Date: Thu, 14 Jun 2001 22:35:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: Dewey <dewey2k@yahoo.com>
Subject: Brian and Pete Chapter Four

Brian and Pete
Chapter Four
Jared's Story

Copyright Notice - Copyright (c)April 2001 by Dewey.

This story is copyrighted by the author and the author retains all rights.
This work may not be duplicated in any form, physical, electronic, audio,
or otherwise without the authors expressed permission.  All applicable
copyright laws apply and will be enforced.

- Legal Disclaimer - This story is a work of erotic fiction involving
teenage boys partially based on real people and events.  Names have been
changed to protect the guilty as well as the innocent.  All the usual rules
apply.  If you shouldn't be reading this now, then don't continue on.


Brian asked me to write something about myself, to give a little bit of
background.  I've never considered myself a writer.  As a matter of fact, I
still don't!  But with Pete and Ray jumping in on Brian's behalf, I didn't
see I had much choice.  So, here it goes.

I was born Jared Samuel Tanner on the fifth of July, in Santa Barbara,
California.  We moved to the Portland area when I was ten, but I'm not sure
if I'll stay here after I graduate from college or not.  It depends on Ray
and what he does, if we're still together.  Not that I foresee a breakup or
anything, but six years is a long time at my- our- age.

My childhood was pretty normal.  I had the usual bumps and bruises,
including a broken leg and collarbone that ruined skiing for me.  Mom and
Dad were very permissive parents, but in a good way. They would let me get
away with everything unless it put me in immediate danger.  I learned early
on that I could rely on myself, but if I needed help, they would be there
for me.  And they were there for me many times, like when I came out, or
when I was depressed, but I am getting ahead of myself.

I entered school at age four, a year earlier than most people.  Grade
school was fun. I made friends easily.  I was athletic, intelligent, and
(in some people's opinions) cute.  Whenever we played games in PE, I would
be one of the first people picked.  I was in the advanced math and reading
groups from the time they were formed in the first grade.  Other kids just
naturally wanted to be around me.

There was one boy that lived near me, just about a block away.  His name
was Max, and he was a year older than me, but he didn't care because we
were in the same grade.  We were inseparable in the summer and on the
weekends.  We played Little League Baseball, Pee-Wee Basketball, Soccer,
just about everything that was available to us as we grew up.

I met Max on the playground at school in the middle of the second grade.
He had dirty blonde hair, a long face, and a stocky frame.  That's funny.
I can't remember what color his eyes were.

Anyway, we were playing a game we kids made up.  It was played on an
asphalt playground with fences behind two opposing teams.  The object was
to kick whatever ball you had over your opponents fence, about 30 yards
away.  Few people had the strength to do that at our age, so the game was
mostly about capturing a ball so you could kick it.  That meant you had a
whole bunch of kids running after a few bouncing balls.  Inevitably, there
were collisions and road rash as a result.

Max and I happened to both chase a soccer ball that had been kicked our
way.  The ball was between us, and to get it we had to run straight at each
other.  You can see it coming, can't you?

Picture a seven- and an eight-year old boy running full bore into each
other.  We met head first- neither if us getting the ball- and fell almost
straight backwards.  We laid there for what seemed like forever.
Eventually one of the playground monitors made their way over to us to see
if we were okay.  When she screamed, "Oh my God!" I knew something was up.
I sat up at the same time as Max had, and saw an inch long gash on his
forehead streaming blood down his face.  When I felt my forehead, I found
blood there too, and it was running into my eyes.

Max, with this huge grin on his face, held out his hand and said, "Nice to
meet you.  I'm Max."

"I'm Jared."  I shook his hand, and we both cracked up, giggling away.  The
aide looked at us like we were crazy as she escorted us to the nurse's
office at nearly a run.  As the nurse gave us some gauze to hold on the
cuts, we chattered away like magpies, talking about school, and soon
discovered that we were neighbors, which excited us even more.

I remember the nurse becoming angry because we were supposed to be hurt and
crying, but were instead talking up a storm.  "Will you boys be quiet!"
Suitably chastened, we lowered our tone to a whisper.  By the time we
reached the ER, we had decided we would get together that weekend and do
something.

Getting our stitches wasn't a big deal for us.  Max and I continued our
talking until the doctor told us to be quiet so he could work, but as soon
as he was done, we picked right up where we left off.

As we were getting our seven stitches each, Max's mom and my mom met in the
lobby as they settled the insurance end of things.  They seemed to hit it
off pretty quickly considering how much each of them was worried about us
kids.  I think we surprised them when we came out to meet our moms and go
home.  Instead of the expected animosity, they saw two boys quickly
becoming friends.

They took us out to lunch when they learned how close we lived to one
another, both probably wanting to get to know the parent of our new best
friend.  I guess they liked each other, because our families grew close.

I am an only child, and so was Max.  His parents liked the idea of having
someone around to keep their boy busy.  He was quite a handful, I'm sure.
My parents probably didn't appreciate all the mischief that Max talked me
into, but other than an occasional spat on the butt, we were left alone.  I
don't mean we were abandoned, like Brian's parents did to him, but rather
we didn't do anything serious enough to get a real spanking, not often, at
least.

I remember when we got the whipping of our lives, though.  For some reason,
we got the bright idea of starting a campfire in Max's back yard.  It
wasn't very big, but when we left, we, uh, sort of forgot to snuff it out.
A few hours later, my parents called us in to the living room.  Dad, who
was usually pretty calm, was red in the face with barely controlled rage.

"Did you two start a fire in Max's back yard this morning?"  He towered
over us, ready to explode.  What could a nine-year-old do in the face of
that fury?  We lied.

"No," and BOOM!  I'm not sure when I could actually sit at the table again,
or anywhere else for that matter.  I was grounded for a month, and as part
of my punishment, I had to help Max and his parents repair their house and
rebuild the shed we had burned down.  I actually enjoyed the rebuilding,
and nothing could keep Max and I down for long.  We turned it into a game.
His parents gave up trying to make us be serious about the situation, but
they did make sure we understood what we had done and what could have
happened.

Max and I ended up in the same classes for third and fourth grade.  Our
teachers had to separate us for the good of the class, we were such a
distraction.  The longer he and I were together, the closer we became.
Some people mistook us for brothers because we had learned to communicate
with a look and a gesture, but our appearance couldn't have been more
different.

Toward the middle of the fourth grade, our friendship changed.  Max hit
puberty.  Along with the usual growth spurts that come with adolescence,
the hormones began raging too.  He showed me all sorts of things that I
probably would have been better off not knowing until I hit puberty myself,
a couple of years later.  Not that I didn't enjoy what he showed me, but I
think I was too immature to deal with it.

My dad walked in on me one morning while I was involved.  When he saw what
was happening, all he said was, "When you're done, we'll have a talk, son."
He was calm and cool, his tone even, like nothing had happened, and shut
the door behind him as he left.  Of course, the mood had been broken, and I
was really embarrassed.  I got into some sweats and hid out in my room
until Dad knocked on the door and asked if he could come in.  That was the
first time I remember either of my parents respecting my privacy.

