her after the accident, losing her
memory and all," she said. "And then she totally forgot who you were. It
must have been sad not having that caring, womanly influence in your life."


"Excuse me," said an usher. "The service is about to begin, so we need
everyone to go into the sanctuary."

"I have to go sit by my sister and her fiance front, but I'll save you a
seat, Brian," said Lucy.

"Uh, thanks, Lucy," said Brian.

As the usher escorted her into the sanctuary, Aaron was looking at her with
the same intensity he used on the gospel tracts. Brian, put his arm around
Aaron and said, "Don't worry, she's been trying to hook up with ever since
middle school."


"The nerve of that skank," Aaron said. "Hitting on you at your mom's
funeral. Hitting on you at all!"

"But she didn't know that the one who has stolen my heart was standing
right in front of her." said Brian.

"No, she didn't," said Aaron as he smiled proudly.

We walked into the sanctuary and, as instructed, took seats in the back
pews. Pastor Meyers went up to the pulpit and instructed us to open our
hymnals to number 365, Lara's favorite song, He Touched Me. The next two
minutes were shear torture for Aaron. James held his arm around him as
Aaron resisted the urge to stand up and start yelling at all the church
people for being narrow-minded bigots and informing them they have more of
a right to go to Hell than he does. I just sat back and laughed inside at
the terrible singing coming from a gaggle of old ladies in front of us.


After the song ended, the pastor introduced Brian as he walked up to the
pulpit, looking very nervous. He looked around at all the people, then,
when he had fixed his gaze on us, he began:

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family. I thank you for coming today to
honor my mother. You'll have to excuse me, I'm a bit nervous. But like
Jerry Seinfeld said, most people fear public speaking more than they fear
death. That means, at a funeral, most people would rather be in the casket
than giving the eulogy."

I gave a suppressed snort, trying not to laugh out loud, but no one else
seemed to think it was funny.

Brian cleared his throat nervously and continued. "My mother was a kind and
generous woman. She always was willing to give her time and money to the
church and the community. She helped in the preschool and sang in the
choir. And it is sad that she spent the rest of her days not knowing who
she really was. A lifetime of commitment brought down by a single brick."

There was a swell of mummers in the room.

"It is ironic," said Brian, "how someone who's life was about love was
ended in an act of hate."

The mummers grew louder. Brian was looking uneasy. He turned to the pastor
and asked, "Is something wrong?"

The pastor said, "I think they are confused. What do you mean by bricks and
hate? Is it some kind of metaphor?"

"What do you mean 'metaphor?'" Brian said. "I'm talking about when my mom
was hit by a brick last spring."

"Hit with a brick?" said a woman in the front row. "Was this before her car
accident?"

"Car accident?" said another. "She was never in a car accident. But she did
fall down the stairs."

The room erupted in rumors and talk about what had happened to Brian's
mother and how she obtained a head injury.

"Wait a minute," said Brian. "Everyone, please be quiet!"

The room quieted down and everyone's attention was on Brian.

"Don't you know how she hurt her head?" he said. "Don't you know about the
brick that got thrown through the window?"

"Why would anyone throw a brick at Lara?" asked the pastor.

"They didn't," said Brian. "The brick was for me."

"Then why would anyone throw a brick at you?" the pastor asked.

Brian looked around the room, a great swell of fear and panic in his
eyes. "You mean, none of you know?"

"Know what?" asked Lucy.

Brian looked like he was about to pass out. "That...well...that I'm gay,"
he said.

The room fell dead silent, and all the color drained out of Brian's face.

"This is not a very funny joke," said the pastor.

"I'm not joking," said Brian. "L-last spring I told my parents I was
gay. When word got out, one of the guys on the football team threw a brick
through our window and it hit her in the head."



Again, the room was dead silent. My ears were ringing. You could even hear
the buzz of the lights in the lobby. I wanted to help Brian out, but I
didn't know how. I felt the same static tension engulf the room that I had
felt between William and Peter that morning. Except this time, it was
between Brian and a sanctuary full of people.


Some sanctuary.

The deafening silence was broken by a piercing cry.

"You're gay?!" shrieked Lucy. "I've been throwing myself at you for seven
years and you're gay?"

"That's right, bitch!" shouted Aaron.

The timing of Aaron's queer outburst and the cumulative effect of the
tension made me start laughing uncontrollably. I tried to stop by thinking
of something serious, so I thought of dead babies. That made it
worse. (Don't ask me why.)


A tall old man feeblely got out of his pew, walked up to the pulpit, looked
Brian dead in the eye and said, "Get out of our church."

"Wait a minute, Chuck" said Pastor Meyers. "There's no reason to react this
way."

"No reason?" cried an old lady. "There's every reason! It's people like him
that make the world such a terrible place."

"Now hold on," said the pastor.

"Get out," said Chuck. "You're not welcome here."

"You can't just tell me to leave," said Brian. "I've gone to this church my
whole life."

"So have I!" said Lucy, who was now reduced to tears. "And all this time
you were a fucking faggot!"

The whole church gasped as all attention was drawn from Brian to Lucy. That
was enough to make me stop laughing.

This wasn't right. I couldn't just leave Brian out to dry like this. I had
to do something, so I stood up and said, "I don't go to church, but is this
what usually happens? Are people usually mean and hateful and tell others
to leave? I mean, that's what Jesus did, right?"

