Date: Tue, 31 Aug 2004 09:41:25 EDT
From: TragicRabbit11@aol.com
Subject: Gay/HS: DRAMA CLUB, Part 12
THE DRAMA CLUB, Part 12 'White Knight Takes Castle'
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'Where is my love of a man, where is his shiny gun?'
Where Have All the Cowboys Gone (Paula Cole, 1998)
Angel pushed his blue pajama bottoms down to his ankles and stepped out of
them, reaching to lay them on the wooden bench, their stars and moons
glowing pale in the low light. He stood, nude, enjoying the feel of air
across his slender body. His mind was a peaceful blank, his muscles
relaxed. He heard voices, the sound of water. Turning, he saw a rosy
light past the dim rows of lockers that receded into distant shadow. He
moved slowly towards it, feet bare on the smooth tile floor.
He walked silently through the shadows towards the brighter blur of color
and light. Low voices hummed, the sound of water on tile seemed soothing.
He crossed a boundary that banished the dark, into a place of steamy heat
and sound. Other boys, their naked bodies glistening wet, moved aside to
admit him. How many were there? No way to know, bodies moving under sprays
of water, skin gleaming, rivulets of water running across hard muscles and
tanned skin. As he moved into the group, he felt the touch of warm skin
against his, random contacts, a thigh along his then gone, a hand across
his back, trailing heat like comet tails that left him tingling. He felt
his cock begin to fill, his breathing quicken, his mind dreamily alert.
Angel stood under a shower spray, feeling the hot water running down his
body and enveloping him in a relaxing cocoon. He tilted back his head and
closed his eyes, feeling other boys against him, touching and gone, a chest
brushing his, a hard cock briefly on his thigh then vanished. Disembodied
fingers touched his cheek, his hair, ran down the inside of his arm,
bringing up goosebumps despite the steamy heat of the water. His cock
lengthened, urgency began to build in him as he stood there motionless,
eyes closed, feeling the points of contact like sparks on his skin.
A hand slid between his buttocks, teasing the entrance there and making him
moan quietly. Bodies pressed closer, he felt the hardness of their thighs
and chests and backs against him. A mouth touched his, lips warm and
parting to slide a tongue into the heat behind his lips. He groaned aloud
and sucked, the need in his balls beginning to spread outward, electrifying
him down to his fingertips and toes. He kissed the other boy but then the
mouth was gone and replaced by another that teased his own tongue out and
into it, pulling gently, creating a current that linked groin to lips, an
arc of electricity that seemed to glow white hot against his closed
eyelids. The finger against his secret opening pushed gently, then more
forcefully as he leaned into the kisses, mouth replaced by mouth, hands and
bodies moving, exchanging position under the water.
The finger pressed in to him just as a hand wrapped around his shaft,
grasping and then pumping in a languid motion. Eyes still shut, he pushed
into the invading finger, feeling it go deeper and moving in a circling
motion as it did so. The hand on his cock was gone, leaving him needy
until another replaced it, encasing him in tighter warmth that stroked him
to the rhythm of the finger moving deep inside him. The slender finger
became two that pushed deeper and then touched a place that made him arch
up on tiptoe, a sudden bloom of fiery sparks seemed to radiate from his
very center. His balls tightened, his cock almost secondary despite the
pleasure from the rhythmic strokes, his lips on fire from kiss after kiss,
tongue after tongue. His own hands moved out, seeking, finally grasping a
rock hard cock in each.
Angel felt light headed, the fingers inside him seemed to ignite his core,
the bodies against him electrifying the entire surface of his skin. The
fingers were gone suddenly and he groaned aloud, the emptiness aching and
burning with want. He felt a soft hardness against that needy hole and
pushed back against it, into it, feeling himself opening, eager, as his
mouth sucked greedily on the invading tongue. The hard cock pressed into
him urgently, not pausing, making him gasp and then moan again, louder,
into the mouth on his. He felt thighs touch the back of his own as the hot
organ inside him began to thrust, first slowly and then with increasing
speed, drawing fully out only to drive deep, stroking across that electric
tenderness deep in his gut.
Hands and arms around him held his body, lips touching his nipples,
sucking, fingers around his cock, mouths on his own, as the steel rod
inside him fucked with faster strokes, no longer languid but passion filled
and urgent. He felt so open, so vulnerable and aching with want, the cock
inside him filling that need on each in-stroke but leaving him painfully
empty for those brief withdrawals that preceded yet another thrust. He
writhed as the hands held him, needing more, wanting more, faster, deeper,
God, yes, yes, faster, harder. The cocks in his hands were both spurting
now, he felt the sudden heat hit his skin as they shot against him. The
warm water encased him in a world of wetness; hard bodies, hard cocks,
greedy mouths and that cock impaling him from behind with an
ever-quickening pace.
Angel felt himself drawing up, drawing near, drawing close to climax, the
exquisite fire in his guts only matched by the storm in his groin as he
tensed and held still on the hard shaft inside him. The fires all
coalesced into one white hot molten heat that tore out of his depths,
pulling his heart out of his balls to shoot again and again against the
swirl of wet bodies, into the hands holding him. He came hard, gasping for
air, sounds escaping his throat; body arcing, raised on his toes with the
intensity of the release. He stopped finally, his body trembling, strong
arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. He felt weak, the arms around
him felt wonderful, satisfying, safe. Still shaking, he opened his eyes.
The room was empty save for the boy in front of him who held him so close
and now smiled into his soul.
He knew those green eyes.
It was Michael gazing into him. There was no one else there. The air
glowed golden and the steam rose like mist in a forest. Was there a moon
overhead? Moody shadows were held at bay by the warm light that surrounded
them; a glowing nimbus from Michael's eyes, his radiant skin.
Michael smiled dreamily and leaned in to kiss him just as Angel woke in the
darkness, panting and sweating, alone in his bed.
The ache in his groin had been relieved but he wondered what he was going
to do about the ache in his heart.