"Can I come in, Jared?"  I didn't answer for a moment, because I was trying
to figure a way out of this situation.  "Jared?"  His voice held a note of
concern.

With a heavy sigh, I said, "Yeah, come in."  The door opened slowly.  I was
sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, slouching, so Dad
couldn't see me at first.  He shut the door, sat on the bed facing away
from me, and began talking.  First, he talked about jerking off and how all
boys learned to do it at some point, and it was natural to be curious and
explore.  He also talked about what happens during puberty, but he didn't
call it that.  Since I didn't have any of the signs he mentioned, I was
confused.  I thought something was wrong with me, but as he talked, he
explained that puberty happens at different times for different people, and
it didn't matter if I had started growing yet or not, because it would
happen eventually.

Somewhere in there, he coaxed me out of my hiding spot and I sat on the bed
facing him.  He asked me some questions about my body, but he asked in a
way that didn't embarrass me.  I can't dream of doing it now, but he got me
to explain what I was doing and where I had learned about it.  I answered
honestly and pretty much ratted Max out.

We also talked about sex in general, a man being with a woman and how
babies were made.  He told me that he and Mom didn't want me playing with
girls in that way because if I got someone pregnant it would destroy my
life.  As I recall, homosexuality wasn't mentioned at all in the
conversation.

 I didn't realize it at the time, but my telling my dad where I'd learned
how to masturbate put Max on the firing line.  Dad told Max's father what
he'd learned from me, and Max's dad went crazy.  He yelled at Dad, calling
him all sorts of names and told him to keep me away from Max.

When I saw Max at school the next day, he didn't even look at me until
lunch, when he let me have it with both barrels.

"How could you?  Your dad told my dad I was into sex and now I'm grounded
for life! They're making me change schools!  I can't see my old friends
anymore.  And it's all your fault!  I don't want to see you anymore.  I
don't want to talk to you ever again.  Just get away from me!"  And that
was the last time I saw Max.

I was devastated.  All at once, I had lost everything: my best friend, and
the only person I could really talk to.  Mom and Dad tried their best to
draw me out, but I would have none of it.  When they would bring up Max, I
just turned away from them and withdraw into myself.  I became depressed
and moody, isolating myself from life.  The only thing I enjoyed was
baseball, but even that was a pale shadow of what it used to be when Max
had been there.

My dad lost his job in late May, and found a new one in Portland, Oregon.
I got on a baseball team, but didn't make any friends.  I was still
depressed over losing Max's friendship.

My birthday came.  Mom tried to get me to invite friends over for a party,
but I insisted I didn't want one.  The only concession I made was a small
party for my family and my mom's parents.  Not really a party, but more
just a cake-and-ice-cream session.  It was over with in a few hours.

The months passed and the summer waned.  School was set to start soon.  For
the entire summer, when I wasn't on the baseball field, I had either been
in my room, or away from the house on my own, exploring my new
surroundings.  I didn't have friends anymore, so most of that time I spent
alone, brooding.  I found this place in a local park that was isolated by
trees and brush.  Not many people approached me when I was back there,
which was a good thing now that I look back on it.  I'm not sure what I
would have done had someone tried to make trouble with me.  I take that
back.  I do know.

One day after school was back in session, I went directly from school to my
spot in the park.  I walked up on a high school guy and his girlfriend
making out.  Rather than do the prudent thing and leave, I continued on and
took my usual place.  Remarkably stupid, considering the guy had to be a
lineman.

"Beat it, kid."

"Free country."

"I said, leave!"

"No."

Well, you can see where that went.  I got the shit beat out of me.  After
he was done mauling my body, the high school kids left me there.  I wasn't
so bad that I couldn't walk home, but my blue shirt was purple from all the
blood coming from my nose and the cut below my eye.  When I got home, my
mom went apeshit, demanding I tell her who was responsible.  I didn't
answer her directly, telling her I would deal with it my own way.

Of course, she wasn't satisfied with my response.  Dad wasn't either, but
he didn't push me as hard as mom did.  He seemed to sense my moods much
easier than she did, and knew when to dig for answers.

One thing he did do was re-enforce that he was willing to listen to me when
I was ready to talk.  At the time, I just blew it off.  But later on, I
would remember his offer.

My fifth and sixth grade years passed uneventfully.  As my seventh grade
year progressed, my grades took a real tumble.  Mom and Dad both jumped all
over me, grounding me, taking away the television and other things that
were quickly losing their importance to me.  I had made a few new friends,
you see.  These are definitely not the kind of guys you would want your
sons or daughters to go out with.

John, Troy, and, Larry were the local hoodlums that you could depend on to
cause trouble.  They had each been arrested a couple times for petty
vandalism and other minor crimes.  But that wasn't what drew me to them.

Sometime in January of that year, I had happened upon them in a field I
usually cut across to get to my place in the park. Between them, they had
about 3 quarts of vodka, and two empty bottles beside.  When they saw me,
they threw me a bottle and asked me to join them, which I did.  That was
the first time in my young life I had been drunk, but it was far from the
last.

Drinking quickly became a habit I couldn't control.  I would go to school
drunk, and go home drunk afterwards.  The four of us would meet in the
field, guzzle our booze, and wake up just in time to make it home before
midnight.  The first couple times I didn't come home, my parents called the
cops, but they couldn't do anything unless I was missing for forty-eight
hours, which left my parents helpless.

They would wait up for me in the family room, passing the time until I
staggered in, and then would read me the riot act, making their demands and
threatening all sorts of dire punishments.  I would ignore them and weave
my way to the bathroom to puke my guts out, or pass out on my bed.  They
would ground me, but I just climbed out my window to meet one or another of
my "friends" in the field and get bombed again.  My parents forbade me to
see them, but I scoffed at them and ignored every word they said.

I learned they had no real power over me or what I did.  I started joining
the drinking crew in their escapades, throwing rocks through windows, spray
painting houses and cars, or some other juvenile prank.

Sometime in March, a new element was added to our fun.  I had begun
sleeping over at Larry's place when I didn't feel like going home.  One
night, he pulled out some weed and offered it to me.  I took it without
hesitation, and promptly choked on it. But that didn't last long.  The more
often I toked, the less I choked, and marijuana became my drug of choice.
Alcohol was still a staple, though.  I was an alcoholic, and I couldn't get
by without my drink.

Mom and Dad were at their wits end.  They found a counseling service
willing to take me, and forced me to go to them, when they could find me.
I was obstinate, though.  The counselors made no progress with this
recalcitrant, vulgar teen my parents had presented to them, so I continued
in my ways while my parents desperately looked for something, anything they
could do to save me.

In the end, they did save me (duh, I'm writing this, right?), but they
caught up with me after something terrible happened.  I still carry the
scars, both mental and physical.

My seventh grade year had come to a close.  During the summer, my parents
were lucky if they saw me once or twice a week.  They had tried all sorts
of interventions, and at one point tried to lock me in my room while
putting bars on my window, but I still managed to get out.

