Date: Fri, 7 Apr 2000 00:00:59 EDT From: Justin69SK@aol.com Subject: Chapter 10, Justin's Story Justin's Story Chapter 10 4/01/00 Written By: Justin Case Disclaimer: This story is about young gay love. There is graphic sex included. If you are not supposed to be hear, you should leave. If this type of literature offends you. Just why the hell are you here? There are many, struggling with their sexuality. Many wondering; why me? I know. I was one. I began to realize, instead of asking "Why me?", I wondered "Why not?". Shame not, my little ones, walk proud. You are the chosen ones. The free thinkers, the ones who put the round pegs in the square holes, because you can. You don't do things because "they" say; rather you question "them". --------- Ryan began driving the black Saab, his Saab, up my street. I looked through the tears in my eyes, and watched the familiar sights pass me by. The trees, the homes, the gardens. All the things I had known all my life. I had walked by these things and really looked, and noticed. I had every foot of my street memorized. From the top, where it intersected with Raffia Road, to my house, and the driveway to the backdoor. It was blurry as I watched it pass me by. The last time, I wanted to ever see those sights. I had walked that street thousands of times, and hoped never to return. I had my garbage bag, full of my possessions with me. My whole life's belongings fit neatly in a garbage bag. I had tossed the bag into the back-seat. Like a rag doll, I just tossed my material things into the back. Behind me, like I was going to leave that house, behind me. Like I was going to leave the hurt, and despair. I tried to be a good son, and brother. I was never good enough. No matter what I did it was never right. I flashed to scenes. I remembered when I was fourteen, Sarah Jane had a job on tobacco. I would be home most of the days in my summer watching the little ones. One day I decided to clean the house, vacuum, wash the kitchen floor. I would even wax the hardwood floors. I had never been asked to. I also had to make lunch for the little ones. Hell I was changing diapers when I was eight. I was never asked to do these things, I just did them. I wanted to be loved, I wanted to belong. One day in my fourteenth year, I didn't vacuum. I got beat by "What's his name", he could feel crumbs on the dining room floor as he walked around barefoot. I remember the pain of that beating, both the physical pain and the mental pain. The house could go days without cleaning. Until I took over. I wanted the place to be neat so my friends could visit while I baby-sat. I was embarrassed by the condition of the furniture, and the clutter. I would clean the house for me. Then one day I didn't and got beat. I remembered the time the neighbor kids were teasing my younger brothers. The neighbors had a pool. They taunted Jeremy and Jonathan, they had a hedgerow around their backyard. It was tall and thick, fir trees. You couldn't see them, but you could hear them. The neighbor boys were throwing rocks over the trees into our yard, towards my brothers. I told my brothers to throw them back. I was fourteen. I remember we had gone to my Grams and Gramps every weekend. We returned this one Saturday, the day after the rock throwing. I had left, to go up the street and play with a friend. I was called home. I remember the beating, I remember being thrown down the cellar stairs to get my bathing suit. I had to go get the rocks out of the pool, some of them had landed in the neighbors pool. I remembered it all, and wanted to leave it there that day. Behind me. As the Saab entered I-91, I was relaxed, and detached. Too relaxed, Ryan finally spoke. "Justin, are you all right?" He cast those brown eyes in my direction. I felt he was afraid to make eye contact. Maybe he would have cried seeing the pain in my face. I don't know, I do know, he didn't look at me, just in my direction. "Ryan I have to get out, I have to leave, I don't know where or how." I said to him, withdrawn from the world, and all its treasures. I had always known two extremes, pain and happiness. The pain came where comfort was supposed to. The happiness came from others. "I understand, Justin." Was all he said, as he continued on the highway towards Massachusetts. It was all he said. As the car entered the area near the state line, I spoke. I said, "Ryan, take me to the bus station." All he did was nod. No other words were spoken until we arrived at the bus station. The Peter Pan bus station, how ironic when I think about it. Ryan parked the car right in front on Main Street. I grabbed the garbage bag, and got out of the Saab. Ryan right behind me, and walked into the terminal. I purchased a ticket to New York City. I checked my money situation. After purchasing the ticket, I had seven dollars left. Ryan looked at me, he didn't have those puppy dog eyes anymore, he looked older. He brought his left hand around to his left rear pants pocket. He removed his black leather wallet. He emptied it, he handed me all his cash, all one hundred and twenty-two dollars. I looked at him, tears in my eyes. "Justin call me when you get where your going." Ryan said, as he took me in his arms and hugged me. He let go, turned and walked out, left. I called to him, "Thank you Ryan." I don't know if he heard me or not. I found the waiting area, and waited for my bus. My bus out. The bus was