Angel lay looking at the ceiling for the longest time before sleep finally
reclaimed him.
'And you'll yield to me like to a scent in the breeze
And you'll wonder what it is about me.'
Slow Like Honey (Fiona Apple, 1996)
It was the smell of breakfast that finally woke Angel up that morning, the
smell of grilling sausages, coffee and scrambled eggs. His slim body
dressed in a floor-length blue chenille robe decorated with yellow stars
and moons, Angel walked slowly towards the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from
his eyes. As his hands fell to his sides, he caught another scent,
something floral. He came into the living room and stopped, stunned.
There were flowers everywhere; in vases and jars along the shelves, pink
roses in boxes atop the table, wildflowers tied in bunches; a profusion of
blooms in pink and white and yellow and red and blue. Roses, carnations,
babysbreath, daisies, flowers he didn't know the names of in bouquets
throughout the room; some obviously from a florist, others were pretty
wildflowers in bunches, and what was his mother thinking to do this? He was
too sleepy to process the floral assault and walked to the kitchen, looking
for her. Mary glanced up from the stove, saw her son and set the fork
down. When he reached her, she hugged him, then pulled back to look into
his face. She was smiling and relaxed, almost girlish. Angel was baffled.
"Mom? What's...what's up with the flowers, what're you so...so... whatever
about, so...happy...about?" Angel's voice was thick with sleep, a low purr.
His mother laughed.
"So you saw the flowers?" she asked, eyes twinkling.
"Well, duh...what...what?" Her expression was confusing him. Mary reached
for an envelope on the counter and handed it to him. As he took it, he met
her eyes.
Looking at him, his mother said, "He's very handsome, Angel."
He froze.
"Who?" he asked without thought, then looked down at the envelope in his
hand and saw his name, Angel de la Torres, written across it in a careful
cursive. He looked back up at his mother, who was watching him closely.
He slid a fingernail under the edge of the envelope flap and unsealed it,
pulling a white parchment greeting card from the gold foil lining.
Glancing up at his mother again, uncertain, he opened it and read the
signature at the bottom. Angel blinked, twice.
Michael Morrison.
He looked back up at his mother, still fighting sleep and not sure he was
following all of this. He stared at her for a moment and then back down at
the card.
"Michael was here today?" he finally asked.
"Yes." His mother said simply. He looked at her carefully. She didn't
seem upset. How could Michael have come back without him knowing? Angel
had cleaned up after the party until late, his mother arriving around three
to help him finish, then send him to bed. Michael had left long before
that. What was going on?
"It took him more than an hour to arrange the flowers, honey. That boy has
such nice manners. I offered him breakfast but he said he had to go, that
he shouldn't be here when you woke up. He seemed to think you might
be...upset with him." She appeared to be trying to read his expression. He
frowned.
"Michael brought the flowers?" God, he sounded like a moron, thought Angel.
She just fucking said he'd been here. Angel went back into the living
room, fuzzy robe trailing across the carpet, and stood looking around the
room. The flowers were bunched here and there, in no particular pattern,
just a riot of color and life. Tied to many of them with ribbon, he now
saw, were small colored envelopes, two or three inches square. He reached
for the nearest and pulled it from its group of daisies, the pink ribbon
whispering against the stems. He opened the card inside.
'I love your eyes.' The card read. Angel walked to another and opened it,
reading, 'Your kisses are better than Hershey's!' He giggled and looked
around again, taking in the colors and smell, wondering at the time it must
have taken to arrange all this. More than time, actually, it
took...emotion. Just what emotion it had taken wasn't something he wanted
to dwell on just now. This was too much. No one had ever done anything
remotely like this and he couldn't decide how he was supposed to feel.
He pulled the card his mother had handed him from the robe's pocket. Above
the neat signature were the words, 'I'm not giving up, Angel. I think about
you every day. I love you. Will you please be my boyfriend?' The
signature was followed by a postscript, 'When you say yes, I'm going to
rent a billboard that says you're mine.' Angel bit his lip, staring at the
card.
This wasn't fair.
What was worse... it was possible that he actually liked it.
'I started Early-took my Dog-
And visited the Sea-
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me.'
(Emily Dickinson, 1891)
Jaye slept late, woke energized and scarfed a few cherry pop-tarts en route
to the garage where his gym was set up, wearing only a ragged pair of
cutoff jeans. He pushed No Doubt's Rock Steady CD into the boombox, tossed
his cell phone beside it and lay down on the inclined sit-up bench, hooking
his bare feet under the bar. He began his warm-up, determined to work off
all the food and alcohol that somehow fell into him last night at the cast
party. He closed his eyes as he counted off the sit-ups, thinking back
over the past night. He reached fifty and stopped, lying back against the
padding and thinking.
Trey had been amazing last night. From the moment he'd arrived at Angel's,
several freshman techies in tow, he'd watched Jaye with those inscrutable
gray eyes of his. Jaye had been fascinated, this was a side of Trey he'd
never seen before. The look was unmistakable even if it was Trey, the boy
who'd never been kissed, according to drama club legend. If it ever had
been true, it certainly wasn't true now. Kissing was the first thing
they'd done when Trey had finally cornered him in the kitchen, while he was
pouring a drink. He'd walked in behind Jaye and put his hand on the small
of Jaye's back, causing him to turn and nearly drop the margarita pitcher.
There was no mistaking the look in Trey's eyes. Acting on instinct, Jaye
had simply drawn him close and kissed him on the lips without hesitation.
Trey's response was immediate and intense. He'd wrapped his arms around
Jaye, pulling him close and returning the kiss with passion. He was
definitely hard. This could get interesting, Jaye had thought.
Trey had tasted of cigarettes and alcohol so Jaye had pulled back slightly
to look at him and ask a question.
"Trey...you aren't...a little drunk, are you?" he said in a teasing, light
tone. Trey had scrunched up his face, then grinned.