One balmy July evening, John brought us a new play thing: Cocaine.  All
four of us tired it, and I loved it.  We all were pumped up from the drug
and decided to do something remarkably stupid.  We stole a car.

The parking lot at the theater was prime hunting grounds.  Troy, whose dad
was a career criminal, had learned how to hotwire cars from his father.  We
chose a sporty car that would fit the four of us, and in no time, Troy had
us in the car.  Less than a minute later, he had the engine running and
pulled out of the parking lot.

We were having a high old time, racing down the street, occasionally
sideswiping another car as we downed bottles of vodka.  The police caught
up with us at some point, and Troy took off for the freeway.  It was a
cloverleaf type of on-ramp.  He had us going too fast, and we rolled the
car four times.

I woke in the hospital with the worst pain I had ever known.  I was
shaking, and my stomach was cramping up so bad that I felt I was going to
puke the whole time.  When I did heave, it was dry.  My parents were there,
but I told them to go away; that I didn't want to see them.  Reluctantly,
they withdrew.

I was put in a room by myself, so I could run the course of my alcohol
withdrawals in private.  Every time I woke up, one of my parents were
there.  When I told them to get out, they left, but not before saying, "We
love you, Jared.  Don't forget that."  It didn't matter what time it was,
either.  Day or night, they were there.

Through the grapevine, I learned that Troy and Larry, who had been sitting
in the front seats, had died in the accident, having been thrown from the
car.  John was now a quadriplegic, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of
his life.  I was the lucky one.  Somehow, through my
drug-and-alcohol-induced haze, I had buckled my seatbelt.  My injuries were
minimal.  I had a broken arm, a broken leg, and concussion with a few
cracked ribs thrown in for seasoning, outside of the usual soft tissue
damage.

A few days after I regained consciousness, and after the worst of the
withdrawals, the police came in and interviewed me.  Dad was there when
they did, and made me answer them.  I told them everything, from the booze
and the drugs, to stealing the car.  I watched Dad's face grow ashen as my
story progressed.  Maybe I saw a tear.  I don't know.  After I was done, I
told my dad to get out as usual, with the usual reply.

Now I had time to think, since I was still suffering from the tail-end of
my withdrawals.  Where had things gone so wrong?  Well, that was a stupid
question.  I knew where I had gone wrong.  It started with that day in the
field where I took my first drink.  But what had driven me to start
drinking in the first place?  Larry, John, and Troy had just been in the
right place at the wrong time, that's why I started drinking- they provided
the opportunity.  But the real cause was that I felt so alone, and so
worthless.  I had felt that way from the day Max had left my life.  I had
loved him so much that I couldn't go on living without him.

My next thought was, "Did I say 'love?'"  Oh, my God.  I couldn't believe
it.  I loved another boy, and that just wasn't right.  I wasn't gay.  I
couldn't be gay.  I was too young to know for sure, but even the thought of
it repulsed me.

I was released from the hospital after five days.  Mom and Dad took me home
and arranged for me to go to a rehab facility to get a handle on my alcohol
abuse.  I spent a month there, doing mental and physical therapy.  All of
us there were around the same age, some as young as eleven, others as old
as fifteen.  We were housed in rooms with two people.  My roommate was
about a year older than I was.  His name was Chip.

Chip was a beautiful boy with blonde hair, blue eyes and a ready smile, but
after I'd been around him twenty-four hours a day for a week, I learned it
was all an act.  He cried all night long every night we were together.  I
asked him what was wrong several times, but he never answered me.  I think
I figured it out though, based on the amount of time he spent watching me
and the other cute guys in the home.

I spent my fair share of time watching Chip, too.  I got used to seeing the
scars on that poor kid's back and legs, to listening to him cry himself to
sleep at night, to watching him drop his mask when he thought no one was
watching.  I grew to love that boy, but I never let myself feel that love,
instead hiding it behind surly comments and snide remarks about his
waterworks.

That hot night right before he left, I heard him climb out of his bed and
approach mine about midnight.  He reached out and touched me.  I feigned
sleep as he pulled down my underwear and went to work.  I didn't
acknowledge what he was doing to me at all, although it was difficult not
to react at the end.  He quietly went back to his bed afterward, making no
effort to clean me up.

The next morning, he left the home; his time was up.  He shyly smiled and
embraced me, saying, "Thank you for last night," and then walked out, never
to be seen again.  He knew I was awake, and since I didn't object, he had
kept going.  It bothered me a little that it had happened.  It bothered me
much more that I had enjoyed it, and that I used it as a fantasy.  Why was
I thinking of boys in this way?  I couldn't be gay!  I won't be gay!

I had about two weeks left in rehab, but my depression had just reached a
new low.  I tried to hide it, but I wasn't very successful.  The counselors
saw it immediately.  In group, I'd started talking on the second day.
After Chip left, I withdrew into myself, not talking unless I was asked a
question.

Every day in the last two weeks of my treatment, I sat down with my psych,
and she tried to dig out of me the cause of my depression.  She asked about
my home life and school.  She asked about why I drank and did drugs.  And
she asked me if I was gay.  My response blew her away.

"FUCK NO!"  A bit taken aback, she sat quietly while I bashed gays every
way I knew how.  I repeated every filthy name I knew, and all the
stereotypical bullshit we've all heard so often.  I went on and on for ten
minutes.  When I was done, I collapsed into the chair I had leapt out of.
I glared at her until I realized that I had just made a huge ass of myself.
"I'm sorry."

"Why do you feel those things?  Where did they come from?  Who told you?"
Hmm.  Good question.  I thought about it and told her it came from what I
had heard at school.  She smiled.

"Jared, let's take it one step at a time, then.  First off, you probably
know many more gay boys and girls in your school than you would think.  And
most likely, some of them you never would have guessed.  But lets talk
about what you've been told.  The first thing you said, after the name
calling, was...."  From that day until I left, every day, she
systematically destroyed my skewed view of homosexuals as part of my
therapy.  I learned so much from her.  The most important thing I learned
was that being gay wasn't evil or bad, it just was, and there wasn't
anything a gay person could do to change their orientation and be happy.

I also thought a lot about my own sexuality.  Max had been my best friend,
and he'd taught me to masturbate.  He had always talked about girls too,
but in retrospect I realized that while I talked about girls too, I was
thinking about boys, Max in particular.  I would fantasize about us
together, and about other boys and I doing stuff... you get the idea.  By
the end of my stay, I had pretty much decided I was gay.  I didn't really
know how I felt about it though.  And how would my parents deal with this?
I had not been a very good son to them over the last year or so.  Would
they use it as an excuse to get rid of me?

My time in rehab came to an end.  Before I left, my parents had a talk with
my shrink.  I don't know what she told them, but when they came out, they
were both white.  My mom and dad smiled at me when they saw me for the
first time in a month, but I could see sadness and pain behind their
smiles.

I stood my ground and let them come to me, a wary, distrustful feeling
coming over me.  When they took me into their embrace, I could feel them
holding back, like I would break or something.