"How dare you take the Lord's name in vain!" said some old lady in front of
me.

"You know what makes me sick?" I said. "The fact outside on the street
corner is a man who is begging for change. I see him out there all the
time, and I'm sure you do too. You're so concerned that I said 'Jesus.' But
you don't look concerned at all that no one is going out to help that
man. You could at least invite him in."

"You don't know what you are talking about, boy," said Chuck. "The Bible
says we need to flee from evil. That panhandler is a drunk. We can't have
him in here."

"Wanna know something? I recognize that man," I said, pointing to a
middle-aged man by the isle. "I recognize him because I see him going into
the adult section at the Movie Dome all the time. And that old lady over
there is a lunch lady at my high school. She loves to take ten-minute
smoking breaks and hits on the greasy old janitor. And one of the ushers
outside likes to go sell pot to kids at all the dances. So, if it's sinners
you don't want, then there's a lot more here than you think."

The usher took one look inside the sanctuary and made a break for the door,
the lunch lady looked very embarrassed and the man was trying to explain to
a crying wife that I was mistaken (which was a lie).

"The boy is right," said Pastor Meyers. "Jesus said that he who is without
sin can cast the first stone. And he never told us to reject those in
need. He said that he came to the world to save it, not to condemn it."

"And the Bible also says that God hates homosexuals," said Chuck, a flicker
of rage in his voice.

"Wrong!" shouted Aaron, as he stood up. "Proverbs says that there are only
seven things the Lord hates: proud eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed
innocent blood, a heart that plots evil, feet that run towards evil, a
false witness and a man that divides brothers. Gay people are not on that
list!"

I was quite surprised. Aaron had spent this whole time talking about how
much he hated religion and now he started quoting Proverbs. But Chuck sure
wasn't as impressed.

"Who here wants some dirty homosexual in our church?" he said.

"Look, I'll save you the trouble," said Brian as he hopped off the stage.



"Brian, wait," said Pastor Meyers.

"No, Mike," said Brian. "I can't stay here. This is no longer a house of
God, anyway."

"Just leave, faggot!" shouted a man from the pews.

Brian made his way down the isle, towards the door and we got up to join
him.

"God hates fags!" a man yelled as we walked out of the sanctuary.

Aaron spun around and yelled, "Well, we hate you, too!"

Brian and James grabbed his shoulders and led him back with us. The ride
home was very somber. Aaron was too mad to say anything, Brian was trying
not to cry and I was in shock at what I had just witnessed. I had always
thought people from churches were meek, nice people like Pastor Meyers. I
guess Christians are people, too. They can hate just like I can.


When we got home, Brian went upstairs and cried, softly. I wanted to try
and console him, but I figured I should leave that job up to Aaron. But
Aaron kept pacing around the house having soundless arguments with an
imaginary opponent. James just went into the garage and started to tinker
with his models.


It was late and nobody seemed in the mood for cooking, so I poured myself a
bowl of cereal and sat down in the living room to watch TV. I really didn't
care what was on, I just wanted to forget all about the terrible experience
I just had at Brian's mom's funeral.


After some mind-numbing reruns of Orphen, I decided it was time to go to
bed. As I walked upstairs, I could hear loud voices coming from Brian's
room. When I got to the top of the stairs, I could tell that I was
listening to the sounds of an argument.


"I can't believe you just stood there and took that," said Aaron.

"What was I supposed to do? Punch an old man?" said Brian.

"I don't know. Anything but what you did," said Aaron.

I couldn't believe they were arguing after all that had just happened, and
over something as petty as Brian's fearful response at the funeral.

"Brian, you can't let people walk over you like that," said Aaron.

"And I can't just yell at them all the time, either," said Brian.

"Oh, so I yell all the time?"

"You're yelling at me right now."

"Is that what you think of me? That I just yell all the time?"

"Aaron, you're a very passionate person. You need to learn when to tone it
down."

"And now I'm aggressive and I don't have any self-control."

"I didn't say that."

"You know, I don't have to take this, Brian Fleishman."

"Aaron, wait!"

The door to Brian's room flew open and Aaron stormed out, pushing me aside
as he stomped down the stairs. Brian walked out and looked down the stairs
at Aaron as he rounded the corner to the living room and made himself
comfortable on the couch. Brian had tears streaming down his red face and
looked like he was about to say something, but he decided to just leave
Aaron alone.

He looked so crestfallen, and I instinctively went over and put my arms
around him. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close to him.

"Does that happen a lot?" I asked.

"Not really," sniffed Brian. "I know he's mad about what happened at the
funeral, but I don't know what made him decide to take it out on me."

No words came to mind that could ease his pain, so I kept silent and just
held him.

When James came out of the garage, he tried to get Aaron off of the couch,
but Aaron wasn't going anywhere. Knowing how lonely he got, I volunteered
to stay with Brian through the night, like I had so many nights before.
Lying there, nestled in his arms, I wondered if his relationship with Aaron
had just reached a breaking point. I wondered if this would be the argument
that ended it all. Then I felt instantly ashamed for having such a thought.
They had been so happy together for so long and any break-up would leave
Brian devastated. I wanted them to stay together, but something deep inside
me hoped they would break up, so I could have Brian all to myself again.


Remember to tell me what you think at bluedragon314@gmail.com