"A little, maybe. 'In vino veritas' and all that." He'd paused, searching
Jaye's face. "I've been wanting to do this for awhile, Jaye. I'm not that
drunk."
Jaye's eyebrows went up at this admission and Trey had blushed.
"Really?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.
Trey nodded, still blushing, and pulled close again for another kiss. This
time Jaye hadn't stopped him. They'd been back in a bedroom within
minutes; Jaye with his zipper undone and breathing hard. A few other
things had been hard, too, Jaye remembered. For somebody who, up until
now, hadn't seemed to notice sex, Trey was really making up for lost time.
He was on his knees almost before Jaye realized it. Looking down, Jaye had
been thrilled in a way he couldn't have predicted. Cool, calm Trey Hart
was eye-to-eye with his cock. For some reason, he wanted to lift him up
and cover him with kisses. There was something incredibly endearing about
Trey's behavior. Trey's technique wasn't that great, Jaye had to admit, he
was a little rough and his teeth grazed Jaye several times but he hadn't
complained. The whole thing was pretty intense and he came sooner than
he'd meant to.
After that, he'd picked Trey up bodily and deposited him on the bed. He
unbuttoned and pulled off Trey's denim workshirt and pushed his jeans down
his legs. The fact that demure Trey wasn't wearing any underwear had
started his cock getting hard again. He lay down carefully across the
other boy and began kissing him; his face, his neck, his shoulders, his
chest. Trey had followed Jaye's actions with a fascinated expression,
almost as if he were startled by events, but not displeased. He'd smiled
when Jaye looked up, his lips on Trey's belly. Jaye had winked and, not
breaking eye contact, moved down and drawn his tongue slowly from the base
of Trey's erect shaft to the tip. Trey had groaned, then blushed. God, he
was cute when he did that. Jaye wondered if he could make him blush again.
"Trey...you're delicious." He whispered in the sultriest voice he could
muster, all things considered. He did have a raging hardon...again. This
was just too much.
Trey blushed furiously and looked away. Jaye had kissed the tip, causing
Trey to smile again, and then taken the whole length in his mouth. Trey
was adorable when he squirmed, too.
They'd done that quite a few times over the night, ending up finally in the
Mustang at two a.m. with their pants down and big grins on their faces that
just wouldn't go away. He'd thought of bringing Trey home but decided that
was a little much, for now. I wonder what he's doing today, Jaye thought
lazily as he finished the sit-ups. Maybe I'll call later. That might
seem...pushy. Trey didn't seem like the type to appreciate pushy. He
should probably just cool it and talk to him Monday at school. Jaye moved
to the exercise gym, a huge metal square of stationed weights. He
straddled the press up bench and began sets on a low setting to warm up.
He'd just begun to feel it in his chest when the cellphone rang, startling
him. Maybe Trey was calling him.
It was Angel. Jesus, he'd forgotten, they were going to try to call Bobby
today. He perched on the worktable and turned down the volume as he
answered.
"Hey, Angel."
"Did you just wake up?" Angel sounded distracted.
"Yeah, more or less. I'm in the garage.", Jaye told him.
"You're such a jock wannabe, Jaye, with your gym stuff." Angel said,
amusement evident in his voice.
For some reason, this annoyed him.
"I thought you liked jocks these days, Angel." he said acidly. Jaye was
immediately sorry he said it. There was a silence on the other end.
Finally, Angel spoke, his voice weary.
"Don't start."
Jaye sighed. "Sorry." This wasn't the time. It was never going to be the
time; he was beginning to think. That jock was sure to fuck things up
anyway, maybe Jaye should just leave it the hell alone. That wouldn't be
easy, though. He couldn't think of anything more ridiculous, more
unlikely, than Angel with a football jock. He shook his head, irritated
with himself. This wasn't how he wanted to spend his Sunday, the first
free Sunday they'd had since Midsummer Night's Dream had been cast.
"Okay, just forget it." He paused. "So what's up?"
Angel didn't answer right away, just exhaled. Now that he thought of it,
Angel's voice sounded strange right now. Had he maybe been crying? Before
Jaye could think what to ask, Angel spoke.
"I wanna go see Bobby today." He said flatly.
Jaye shook his head, forgetting that Angel couldn't see.
"Fat chance. You think Mrs. Boyd will even talk to us? Let alone the
Exodus people."
"I dunno." Angel really sounded tired...or something. "I dunno but we're
gonna find out. We can go over to their house, both of us, and try to talk
to her."
"Shit, Angel, are you serious? I mean, well...you saw the way she looked at
us the other day. I don't think she likes us too much, she never did. And
now it's worse. I bet anything she blames us for...you know, for Bobby
being gay, or something."
"Yeah...I know, but we're Bobby's best friends."
"So what? She's his mom, she's no way gonna let a couple of gay boys go
visit her son at that Christian loony farm. What are we supposed to do,
dress straight somehow and go talk to her?"
Angel laughed nervously. "Funny. What the hell is 'dressing straight'?"
"I dunno." Jaye snickered. "We could go raid Gene Kuo's closet."
Angel didn't laugh.
"Gene?" Angel repeated, slowly.
"Yeah, well, you know. He dresses so...business like, so preppy,
so....straight." Jaye wondered if he should even have brought the debater
up. He thought of Michael in Gene's bed yesterday morning and took a deep
breath. Get a grip, Jaye, he told himself.
"That's actually not a bad idea." Angel said.
Jaye laughed, startled. "What's not a bad idea? Wearing Clean Gene's
wardrobe? I dunno about you but I don't do that look. L.L. Bean meets
Mr. Wizard."
"Shut up, Jaye." Angel sounded irritated. "I'm talking about Gene; about
Gene maybe helping us with her, with Bobby's mom."
Now Jaye was puzzled. "I don't get it. How can Gene 'help'? What's he gonna
do, debate her to death?"
"I said shut up, Jaye, you're being stupid and this is serious. Gene can
help, he can talk to her and maybe she'll listen. Everyone listens to
Gene. Hell, she'll probably be crazy about him and let him go visit Bobby.