They led me out to the car and took me home.  When I got to the house, I
took my things and went straight to my room.  I jumped onto my bed and just
lay there reveling in the knowledge I was home and out of rehab.  I got up
to put my things away about fifteen minutes later.  My parents knocked as I
was hanging my shirts.

"Jared, can we come in?"

"Sure, Dad."  He strode to me and asked me to put the shirt I had in my
hands down.  I did as he asked, the wary feeling returning.  Once I had
turned to face him, he engulfed me in a tight hug.  I could feel him
shaking as he held me, and over his shoulder I could see my mother tearing
up.  He finally released me, and held me at arms length.

"I love you, Jared.  Nothing will ever change that.  Nothing at all.  It
doesn't matter what has happened in the past.  It doesn't matter what
happens in the future.  You are my son and I love you."  He looked deep
into my eyes, making very sure I heard his words, and then pulled me to him
once more.  I rested my head on his shoulder, and the next thing I knew, I
was crying.  He kept stroking my hair, and it was almost like he was
squeezing out the tears.  My mom came around and hugged me from behind,
putting me between them.  She murmured the same reassurances Dad did.

I finally came down enough that I could talk to them.  They sat on the bed
while I sat on my desk chair within easy reach of them in case I broke down
again.

"Mom, Dad, I have some things I need to tell you."  I sat back in my chair,
folded my hands in my lap, and locked my eyes on them, not looking up.
Then I took a deep breath and plunged forward before I lost my
courage. "This is really hard."  I took another deep breath before
continuing.  "I'm an alcoholic.  I have been for over a year...."

I poured out my heart to them, telling them just about everything, from the
depression that had hit when Max left, to trying to find new friends in
Larry, Troy, and John, the alcohol, the drugs, and why I took them.  They
listened closely, every now and then patting me on the knee or squeezing my
shoulder.  Amazingly, I didn't break down again as I feared.  I shed a
couple of tears, but kept in control.

After I finished, my mom lifted my chin so I would look at her.  "Jare,"
she said, using her pet name for me, "thank you for talking to us.  But you
know what?  Nothing you have just told us changes anything.  We love you,
and we always will.  No matter what."  She scooted forward far enough to
hug me, and Dad joined her.

I kind of felt bad though.  I didn't tell them about my sexuality.  I
really hadn't come to terms with it myself, so I wasn't ready to tell my
parents.  In spite of their assurances, I just wasn't ready.

The shrink from rehab recommended a doctor for me to see after I got out.
I saw him once a week for a long time, and I went to an AA meeting once a
week, also, sometimes twice a week, depending on how I felt.  The urge to
drink was mostly gone, but sometimes I longed for one nonetheless,
especially when I'd had a hard day, or a long, lonely night.  That's when I
went to the extra meetings.  Mom and Dad went with me sometimes, but
usually they went to their own groups.

My sponsor was an older guy, in his late twenties.  His name was Mark.  He
had been a teen alcoholic, too.  The amazing thing was he could remember
what it had been like to be a teenager.  I would start to talk to him about
what was bothering me, and he would finish my sentences.  He made me feel
like I wasn't alone, and that I had someone I could rely on if things every
got that bad.

For the first six months or so, I talked to him at least once a day,
checking in, or calling him because I was miserable and was thinking about
finding a bottle to drown my sorrows in.  Every time I called him, he would
talk me down.  Sometimes he would come over to my house and pick me up, no
matter what time.  We'd go for a drive and talk about what was bothering
me.  And every time, he would stay with me until he was sure that I
wouldn't fall.

One time, about 3 months out of rehab, I called him at three in the
morning.  The bad thing was, I had already started drinking.  I found a
bottle of vodka that my parents hadn't seen when they cleared the liquor
out of the cupboards.  I called Mark after I had finished a third of the
bottle.  After being off the sauce for so long, it hadn't taken much to get
me drunk.

He pounded on the front door when he arrived, but I didn't open it for him.
Mom woke up and got the door.  When she saw Mark, I guess she kind of
flipped out.  I remember hearing her screaming for Dad and crying a lot.
What I do remember was Mark coming in to my room, speaking quietly.  He
took the bottle out of my hands and held me while I cried, telling him I
was sorry over and over again, and that I would never make it.

Mom and Dad joined us a bit later.  I was still drunk, but I remember them
talking with Mark, and Mark telling them that it wasn't unusual for someone
to have a moment of weakness.  He also told them that alcoholism isn't a
disease that can be cured.  It must be dealt with on a day-to-day basis.
As time went on, I would be stronger, and would be more able to resist the
temptation to drink.  He gave them some numbers of some groups that taught
parents and friends about alcoholics and how to help them.

I started to sober up about the time the sun came up.  Mark and I went for
a walk in the crisp winter air.  We walked quietly for a while, and then
Mark started pointing out things as we went along, like the sunrise,
Mt. Hood in the distance, Mt. Saint Helens, things of beauty.  I was
confused.  Why was he doing this?  He explained.

"Jared, look at Saint Helens.  What do you see?"

"A mountain missing it's top."

"That's true.  Look again.  See how the sun hits it, that reddish glow?
Isn't that beautiful?"

"Yeah.  It is."

"Less than two decades ago, it was a wasteland.  Charred timber everywhere.
It might as well have been the surface of the moon.  There was no life at
all.  But look now.  You can't tell the mountain exploded.  She recovered,
even after she tried to destroy herself."  We stood still and watched as
the sun rose higher in the sky, watching the view.

"Jared, you tried to destroy yourself, too.  But just like that mountain
out there, you are recovering.  Sure, you fell.  So what?  You think the
mountain only had one eruption?  There were several.  But she still made it
through.  And you will, too.  That's why we are here, your parents and me.
We are going to help you make it.  You have the strength.  I made it,
you'll make it."

"Are you sure?  I mean, sometimes it's just so hard."

"It won't go away, Bro.  You'll have to deal with it, wherever you are, for
the rest of your life.  You already know that.  But, someone will always be
here to help you.  You have my number.  You used it.  It's a good step,
Jare.  Now, we take life one day at a time.  If it seems too hard to think
about making it through the day, then we think about making it through the
next hour.  Or the next minute.  Don't worry about what will happen beyond
that."

I sighed.  "I don't know if I can do this."

"You'll be okay, Jared.  You will make it through."  He embraced me, and
then led me home.

School started shortly after I got home from rehab.  We had to write a
report on what we did over the summer.  I wrote mine about what had
happened the night of the car wreck, though I cheated a bit.  My shrink had
encouraged me to write it out anyway, so I already had five pages done.  I
don't think my English teacher was prepared for anything more than the
usual vacation stories written by new freshman.  I blew her and my class
away by admitting my alcoholism, my drug use, and my crime.  The class was
silent and spellbound as I read.  The teacher darted out of the room about
half way through, and came back with the principal.  They stood in the back
and listened to the rest of my story.