due in about a half hour, at 4:12. Gate 8 the ticket agent had said. As he gave me a collapsible card board box, he told me to put my things in it. They would be damaged and possibly lost otherwise, he stated like he had many times before. As I waited I didn't think. I just existed in the chair, the hard plastic orange chair. I noticed people all around me. I heard the announcements as busses came and went. I sat there numb to it all. Waiting to leave. Wanting to leave. The time had come for me to find my happiness, and my comfort. I had sat there for only a few minutes when another boy about my age sat in the chair right next to me, on my left side. He didn't pick the chair with one between us, he sat right next to me. He looked nervous. He was a little smaller than me. He had black hair, in a mushroom cut. He had black eyes, that were set on his face just right. He had the cutest smile, and a cleft in his chin. I noticed the smile as I looked at him and he returned the look. "I'm Chuck. Where you headed?" This guy said to me. Never inquired what my name was. I took it as a signal, a sign of trust. "I'm Justin, the city." I said quietly, so no one else heard me. "Cool beans, me too." Chuck said, and he looked at me knowingly. "Where are you going, Justin?" He said it so warmly, so concerned. He said it like interested in me now. "I'm going to live with my Dad." He said it like I had known him forever. "I really don't know. I really don't know." I said, with no real feeling. As we sat there and continued the conversation, Chuck was totally bewildered by my story. He couldn't imagine any of it. He kept saying he thought he had it bad. He was intrigued that I would just go to New York City, and have no idea where I would sleep, or anything. As we talked I realized, I had no plan. I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew is I was getting out. Getting away from the pain and suffering I had endured for thirteen years. Chuck finally said he was sure I could stay with he and his dad for a few days. I had never met this boy in my life, and he was taking me in. We seemed to have so much in common with each other. We were becoming fast friends. I look back at it now, and shake my head. Chuck was just like me, but different. He felt like he didn't belong, and wanted to, just like me. He was fun to listen to. He was fun to watch. He was the kind of kid that drew you in. If you were with Chuck, you were included. No questions asked. I was blessed and humbled by meeting him. I remember thinking I couldn't wait to go with him to the big city. "Greyhound bus number forty-nine now boarding gate 8. Bus forty-nine with stops in Hartford Connecticut, Meriden, Wallingford, New Haven, Bridgeport, Stamford, final stop in New York City, ALLLL ABOARD!" At the same time we both looked at each other and burst into laughter. I never quite knew why, but we did. We grabbed our stuff, and made our way to the gate. We waited in line for a few minutes, placed our bag, and box near the hatch under the right side of the huge silver chariot. Walked up the steps into the box of shiny steel. I could smell the fragrances of perfumes, air freshener, and toilet. That sani-flush smell, all combined, with human perspiration. There was a staleness in the air. We slowly made our way towards the back of the bus. Chuck was an expert at this, he had told me while we were waiting that this was his seventh bus trip. He was a pro, and knew everything. We sat almost all the way in the back, we got in the next to the last seat on the drivers side of the bus. Chuck explained we would have a better view and offered me the window seat. "I've seen the trip before, you take the window Justin." Chuck said as he pointed me into the seat. I thought it was special. I felt like I had a guardian with me. The bus was almost full of people. There were a couple of service men. There were some young families, and some older people. The bus was a cross section, a representation of the melting pot society we live in. I looked at the others, I didn't stare, I casually looked. Chuck told me not to stare at anyone in New York City. He also told me not to look up when I walked down the streets. He told me to act like I knew where I was, and knew where I was going. He was just full of information. It all made sense. Perfect sense. The bus backed out of the gate, and drove away. I watched the Peter Pan sign disappear as we left the terminal. We got on to I-91 heading south. I watched the cars as we passed them. I watched everything out my window seat. We arrived in Hartford about forty minutes later. It was a quick stop, some got off, some got on. I remember leaving the Hartford terminal, and talking with Chuck. I put the seat back in the reclining position, and told Chuck I was just too tired. I apologized, and took a nap. I dreamt of fields of flowers, and waves of turquoise water with beaches of white sand. I dreamt of alligators chasing me. I had crazy mixed up dreams. -------- End Part I Well, boys that's it. What do you think? Can we trust Chuck? What's in store for us in New York? Anything gonna happen on the bus? Lots to think about. Lots to tell. This ends Part I, of the three Parts. Are you in? Or are you out? I hope you keep with me. I have gotten a tremendous response. I love you all. Please be kind. If you want to contact me the address is Justin69SK@aol.com I answer all my mail.