Maybe us, too. Gene can talk to stupid people better than anyone I know."
Angel said.
Jaye considered this. It actually seemed like an okay idea. There had to
be a catch, though, it couldn't be that easy. And they'd only talked about
calling Bobby today, not visiting him at that crazy place. Still...
"Maybe. It might work. Sounds kinda out there, though, but it couldn't
hurt. How're you gonna get Gene to do it?"
"Jesus, Jaye, what kind of jerk do you think Gene is? If we tell him where
Bobby is and what we need, he'll help."
Angel really was in a pissy mood today, Jaye decided.
"Calm down, baby, I'm not arguing, I'm just asking. So what do you want me
to do?"
"I want you to get dressed, drive over here, pick me up and take us both to
Gene's house." Angel said firmly. Jaye sighed. So much for working out
and a lazy Sunday.
"Okay, okay. I think you should call him first, let him know what's up."
"No kidding. I'm going to do that while you get dressed. And make it
fast, this could take awhile."
"Yes, master. I'm on it."
"No, Jaye, get off it and get it back in your room and get going. I'm
serious. I want to see Bobby today. I'll even be nice to the Dragon, if I
have to." They'd all called Bobby's mother 'the Dragon' since the eighth
grade. It wasn't a compliment.
"Right. I'll call you when I'm in the car."
"No, just get over here." Angel said, and disconnected. Jaye closed the
phone and slid off the worktable. He turned off the boombox and left the
garage. Now that he thought about it, this just might work. Gene had been
known to charm the most unlikely people. The thought of seeing Bobby
again, so soon, was starting to get him excited. Maybe they could even get
him out of there somehow. Don't rush things, he told himself. Just see
what happens. Angel would think of something, Jaye was pretty sure of it.
Angel usually did. He tried not to think of Bobby, of what that place must
be like, tried not to think of Bobby caught there, trapped.
Jaye knew there were some things he just really didn't want to know.
'And the snares almost effaced themselves-
Zeros, shutting on nothing.
How they awaited...those little deaths!
They waited like sweethearts.
Sliding shut on some quick thing,
The constriction killing me also.'
The Rabbit Catcher (Sylvia Plath, 1962)
Bobby lay curled in the corner of the small room. The Quiet Room, they all
called it. The men in white called it that when they locked him in it,
again, and went away. It really was quiet, the walls were soft and the
light bright. Bobby was grateful for the light, there weren't any shadows.
No shadows at all. And that was a very good thing.
He hadn't meant to make trouble, he didn't know why he'd done it. He'd
just felt so...angry all of a sudden. He was almost relieved to feel it,
to feel something, something solid. Anger was solid, it was heavy inside
him. The fuss made his head hurt. The pills made his head hurt, too, they
made him feel sleepy. The anger was better and he had curled his mind
around it and hugged it close. Reading Sylvia Plath in the group room,
he'd felt it puff up, that anger, felt it rise up and want something. He
just couldn't help what he did. Its not like he hurt anyone. Well...not
anyone that mattered. Just himself.
They'd called the orderlies, called the nurse. What a lot of noise for
nothing, he'd thought. But they put him in here and left without talking
to him. Not that he had anything to say. It's just nice to be talked to,
like a person. He didn't feel like a person right now, he felt...like a
shadow. This place was impossible. The pills, the doctors, the questions,
the schedules magic-markered on the wall. What did basketball or 'free art
time' have to do with this Christian crap they kept quoting at him? And
what did any of it have to do with being...whatever? Not that he was.
They kept telling him that he should be strong, be adult about it, that
they had all been there. And that was the crazy bit, they were all gay.
Or, they said they used to be gay, whatever that meant. Used to do those
things. Richard used to, he said, used to like men. Bobby had then asked
him, so how did you stop, stop liking men, stop looking at men? Richard had
patted his knee, which bothered Bobby. He didn't think Richard should be
touching him at all, actually. Not that anybody asked what he thought.
Except the shrink and then only by appointment. And when was the next
appointment? Whenever it was, they'd surely come get him. Even in the
Quiet Room, schedules counted for something.
They were really big on schedules here. And your name on the wall chart
with stars, stars for each level. Somehow Bobby was still on the first
level after three days. And somehow he didn't care. If only he didn't
feel so sleepy all the time. He knew he could do better if he could just
find his anger again. What was that they gave him just now, anyway? He
didn't like this fuzziness, this white cocoon that wrapped itself around
his thoughts, strand by sticky strand, spiderlike.
The bright room was comforting and he was tired. He knelt to lay his head
against the floor and closed his eyes. He really fucking wished they
hadn't put the jacket on him, though. He preferred to sleep with his hands
tucked under his head. Not that it mattered. Sleep would find him anyway,
he knew. Any minute now. The jacket was a problem but it wasn't the worst
bit. The worst were the dreams. Bobby had a feeling the next one would be
something special. Lately, though, they'd all been...special. He winced,
remembering. His eyelids had their own schedule, though, and he had an
appointment. A rendezvous. A meeting with his dreams.
And so he slept. The knight rode out of the forest and up to him, gleaming
white and silver in the light. The stars dazzled. In his bright hand, was
that a rifle or was it a heart?
'O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill
The thin
Papery feeling.'
Cut (Sylvia Plath, 1962)
Gene fidgeted with the pack of cigarettes, daring himself not to light up.
He sighed. This trip wasn't going to be fun. Exodus International was a
cult full of charlatans but he was going to have to charm them anyway, be
polite and persuade them to let him talk to Bobby alone. This wouldn't be
half as easy as Jeannie Boyd had been. She'd melted in the heat of his
manners, his assurance, his show of competence and determination. He sat
now in the front passenger side of Jaye's white Mustang, tapping the pack
against his thigh, the unopened cellophane sliding easy on his slacks. The
driver's seat was empty, Jaye was inside the convenience store doing battle
with the ATM. >From the back seat, Angel made a disapproving noise. Gene
turned to look at him.