When I finished, there wasn't the usual round of applause, just dead
silence.  I sat back at my desk.  The principal whispered he would like to
see me after class before he left the room, and then the bell rang.  People
passed me as I gathered my stuff.  Some looked at me with disgust, others
with sympathy.  I went to the principal's office, ignoring the various
looks I received.  I was sure that it'd be all over school soon enough.

Mr. Sumner's request was succinct.  He wanted me to read my report to the
whole school in an assembly that was coming up about drugs and alcohol,
with my parents approval.  I told him I would, but he insisted on calling
my parents first.  Of course, they left it up to me, and said they'd be
there for me either way.

The assembly was about a week later.  I spoke first.  It took no time for
people to quiet down. They reacted in just the same way my English class
had.  There was no applause at the end, just a respectful silence.  The
rest of the assembly had the effect I think the adults were hoping for.
Hearing about these kind of things from a person you know personally has a
bigger effect than hearing about it from a complete stranger.

In the days and weeks that followed, people treated me a little different.
Some shunned me as a bad influence, others tried to worm their way into my
confidence to try and get drugs and booze.  I rejected them all out of
hand.  I had learned to be very careful about who I chose to be friends
with and why.

Jason Patterson was the first person I allowed into my life, at least from
school.  A year ahead of me, he approached me the day after the assembly
and introduced himself.  Eventually, we became friends.  He was always
considerate.  He asked questions, sure, but he didn't press me when I asked
him to stop.

I began to have feelings for Jason that went beyond friendship.  When I
wasn't diving, I spent as much time with him as I could, just to be near
him.  He came to some of my meets, and seemed just as happy to be with me
as I was with him.  We did everything together that summer, even after I
let my hormones get the best of me.

On the anniversary of the accident (if you can believe that), I kissed him.
I remember the look on his face, wide eyed and stunned.  I knew I had made
a mistake as soon as I pulled my lips from his.  I backed away from him,
not sure if I would have to run or what, but Jason was very cool about it.

He sat me down and we talked.  I told him I was gay, and that I thought I
loved him.  He said he liked me too, but as a close friend, nothing more
beyond that.  I was hurt, and maybe a bit angry, but at myself, not him.
We talked about Jeff, his brother who had been gay, and about his foster
brother, who was also gay.  He reassured me that it didn't change anything,
and that he kind of knew a while back, but didn't know how to bring it up.
He did ask if it was okay to tell his parents.  I was a little
apprehensive, so he didn't push it, just saying I could tell them when I
felt ready to do so.

When he finished talking for that day, he gave me a hug to show he wasn't
afraid of me, and life went on as usual.

My feelings didn't go away, but I found a way to live with them.  Jason was
still my best friend, and he probably put up with more touching than he
otherwise would have, but he never gave me the impression he was
uncomfortable with it.  He didn't brush my hand away or get angry at all.
It confused me for awhile.  I realized that Jason hadn't told me if he was
straight, gay, or in between.  It's still a mystery to me.  Sometimes he
seems as straight as they come.  Other times...  I just don't know.

Anyway, I met his parents and foster brother a short while later.  The
Pattersons took me in right away.  They sat down with me and told me I was
welcome at their house anytime I needed somewhere to go.

The first impression I got of Ray was of and angry kid who wanted to fight
anyone and anything that got in his way.  I steered clear of him for quite
a while.

At home, things were going really well.  I came out to my parents just
after I told Jason I was gay, and they took it far better than I ever
hoped.  They told me later on that the shrink in rehab had told them she
suspected a lot of my depression was cause by the fact I was gay and didn't
know how to deal with it.  I was really pissed off thinking that she had
been damn lucky my parents weren't homophobes, but they told me they had
been talking to her the whole time I was in rehab, and she wouldn't have
told them if she hadn't thought they could handle it in a good way.  It
didn't do much to assuage my anger, but it did make sense.  They hadn't
said anything, because I would either tell them or not.

My sophomore year began.  I was still sober.  I had cut down my visits to
the shrink to once every two weeks, sometimes three.  The group meetings
were still important to me though.  I found that I got a lot out of talking
to other kids about what had happened to me, and they seemed to be able to
talk to me too.  I'm not a shrink like Jason, but I listen well and can
point others in the right direction.

I spent most of my time focused on my swimming.  Jason and I did drift
apart a bit, as is natural. He had some friends more his age, as did I, but
we still did stuff together. Nothing really interesting happened until Pete
came into the Patterson's lives.  I met him the summer after my sophomore
year when Jason invited me to go with him and his family to southern Oregon
for a vacation.

When I first met him I was nearly awestruck.  He's absolutely beautiful.
Dirty blond hair, penetrating blue eyes, well developed body.  I am so
jealous of Brian.  If he wasn't with Pete, I would be in a heartbeat.

The first time he laid eyes on me, he just stared.  Ray punched him in the
arm to get his attention.  Pete blushed so red beneath his tan that he
looked like a tomato.  Over the course of the vacation, I caught him
watching me occasionally, and I'm sure he caught me watching him too.  Ray
kept hitting Pete when he saw him looking in my direction. Though it was
funny at the time, I was beginning to wonder if Ray was jealous, and just
who he was jealous of?

The vacation was really cool.  I had never been to southern Oregon before,
and the little towns were neat.  When we finally arrived in Brookings and
set up camp of the little river that was there, I got to know Pete pretty
well.  Seeing him in his swim trunks and not much else was almost more than
I could take.

Jason promised his mom he'd make sure we all wore sunscreen, so he pulled
it out and started slathering it on Ray's back, leaving Pete to take care
of me.  When he put the sunblock on me, I couldn't believe how gentle his
touch was, almost soft enough to tickle, and I did shiver when he brushed
my ribs with his fingers.  He asked me if I was okay, and I blamed it on
the cold cream, but it was really his touch that had affected me so.

When I started to rub it in, I was shaking so much that I'm surprised Pete
didn't notice.  I took my time, though, making sure I had all of him
covered, including his sides, too.  Can you really blame me?  I hated to
stop, but Ray was finishing up Jason, and I didn't want to look too
suspicious.

After getting used to the water, we started horsing around, dunking each
other, splashing around, just being kids.  The chicken fights were the best
though.  Pete clamored up my back and took a seat on my shoulders, and Ray
did the same with Jason.  We played around for a good twenty to thirty
minutes, pushing each other over pretty easily.  I have to admit though, my
mind was more focused on the equipment pressing against the back of my head
than the slippery rocks underfoot.

There was a huge rock in the middle of the river that the locals called
Elephant Rock.  I have no idea why, because it looked nothing like an
elephant, except for maybe it's size.  It had a good placement, because it
jutted at least twelve feet out of the water, had deep water on one side,
and a sandbar on the other.  It was a perfect diving platform.  Since I was
on the dive team at school, I took advantage of it and got some practice
in, while Pete, Ray, and Jason goofed off.  Watching Pete dive gave me a
thrill (are you seeing a pattern develop?), but I also noticed he seemed to
have a natural talent.