"What?" Gene's voice was edgy. Angel shrugged, looking at the cigarettes
in his hand.
"Nothing, I guess."
Gene snorted and tossed the pack back to Angel.
"Right. Nothing. Help yourself, Angel, I know what you're thinking."
Angel picked up the pack and frowned.
"Actually...I was thinking that maybe you should quit."
Gene raised an eyebrow. "Like you have, Angel?"
Angel flushed and scrunched down in the backseat. "I am quitting...really.
I had a few last night but...well, that was different. It was a party."
Gene continued to regard him. It made Angel nervous, obviously.
"And how was the cast party, Angel?" Gene asked.
Angel looked away and then back.
"Good."
"That's nice."
"Don't be a shit, Gene, you were invited."
Gene looked sidelong at Angel.
"I got home late...very late. After midnight." he said.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot about the tournament. How'd you do?"
Gene frowned. Why did everyone ask that? People who couldn't even spell
cross-examination debate would ask that.
"I lost in finals. It doesn't matter. It was just late, that was my
point."
Angel's brow creased.
"'Lost in finals'...but in debate, doesn't that mean second place? That's
not too bad."
Gene scowled, then consciously relaxed his features.
"It's fine. Now, what about the party?"
"It was fine, too, Gene." Angel said sulkily. Gene smiled, despite
himself. Angel was such a little priss sometimes.
"I understand Michael dropped by." Gene said simply. He watched Angel's
face.
Angel looked up at him from under dark lashes. Was that glitter mascara?
Gene shook his head, amused. Angel frowned back at him. He was kind of
cute when he did that, Gene had to admit. Still, Angel really was a
handful.
"I've wanted to talk to you about Michael."
Angel studied the car door intently.
"Umm...yeah, Michael was at the party." he said quietly.
"I know that, Angel." Gene kept his eyes on Angel's face. He waited.
"Gene?" Angel asked, almost inaudibly. Were those tears in his eyes?
"Yes, Angel?" Gene's voice was gentle.
Angel slowly drew his eyes up to Gene's. Those were definitely tears. But
were they real or were they Stanislovski Method tears, Gene wondered. He
stopped that line of thought, he wanted to be charitable. Angel really did
look...distressed.
"Michael kind of....scares me, Gene. I don't know what I'm supposed to
do. I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to feel." His voice had the
slightest quiver in it. Gene sighed. Things just fucking never were easy,
he'd noticed. He nodded at Angel.
"He wants to go out with you, Angel." he said quietly. Angel nodded and
drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. He looked so small.
Gene reached back and touched Angel's hand.
"Well? You'll have to decide if that's what you want, Angel. I wish you'd
decide soon, actually, but I think Michael's willing to wait." And what do
you want to bet, he asked himself with a twinge of bitterness, that Angel
falls madly in love for the very first time...with my favorite football
player?
He smiled gently at Angel. This wasn't his fault.
Angel sniffled and smiled back.
"I know. He's...kind of crazy, ya know."
Gene laughed. "Yeah, I know."
Angel looked at him closely.
"You and Michael...were you...boyfriends?"
Gene sucked in a breath and pulled his hand back.
"You'll have to ask Michael that, Angel." he said, a little more harshly
than he'd intended.
Angel bit his lower lip and frowned, examining Gene's face. Gene looked
away.
"Gene?" Angel whispered.
"Hmm?"
Gene read the signs on the glass front of the store. Mostly ads for
cigarettes. Where were his? Oh, right, in the back seat with Angel. He
turned to look for them, avoiding Angel's eyes. Angel saw him looking and
picked up the cigarette pack from the floorboard. He handed it over, but
didn't release when Gene's fingers grasped it. Gene looked up and met
Angel's black eyes. They looked...sad. Funny, he'd never thought of Angel
as the empathetic type. Lucky him, he thought ruefully, the very absolute
last thing he needed was the pity of Angel de la Torres.
"What?" he asked evenly. Angel still held the cigarettes, watching him.
He pulled himself up between the seats and closer to Gene. Angel's cologne
was wonderful, what was it, anyway? Something delicate...almost floral.
"I'm so sorry, Gene." Angel whispered and kissed Gene on the cheek, letting
go of the cigarettes as he did so. Gene flipped the box over and pulled
the tab, unwrapping the cellophane carefully. He opened the box and tapped
out a cigarette. Eyes still averted, Gene offered the pack to Angel who
hesitated, then shook his head.
"No, really...I'm quitting."
There was a silence as Gene lit the cigarette and inhaled slowly.
"Angel?" Gene's voice was quiet.
"Yes?" Angel was still watching him closely.
"Please don't...hurt Michael." His voice was taut, low.
Angel sighed and leaned back in the seat. His voice sounded small,
hesitant.
"Gene...I don't know if I can help it or not. But I promise I'll
try. Okay?"
Gene nodded and looked away again. Let's talk about something slightly
less painful, he thought tiredly. Like a root canal. Or the Hundred
Years' War.
Or going to Exodus International on a bright, blue Sunday afternoon.
'Why is it so quiet, what are they hiding?
I have two legs, and I move smilingly.'
Berck-Plage (Sylvia Plath, 1962)
"They have to be fucking kidding, right?" demanded Jaye, loudly. The three
of them were reading the large printed sign in the lobby while they waited.
"Exodus Healing Statement:
EXODUS affirms that reorientation of same-sex attraction is possible. This
is a process, which begins with motivation to, and self-determination to
change based upon a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. The key
outcome of this is measured by a growing capacity to turn away from
temptations, a reconciling of ones identity with Jesus Christ, being
transformed into His image. This enables growth towards Godly
heterosexuality. Exodus recognizes that a lifelong and healthy marriage as
well as a Godly single life are good indicators of this transformation."
Angel hissed, shushing Jaye. Gene shook his head.
"No, Jaye, they aren't kidding." Gene said.