My devious little mind found out a way to get some good contact with Pete,
and I offered to show him the rudiments of diving, and he accepted.  Over
the next several days, he and I worked off of the rock when it wasn't being
swarmed by other kids.  I would show him how to position his body and
correct his stances, how to hold his hands so he wouldn't hurt himself,
those kinds of things.  I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

About the third day we were there, Pete and I had a conversation that
shattered my hopes of having him as a boyfriend.  It started off innocently
enough.  I was behind him and raised his arms overhead.  As I did so, I
complimented his body.

He turned around and gave me an inscrutable glare.  "Is there something I
should know?  Jason told you about me, right?"

"Yeah, he told me you are gay."  Jason had told me that before I came on
the trip to see if I would be comfortable with that.  I already knew Ray
was gay, but I just wasn't into him at the time.

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Gay!  You have been putting your hands on me every chance you get. You
enjoy putting sunscreen on my back just a little bit, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."  I was starting to panic a bit, thinking I had gone too
far.  I took a step backward, but Pete put his hands on my shoulders and
stopped me.

"Jared, you are one of the most beautiful people I have ever met.  If I was
free to, I would fall for you so hard that they'd have to scrape me off the
sidewalk with a spatula.  But I am committed to Brian.  We can be friends
until the tension gets to be too much, but if I feel tempted to betray him,
I'm going to have to clear out."  He squeezed my shoulders again.  His
clear blue eyes were serious, penetrating.  "I can see the answer to my
question in your eyes.  Believe me, it's okay.  I'm not going to leave you
hanging.  I know what it is to be abandoned.  I could learn to love you
rather quickly.  But I love Brian more than anything, and will forever.
Even if it is a hopeless situation."  Tears formed in his eyes as he
finished talking, and he wiped them away irritably.  He really loved this
Brian I had heard mentioned from time to time.  I watched him for a few
seconds as he battled to suppress his emotions.

"I can tell that you mean what you say.  Tell me about Brian.  I have heard
a little bit from Jason, but not enough.  I do want to be good friends with
you, so I'd like to know what happened that made you fall in love with
him."  His jaw tightened, and I could see him hesitate, trying to decide
whether or not to trust me.  "Please?  I can already tell you miss him."

"Let's go someplace not so public, okay?  This could get messy."  I nodded,
wondering at the loyalty Pete has for this kid.  We went to an area I had
found earlier in the week that hid us from the beach.  He didn't say much
as we walked and swam to our destination.  His expression was... worried?
Resigned?  Definitely sad.

We settled in on a sand bar in the middle of this little cove, lying in the
sun.  The breeze was cool, but not enough to make us cold.  Another few
minutes passed as I allowed Pete to gather his thoughts.  When he spoke, it
was like he was pouring out his soul to me, allowing me to glimpse the
secret pain he lived with.

"Brian is the most beautiful person I ever met, inside and out.  We met in
the fifth grade.  He's a year younger than me, though.  We didn't like each
other at first, but later on we became friends.  Sometime during the sixth
grade we started hanging out together, spending weekends over at each
others house."  He laughed.  "We did everything together.  We used to catch
pollywogs, play army, all that little kid stuff.  We had a couple of other
friends, but Brian and I were always together.

"We had a lot of the same classes in school in seventh grade.  We
discovered sex together.  We didn't do anything together, but we snuck
magazines and talked about sex and what we'd do with a girl if we ever got
one.  Kind of ironic, considering I'm gay."

"Is Brian sure he's gay?"

"I don't know.  He said he was, but things could have changed, considering
what happened with my dad."  A haunted look crossed Pete's face before he
continued his story.

"Anyway, I started going out with this girl, Ashley, in January.  I spent a
lot of time with her, and a lot less with Brian.  My father was ecstatic
that I was finally becoming a man.  Ash and I would go to the theater or
the mall, go on long walks, just hang out.  She was nice.  I could tell
that Brian really resented the time I spent with her though.  When I would
say 'Hi,' he wouldn't look at me when he replied.  He would just look down
at his feet and hurry away.  I thought he hated me, because he ignored me
for almost four months, and changed seats in class to be away from me.  He
avoided me at school if he could, and if I was with Ash he would literally
turn around and walk the other way."

He glanced over to me to see if I was still listening.  We were sitting
side by side on the sand.  I met his eyes briefly before he dropped his
gaze again.

"Late in May, Ashley's parents had a dinner party to go to, and left her
alone at the house.  They wouldn't be home until after midnight, so she
called me up.  I convinced my mom to drop me off at her house.  I lied and
told her that Ashley's parents were home.  When I got there, we watched
some television, and then some movie on a movie channel.  It was a pretty
sexy movie, and Ashley wanted to take advantage of the fact her parents
were gone.

"She started kissing me and touching me all over, and I tried to get into
it, feeling her up and kissing her back.  We got undressed, but it was no
good.  I couldn't get it up to do anything with her.  I didn't get excited
at all."  The memory was sharp for him.  I could tell by his expression
that it still disturbed him.

"It wasn't not getting it up that bothered me, but it was what she said to
me.  She made fun of me for like fifteen minutes, asking if I was broken,
or a girl.  She started really yelling at me, and finally asked me if I was
gay.  I didn't answer her.  I just got dressed and left.  It took me three
hours to walk home in the dark."

"Oh, man.  I'm sorry it happened that way, Pete."  He shrugged off my
comment and continued.

"When I got home, my mom asked me how I got there, and I told her the
truth, and that Ashley and I had broken up.  She asked why.  I was so
upset, and I believed my mom loved me so much, that I told her the truth;
that I was gay.  At first, she looked like she was going to yell and scream
at me, and then she ran to her room crying.  I didn't talk with her.  She
didn't come back out."  Tears filled his eyes, and there was a catch in his
voice.  He was hugging his arms to himself, as if seeking comfort in that
contact.  I sat up and moved over to him, putting my arm around his
shoulder.  He didn't really react, so I stayed there and continued to
listen.

"The next day, I was a basket case.  Ashley came up to me early that day
and told me she wouldn't say anything about me being gay, and that she had
suspected ever since she found a piece of paper that had Brian's name
written all over it with hearts and stuff. Stupid, huh?"  He laughed again
unconvincingly.  "So that was a relief, her keeping my secret.

"But I still wasn't keeping in together well, and Brian found me at my
locker during lunch.  He tried to get my attention a couple of times before
I noticed he was there.  I was crying, and he had seen it.  He badgered me
into skipping class and going out in back of the school so we'd have some
privacy to talk.

"We walked out in silence.  I was thinking the entire way that this would
be the last time I talked to Brian as a friend.  When we finally got where
we were going, it was hurting so much that I was losing Brian that I
couldn't keep the tears back.  I told him everything that had happened and
was prepared for the worst.

"Brian held me while I cried myself out.  When I looked at him, I could
tell he'd been crying, too, and I asked why.  He asked me how I loved him,
as a friend or as something more."  Pete was almost smiling as he told me
he confessed his true feelings to Brian.  "I expected him to get up and run
away when I told him I loved him, but he didn't.  He was quiet for a
minute, though.