"Godly heterosexuality? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm guessing they mean that God is straight." Gene told him with a brief
smile. Angel giggled. Jaye wasn't going along, though. He was pissed.
"And what the hell does 'reorientation of same sex attraction' mean? Some
kind of electroshock therapy? They strap you to a chair and shock your
balls if hot guys in speedos make you hard?"
Angel rolled his eyes. Gene shrugged.
"Ah...they probably don't do that here." Gene said.
Angel shot a look at him. Gene raised an eyebrow.
"Well, its not as if its never been done, Angel." he said.
Angel frowned, abruptly serious.
"So, okay, what do they do here?" he asked Gene.
Gene sighed.
"I don't know for sure, Angel, I couldn't get much from their
website. Mostly it was about becoming one with Jesus and learning to date
the opposite sex. Kind of...positive reinforcement for heterosexuality,
rather than the, ah, negative reinforcement Jaye was describing. Which
has, by the way, happened at places before." Gene paused before adding,
"I'm not even sure aversion therapy is against the APA guidelines but it
should be. But you have to remember, homosexuality was only taken off the
books as a form of insanity in the '70's."
Angel's eyes widened, then he folded his arms across his chest and almost
seemed to stomp his booted foot. Angel really was kind of cute when he
acted up, Gene decided absently. He was trying not to think hard about the
Exodus sign and what it meant.
"I may be crazy but its damn sure not because I'm gay." Angel said with
faux haughtiness.
Jaye scowled at his friend. Angel winked at him.
"Its not funny, Angel, these people are fucking serious! They think, like,
we're going to hell or some shit because of who we are. Tell me you don't
think that's fucked up." he insisted.
Angel shrugged his shoulders, tossing his hair as he did so.
"Honey, from what Gene got off the Internet, 'these people' at Exodus ARE
gay, they're just pretending they're not." Angel said casually.
"Yeah? So? Who's the worst asshole, Angel, some jerk who just thinks fags
are stupid or some repressed, closeted, pretending-to-be-straight
motherfucker who KNOWS what fags are...and doesn't like it, doesn't even
like himself? Which one is gonna kick your prissy ass to hell and back
because he's the one with the goddam problem, the one with something to
hide? Everyone knows that REAL men hate fags, right?" Jaye was breathing
hard, face red. Gene put a hand on his shoulder and looked at Angel.
"Jaye's a little excited but he's got a point, Angel. Most people think,
well, most gay people think that the worst dangers, the worst excesses, the
worst homophobic diatribes come from people who have homosexual desires but
are, for whatever reason, afraid of them, are repressing them. It's like
what happens when you bottle up steam...the container explodes. Take away
the pressure and you've got no problem." Gene's face was somber as he
spoke. The lobby was sterile, white tiles and white walls alleviated only
by a large cruciform wall sculpture and what looked to be a dying palm in a
clay pot. Hardly inspirational, Gene thought.
Angel had grown quiet, listening, and had stuffed his hands, with
difficulty, in the front pockets of his tight jeans. He looked at Gene,
brow furrowed. Angel had only his glitter mascara on because Gene had made
him take the rest off before they left his house. It looked like Angel had
put lip-gloss on again, though, Gene was almost certain he could see
shimmer there. Damn it. Would Angel demand to look pretty even for his own
execution? Gene closed his eyes and counted to ten while Angel spoke.
"Okay, so what you're saying is that the worst enemy gays have is other
gays? Closeted gays? That's nuts, Gene, hell, Michael's closeted and he's
no Jerry Falwell."
Gene shook his head, eyes now open and on Angel.
At the mention of Michael's name, Jaye had turned away from the other two.
He sat down on the metal frame couch and picked up a magazine. The
Watchtower, what the hell kind of magazine is that, he wondered. Inside
the cover, it asked him 'Is God's will being done?' Jaye had no idea
whether it was or not. He was listening, though, when Gene spoke.
"No, I didn't say that, Angel. Not all closeted gays are like that but,
and this is where the theory comes in but, personally, I've seen nothing to
disprove it, all high-octane homophobes are some kind of repressed
homosexual. I'm not even sure that applies here at Exodus, these people
admit they're gay, they just deny that it means...well, that they're gay."
Gene chuckled at Angel's expression. Angel frowned.
"Okay, so you're saying these people here are more dangerous because they
are gay than if they weren't. So I should take them seriously." Angel
said.
Gene chuckled. "Actually, Angel, that's what Jaye was saying before you
started distracting him. You should give him more credit." Jaye looked
over at them, then back down to his magazine, flushing. Angel walked over
to stand behind Jaye, then put his arms around Jaye's neck. Jaye relaxed
in the ancient vinyl sofa and leaned his head back. Angel bent down to
kiss him and Gene coughed. Loudly. They both looked over at him.
"Listen..." he said, hesitantly.
They watched him, Angel's arms still around Jaye.
"If you have an actual death wish, there are more painless methods."
Angel pursed his lips and stood. Jaye sat upright.
"Just what's that supposed to mean?" Jaye asked.
Gene exhaled slowly. Theater people were a mixed blessing, at best.
"If you're spending the night in Castle Dracula, wouldn't you at least try
not to cut yourself shaving?"
Jaye looked blank, Angel looked amused.
"Wouldn't Count Dracula be, ah...interested in the scent of blood?" Gene
asked them.
Angel smiled sardonically and shook his head, removing his arms from his
friend. Jaye looked to Angel, then back to Gene. Angel looked down at him.
"What he's saying, sugarpop, is that we're acting too fucking gay."
Jaye frowned and opened his mouth, but Gene held up his hand, palm outward.
"Listen, you two would do me and Bobby a huge favor if you went out and
waited in the car. No offense."
Angel chuckled. Jaye looked up at Angel, sighed and stood.
"'No offense'." Angel repeated, cutting his eyes at Gene. "Aren't you
afraid you'll drip blood on the Castle Keep, Mr. Kuo?" Angel asked him
sweetly.