"I couldn't believe it when he told me he loved me too.  And then we kissed
for the first time."  His face had a far away look, eyes all most glazed,
like he was reliving the moment, and then his smile fell.  "He accepted me
as who I am, and maybe found out who he was too."

"I don't know how many times I cried, Jared.  Ten? Twenty in three days?
And every time, he was there, holding me, comforting me.  Even my mom
didn't do that when she was there.  I tried to let Brian go, to give him
the chance to walk away so he wouldn't get drawn into what had happened.
He actually chewed me out for even suggesting it!"  Pete grinned at the
thought.

He continued, telling me about the fateful day his Dad found out he was
gay, and how Brian had almost been caught by his bastard of a father, and
how Brian had stood by him for the last days they had been together.  Pete
broke down during his tale, and cried on my shoulder for awhile before
regaining control, and then breaking down again.

By the time he was done, I understood. "Thank you, Pete.  I know that
wasn't easy, but now I understand why you feel like you do.  I hope that I
can still be your friend."

"Of course you can!  I just needed to tell you where I am coming from, so
there are no misunderstandings."

"That's cool. Thanks.  I guess I should return the favor.  Ready to hear
about my boring life?"

"Sure, but how can a guy like you have a boring life?  The girls must be
all over you, even if you are gay!  And how do you fend them off, anyway?"

I laughed out loud.  "All in good time.  I was born and raised in Santa
Barbara.  My father worked for a hard disk manufacturer there as a
manufacturing engineer. The company underwent corporate down sizing, so we
moved to Portland, where he got a job at Intel.  Now he is an equipment
engineer in the lithography department.  Anyway, I was 10 when we moved.  I
got into school immediately, and made a lot of friends.  A couple of years
passed and middle school was cool.  I went out for football, basketball,
track, anything that came around.  I was 12 when I figured out I liked
guys, but it wasn't until I was 13 that I put the word 'gay' together with
my attraction to boys."

I told Pete about my struggles with alcohol and drugs, and my depression,
and being gay.  "My parent's and I have always been close, but I told them
right away.  They always told me I could come to them with anything, and
have proved it to me over and over, so I went to them with this, too.  They
were so cool about it.  The first word out of my dad's mouth was 'So?'.
Mom then told me that it didn't change a thing as far as they were
concerned.  They just wanted me to be happy."

Well, most of that was true.  I had waited to tell my parents about me
being gay, but it didn't really matter since the counselor from rehab had
told them already.  And I hadn't really made a lot of friends.  Looking
back, I don't know why I said those things.  I'm sorry I lied, Pete.

"It makes me feel guilty, a little bit, having such cool parents while you
and Ray had such bastards for yours."

"That's stupid.  Why do you feel guilty for something that wonderful?  You
have a loving, caring family, and you should feel good that you have them.
Ray and I have dealt with our families one way or another, and then we
moved on.  Like Ray says, 'It's the best thing they could have done for us,
to give us to someone who truly cares.'  So don't you feel bad for having
someone who loves you for who you are."  He grinned "It just happens that
the people that care about you have the same blood.  But don't think that
what Ray has is any less significant.  He loves them all like they are his
real family.  I love them too, and my grandparents are so cool.  They
understand me because they raised an aunt and uncle that are gay too.  So
don't worry about us." He smiled, and I grinned back.

"Okay, I'll try not to.  You ready to head back for lunch?"

 "Sure, let's go.  I just realized how hungry I am."

We swam back to camp, rinsing off the sweat that had accumulated in the hot
sun.  Ray and Jason were cleaning up their mess from lunch.  Ray was giving
us a really weird look as we approached.

"Where have you guys been?  We looked for you and didn't find you."

"I'm sorry Ray, but Jared and I had a few things to discuss, and I needed
to tell him about Brian."

"Why?"

"Because I had to make sure we were all on the same playing field."  Pete
looked at me, obviously frustrated with Ray's attitude, so I jumped in,
trying to help.

"Ray, I'm gay. Pete wanted to make sure I knew that he was taken."

"By Brian?" Pete nodded in confirmation.

Ray's face turned angry.  "When are you gonna realize that you aren't going
to be able to go back to him?  What are you going to do, run away?  Ask
your grandparents to move? Huh!?  Why can't you like me?"

"RAY!"  Jason's voice revealed he was more angry than I had ever seen him.
Ray's face transformed from anger to shock, and then he turned and bolted
through brush.

I turned to Pete.  He collapsed to his knees, and then sat heavily.  I was
at his side in an instant, my hand on his shoulder.  He looked right
through me, and then closed his eyes as he fell into my arms.

* * * * *

I spent that evening on my own, pretty much.  Jason was off with Ray
somewhere, and Sharon was tending to Pete.  Kevin found me sitting outside
the trailer about eight-thirty.  He sat next to me at the picnic table.

"How are you doing, Jared?"

"I'm all right.  How is Pete?"

"Sleeping.  He'll be okay.  He got quite a shock."

"Yeah.  He told me about Brian, what happened before he came to Portland."

"He's had a rough time.  His mom isn't exactly a loving person."

"Brian seems to be very important to him."

"He is.  I've never seen this kind of dedication in a teenager.  Hell, I
haven't seen that kind of dedication in many adults either, for that
matter."

We sat silently for a time, both lost in thought.  I was beginning to
realize just how lucky I was to have fallen in with these people.  Jason
was a wonderful friend, and Pete would be too, if he wasn't already.  Ray
was very young emotionally, but he had promise.  He seemed to be hiding all
the time though, like he was afraid to let even the Pattersons get close to
him.

"Well, it's off to bed for me."

"What about Ray and Jason?"

"They'll be back soon enough.  Don't worry."

"Okay, I won't.  Guess I'll turn in, too."

He nodded as he rose, and then gripped my shoulder.  "You're a good man,
Jared.  I'm glad you came."  I gave a half smile to answer his grin.  He
squeezed my shoulder once more, and left me.

An hour passed, and neither Ray or Jason returned to camp.  Restless, I
grabbed a flashlight and ventured out to find them.  It took awhile, but I
found them sitting on the riverbank in the full moonlight.  Ray was leaning
into Jason, who had his arm around Ray's shoulders.  I made my way over to
them, making enough noise to let them know I was coming.  They looked back
at me as I approached.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Ray wiped his nose and looked at Jason for a second, then said, "No, come
on over."  I sat on Ray's other side, more or less surrounding him.  Just
as I settled, however, Jason stood.

"I'm going back to camp.  You two stay here as long as you like.  I'll let
mom and dad know."

"They're in bed already.  Need the flashlight?"

"No, I can pick my way.  See you in a bit."

"Jason?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Thank you.  For everything."

Jason smiled, his teeth glowing in the moonlight.  "Sure thing, sport."
And we were alone.

"I'm sorry, Jared."

"Why?"

"I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay, Ray.  I understand how it is."

"You do?"

"Well, I've been in a don't touch situation before, if that's what you
mean."