Gene gave his best Vulcan impersonation.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Angel." Gene observed dryly.
"Maybe you should wear garlic." Angel suggested.
Gene raised an eyebrow.
"I think the closest I can come to garlic is for the two of you to wait in
the Mustang. If you do that, I think I'll be safe. After all, even you
could never tell, Angel, not until Michael told you."
Angel gave him a silky smile, collected Jaye and walked towards the doors.
He stopped in front of them and turned to Gene.
"Michael actually never told me anything, Gene." Their eyes locked briefly.
Gene cocked his head, as if to ask a question.
Angel shook his head. He was somehow suddenly exhausted.
"And Gene...please take care of Bobby, okay? Tell him...tell him we love
him. Tell him...to come home." Angel said sadly, putting his hand on Jaye's
back to encourage him out the door.
Jaye looked back at Gene standing alone in the lobby. They all knew Gene
would get in there...the question was, when he was in there, what would he
find?
'I am breaking apart like the world. There is this blackness,
This ram of blackness. I fold my hands on a mountain.
The air is thick. It is thick with this working.
I am used. I am drummed into use.
My eyes are squeezed by this blackness.
I see nothing.'
Three Women (Sylvia Plath, 1962)
Bobby lay curled up on his bunk, his hands under the pillow holding the
tattered paperback, Ariel. He held his eyes tightly closed. This room
wasn't nearly light enough, he knew. And that was a bad thing.
The appointment with his shrink hadn't gone well. He just hadn't felt like
talking about his dreams anymore, they were too sharp, too vivid in his
mind right then. And the heaviness in his thoughts hadn't gone away.
Sometimes it was hard just to put words together to answer her. So he
hadn't. He was pretty sure that had cost him points for the wall charts.
He'd probably always stay on the first level. This place really wasn't
working for him and he knew it. He wondered what he would tell his mother
when she came to visit tomorrow. Mother would be so disappointed.
The dream in the Quiet Room hadn't been bad. He'd dreamed about that
knight before, it was a good dream. He had no idea what it meant, though.
A sun dappled forest of deep green and a man on a shining white horse. He
wasn't so sure anymore that it was a gun the man held towards him. And it
definitely wasn't his father's face he saw under the raised visor. He
almost felt he knew whose face it was...but Bobby couldn't quite put his
finger on it. There were a lot of things he couldn't quite put his finger
on these days. He wished the fog in his head would clear out.
"Bobby?" It was Richard's voice. His mentor, the fruit.
Bobby frowned and pushed his head deeper into the pillow.
"Bobby, dear...you have a visitor." Richard's soft voice was saccharine.
What was it about gay men's voices that just gave them away sometimes,
Bobby wondered. Some kind of accent, subtle but unmistakable like the
difference between a voice nurtured in Manhattan or in the Bronx. Or in
Queens, he thought to himself, stifling a giggle. What was it Richard had
just said?
"Bobby?" Richard's voice was insistent. Damn, he didn't want the guy
sitting on the bed and pawing him again. He sighed and pushed the pillow
away, opening his eyes. He looked up at Richard and saw a form he
recognized standing quietly behind him.
It was Gene Kuo. Gene stood patiently watching Bobby, his hands in his
pockets and a concerned look on his angular face. He wore a white button
down shirt tucked neatly into off-white slacks of a rough texture that
looked as if it might be unbleached raw silk. A slim silver chain was
visible just inside the open collar of his shirt. He looked so cool, so
collected, so calm. Gene's dark hair seemed to catch the sun from the
window; light glinted on the seal black strands. Bobby felt his eyes
tearing up. He hadn't seen anybody from home in days. Richard patted his
knee and stood up.
"I'll just leave you two alone to talk, then." Richard said. He turned and
looked pointedly at Gene.
"Just remember what we talked about." he reminded the boy. Gene nodded.
Richard left them alone but didn't draw the door shut behind him. They
weren't big on closed doors here at Refuge when boys were alone. As if
that was even on his mind here, Bobby thought in annoyance. He sat up on
his bunk, pulling the book out from under the pillow as he did so. Gene
simply watched him.
"Hi, Gene...uh, if you want, there's a chair by the desk. They,
uh..probably wouldn't like it if you sat on the bed." Bobby flushed with
embarrassment. It was like he was contagious or something. As if it might
rub off on Gene and ruin his slacks, ruin his thoughts, ruin his life.
Bobby frowned at the floor. Gene pulled the chair over directly in front
of Bobby and sat down, crossing his legs. Bobby looked at him.
"Thanks for visiting me...I mean...I didn't expect to see anyone...does my
mother know you're here, Gene?" He asked, suddenly worried. Gene's
expression was relaxed, his eyes thoughtful.
Gene's voice was quiet. "Yes, Bobby. Jeannie and I talked this morning.
She's very grateful that I've come up to see you today."
Bobby raised his eyebrows.
"She is?"
Gene smiled and Bobby was startled at the transformation. Gene looked very
nearly...handsome when he smiled like that, Bobby thought. Funny, he'd
never noticed. He couldn't help smiling back. Gene's eyes twinkled.
"Your mother seems very fond of me, Bobby. We got on really well."
Bobby laughed. It felt like a bubble bursting in his chest.
"Well, you're the first. Everyone else calls her The Dragon." he said.
Gene chuckled, smiling eyes still on Bobby's.
"Yes, well, I'm pretty good at talking to people." Gene said. Bobby
laughed. God, that felt good.
"You'd have to be. Mother's a little...difficult sometimes."
Gene nodded.
"So...how're you feeling, Bobby?"
Bobby stopped smiling. He studied Gene's face.
"What are they saying about me at school?"
Gene's voice was gentle as he answered.
"They say you tried to kill yourself, Bobby." He hesitated. "Is that true?"