Ray was quiet for a moment.  "It's no fair!  I'll never have a boyfriend!"

"How can you say that?  You're still a kid, Ray.  You have years ahead of
you.  We both do."

"Gee, thanks, dad," he started angrily.

"Ray, I didn't mean it that way."

"I know...."  Ray deflated a bit.  "All I want is someone to love.  Someone
to love me.  Why can't anyone love me?"  He sagged into me, crying.  I held
him to me tightly, because it felt right.  Emotions flooded me as I rocked
him gently, emotions I didn't know I had.  Something about this boy tugged
at my heart.  A hole in my heart that had been hidden away began to fill,
and a strange feeling gripped my stomach.

Ray cried for awhile as I examined these new emotions welling up inside me.
He eventually stopped and tried to pull away.  I wouldn't release him,
though.  He looked deep into my eyes, allowing me to look into his.  For
the longest time, we didn't move.  I bent down to him slowly, placing my
lips on his.

You read about people kissing for the first time feeling a shock.  I'm
telling you, it's real.  We both felt it.  Our kiss didn't last long, but I
will always remember it.  We sat back a bit, watching each other.

"Whoa."

"Yeah, whoa.  That was good."

"Mhmm." A pause.  "Do you want to do it again, Jared?"

I smiled at him.  "Oh, yeah."  We kissed again, more passionately this
time, and separated once more.

"Tell me about yourself, Ray.  I want to know everything."

We talked well into the dead of the night.  Ray told me of his real
parents, or "those people" as he referred to them, and all they had done to
him.

"They hit me a lot.  That guy used to beat the shit out of me about once a
month, but never to the point I needed a doctor.  At least, until I told
them I was gay.  Then I was lucky someone found me laying in the street.  I
never had a broken bone until that night.  He broke my arm and a few ribs.
I think they cracked my skull, too.  Explains a bit, don't it?"  He grinned
at his joke.

"Yeah, it does."  We both chuckled and he continued.

"The child services people took me away from them immediately.  I bounced
around from home to home.  Most couldn't deal with my personality."  He
laughed for a minute, then sobered.  "Others couldn't handle the fact I was
gay.  Then the Pattersons took me in, and it's been the best thing that
could have happened to me.  That's it in a nutshell."

He went on about how they had helped him feel at home and better understand
himself, how Jason had stepped in to play big brother, and how Sharon and
Kevin had been there for him since he had lived there.

"I know I'm not easy to get along with.  I've been hurt so much.  It's
really hard to let anyone in, you know?  I mean, deep down, I'm afraid that
Kevin and Sharon will wake up one day and say, 'We've had enough, Ray.  Get
the fuck out of our house.'  I know they'd never do it, and Jason is the
same way.  But deep down...  It's hard."

As he spoke and I learned more about him, I began to fall in love with Ray.
Not the brash, caustic front he showed to everyone, but the real Ray, the
one inside, hidden behind that faŘade.  His dreams and desires poured
out to my eager ears.

It was really strange though, that I had fallen for him in such a short
time.  It wasn't love at first sight, really, but it might as well have
been.

I told Ray about myself and everything I had been through.  It was easy for
me to do, having told the story so many times already.  He listened as
raptly as I had to him.  We snuggled closer as the moon started to set, and
a cool breeze began to waft down the riverbed.  I wound down, trailing off
into silence.  We listened to the water flow by for a while longer, until I
shivered in spite of myself.  Ray hugged me when he felt it.

With unspoken agreement, we rose and crossed the rocks back to the
campground.  I held his hand in mine as we picked our way over the rough
terrain.  When we got back, everyone was asleep.  I could hear Jason
snoring in our tent.  Now in front of Ray's tent, he shyly turned to face
me, and stood up on his toes so our lips could meet in a soft, tender kiss.
At last our lips parted.

"Thanks for listening, Jared."

"You too, Ray."  An awkward silence followed.

"Well, good night.  See you in the morning."  Ray embraced me tightly, and
dove in his tent before I could respond.

"Good night, Ray.  Sleep well."

I crawled into the tent with Jason as quietly as I could, took off my shoes
and stripped down.  I was so tired that, even though I tried to think about
what had happened between me and Ray, I fell asleep in nothing flat.

The next morning was weird.  Ray kept giving me a look, but he wouldn't
meet my eyes and seemed uncomfortable around me.  He kept his distance,
sometimes deliberately moving away to put someone or something between us.
I decided that look he was giving me was, in large part, fear.  It hurt me,
that he was so distant, after we shared so much that last night.

Our trip home was tough for me.  Ray kept space between us the whole time,
and I ended up going home without being able to speak with him.

For the next several months, the distance between Ray and I grew.  It was
very tough on me because I did love Ray, and he wouldn't give me the time
of day.  I talked to Mark a lot in those long weeks.  He kept me from
making a big mistake a couple of times.  Mom and Dad knew something was up,
too. They asked me, and I told them I was in love with a boy who didn't
love me back, and I didn't know what to do about it.  They were
sympathetic, but there was nothing they could do to help me, and they knew
it.

Later on, Ray and I started to spend time together on the pretense I was
over to hang with Jason. We weren't left alone very often, but when we did
get to be alone, he was shy, embarrassed almost.  I became frustrated and
called him on it one night, when Pete and Jason went out to run some
errands.  We were playing a game on Ray's Playstation, when I confronted
him.

"Ray, do you like me?"

"What?  Of course I do.  You're a good friend."

"That's not what I mean."

He sighed.  "I know, Jared.  I'm just... I don't know..."

"Scared?"  He looked startled, and then dropping his eyes, he shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe.  It's just that, for whatever reason, I told you everything.
I didn't hold anything back, and I have never done that before.  It scared
me because you got too close to me.  I don't like letting people in.  It
always hurts, eventually.  I don't want to hurt, and I don't want to hurt
anyone."

"You told me that you want someone to love you, and someone you can love."

"Yeah, I did."

"Do you still want that?"

He paused, and said in a whisper, "Yes, I do.  But who would love me?"

"I would," I said just as quietly.

"I mean, no one would ever fall in love with a guy like...  You what?"  He
raised his eyes to meet my gaze.

"I love you, Ray.  I fell in love with you on the riverbank.  I've been
watching you ever since."

He gestured to his body.  "How could you love this?"

"Ray, I love who you are inside.  The person you showed me that night is
who I want to be with.  That person is real.  I know it is, and you do too,
if you let down your defenses.  So I ask again, do you like me?"

"You know I do."

"Can you let me in?"  He dropped his eyes again.

"I'll try, Jared, but it's so hard to do.  I'll try.  For you."

"I won't hurt you Ray.  But if this is going to work, you'll have to trust
me."

"I'll try."

"Ray, look at me."  He met my gaze once more.  "I love you, Ray."  Our eyes
were locked as he searched the depths of my soul.  I don't know what he saw
there, but I watched his expression run the whole range, from despair to
disbelief, from sadness to joy.

"I love you too, Jared."

===0===

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