Bobby looked at Gene, momentarily lost. He had a flashes of the Performing
Arts Building, the Green Room loud with noise on opening night. The drama
room during class, Ms. Robi leading them in relaxation exercises. Of
himself smoking with Gene out back, the debater flicking his cigarette on
the ground between them. Bobby's eyes began to water again. This was just
too much. He didn't want all this to be happening. He wanted...he wanted
to go home.
Bobby slumped down, dropping his head into his hands. He didn't want to
cry in front of Gene. He didn't want to cry at all. He didn't even
fucking want to be here. Maybe he didn't even want to be. Bobby was
sobbing openly now. He was so tired. He wanted to curl up again somewhere.
He felt Gene's hand on his hair, stroking him. He cried harder, trying to
stifle the sounds so that Richard wouldn't come back in. Gene kept gently
touching him, saying nothing. The tears finally slowed, then stopped. He
looked up cautiously at Gene. God, what would he think?
Gene was gazing into his eyes with the softest expression Bobby had ever
seen. Gene slowly reached and took one of Bobby's hands gently in his own.
Bobby caught his breath at the contact. How had he never noticed those
eyes before? He could just climb inside them and curl up safe forever. He
couldn't seem to look away. He felt that he could see all the way down
inside to Gene's soul and what he saw there made him feel...alive. He was
really, really glad he was alive. And that was the first time he'd had
that thought since it happened. He smiled shyly. He wanted to speak but
couldn't think of anything to say. Gene didn't seem to mind. He just held
Bobby's hand lightly and looked at him. When he finally spoke, his quiet
voice was gossamer light.
"You aren't going to... do that again, are you Bobby?" he asked. His eyes
were so black, like those collapsed suns that pulled everything into
themselves. Bobby just couldn't seem to look away. Which was fine. He
hadn't felt this relaxed in months.
He shook his head at Gene's question.
"No." he said simply. Gene nodded.
"That's good. I'm glad you're planning to stick around." Gene said, the
sparkle returning to his deep eyes. His hand felt so warm around
Bobby's. "You're much too beautiful for us to lose." Gene added, cocking
his head slightly to the side as he spoke. His sleek hair moved against
his collar, ruffling like silk. Bobby's pulse quickened. His skin tingled
where Gene's hand touched him. Bobby blushed and looked down. Gene
reached out his other hand and tilted up Bobby's chin. Their eyes met
again.
"What's wrong?" Gene asked. Bobby's blush deepened.
"Um...nothing. Just...what you said." Bobby stammered. Gene smiled, his
eyes looking deep.
"What? That you're beautiful?" Gene paused, searching the other boy's face.
"Bobby...you're the most beautiful guy I've ever seen. I've always wanted
to tell you that." Gene said in a low voice. Bobby's breath caught in his
throat. Gene's words sounded so strange coming from him but also felt
almost familiar. Had he heard them before? Surely not, who would say those
words to him with just that little catch in their soft voice? Gene's dark
eyes were like jewels.
Gene spoke again, almost in a whisper. "So...you're not leaving, are you?"
Leaving? The only place Bobby wanted to leave right now was Refuge. He
wanted to go home, he wanted to go to school. He wanted to go to the drama
room. He wanted...to see Gene again, he thought, surprised at himself. He
wondered what Angel and Jaye were doing, whether they missed him. He
guessed they did. He missed them, too. As he stared into the pools of
Gene's eyes, he knew one thing for certain.
"No. I'm not going to do that again." He told Gene calmly. Gene studied
Bobby's face, the smile playing around his lips never quite leaving as he
did so.
He leaned forward and kissed Bobby gently on the lips, then pulled back.
Bobby gasped, astonished. Gene's smile was mischievous.
"Don't worry. I'm leaving. I know that's not...encouraged around here.
So...why don't you come home? People miss you. Angel misses you and so
does Jaye." Gene said.
Bobby put his hand over his mouth, a thumb on his cheek, shyly covering his
smile, and looked at Gene. Bobby's grin kept threatening to explode. Gene
laughed and stood. He looked down at Bobby seated on the bed.
"I miss you, Bobby. Come home." He said and left the room. Bobby watched
him, still smiling.
Oh, it was definitely time to go home. He wondered what would happen if he
spit out the pills tonight, whether they'd notice. Bobby had a feeling he
could manage it. After all, he was a trained actor, wasn't he?
Bobby curled back up on the bunk, the Sylvia Plath anthology forgotten
against the wall. He thought of Gene's face and smiled into his pillow.
Damn, what was it about Gene Kuo? He cuddled the pillow and thought about
sleep. And didn't once remember the shadows. He walked through the sunlit
forest, looking for the knight. He thought for certain that he would
recognize him now, on that white horse.
And Bobby couldn't wait to find him.
'Shine! Shine! Shine!
Pour down your warmth, great sun!
While we bask, we two together.'
Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking (Walt Whitman, 1859)
[End of Part 12]
IF YOU LIKE DRAMA CLUB, consider joining the TragicRabbit listserv (link
below):
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EMAIL the author at TragicRabbit11@aol.com
SPECIAL ANGELKISSES TO: Joshua in FL, wickedboi James, Gabriel and his new
honey, Angela and Trey, my Precious, Blue, Kitten, Smokin' Jim, L.B.,
Marylyn, Matty, Andy, and (always) the Dude.
Just thought I'd mention again that while I'm not Angel de la Torres, I
identify with him more than a little. His clothes certainly live in my
closet! (I'm not Angel but yes! I smoke and yes! I like boyz). Most of the
clothes the characters wear are mine, as are the books they read and the
CDs they like. All of the characters represent me in some way and I
thoroughly enjoy transcribing their adventures. It's been a real joy to get
to know Angel, Gene, Bobby and the rest. They've definitely taken on their
own life since I started. Let me know if you're interested in a sequel when
this storyline is done.
Please check out Drama Club and the many wonderful other stories at:
http://www.awesomedude.com/
Drama Club is now also hosted by The Eggman at The Glass Onion and by Myr
at GayAuthors.org, as well as Nifty and AwesomeDude.