Date: Wed, 28 Jun 2006 23:11:02 +0000
From: carl_holiday@att.net
Subject: High School: Kiel's Story Chapter 1

This story concerns teenage gay males who may be involved in sexual
situations. If it is illegal for you to read such stories, or if you do not
like to read such stories, please leave now.

This story is copyright 2006 by the author who retains all rights.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either
are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This is my first submission to Nifty. Any comments or questions are welcome
at: carl_holiday@att.net

Kiel's Story

by Carl Holiday

Chapter 1 -- Getting to Know You

Kiel's family moved into the Carlson house almost exactly two months after
my best friend died in the fiery crash that also killed all of his
family. I read about the accident in the morning paper while eating my
usual breakfast of unsweetened wheat puffs floating in homogenized milk. (I
liked going to the Milk Barn with my dad because he always asked for two
homos and the clerked never flinched I was practically busting a gut from
laughing inside, but only had a silly smile I hoped my dad would never
figure out.) The gasoline truck had been speeding, ran the red light,
jackknifed, then rolled onto its side splitting open and splashing its
deadly cargo into the Carlson's Buick parked in front of the National Bank
of North Park. Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, Stevie, Melinda, and little Amy were
engulfed in flames before anyone had a chance to react. I wanted to think
they died quickly, but knew they suffered horribly as fire consumed their
bodies.

I hated Kiel the moment I saw him carrying a birdcage up the Carlson's
sidewalk. Mr. Carlson was allergic to birds, especially obnoxious chirpy
canaries like the ones in Kiel's cage. He looked younger than me. Black
hair cut so close his white scalp practically made him look bald. Black
eyebrows looked like disgusting caterpillars crawling across his milky
forehead. The ears were comically hideous in their insignificance. Nose
small, normal, almost perky. Lips thin, moist, stretched out into an
unnatural smile showing shiny metal covered teeth. Lanky body with too
large hands and feet covered with black high-tops. Blue jeans tapered so
much his tiny ass looking strangely appealing. A long-sleeved white dress
shirt too big for his body. He definitely wasn't Stevie Carlson and I swore
I'd never speak to him for moving into my dead best friend's house.

When his big breasted, older sister came out of their rusty '59 Chevrolet
station wagon, I ran up to my bedroom to see if the birds ended up in
Stevie's bedroom. It was directly across the adjoining driveways from my
room. I didn't want the boy in that room, but I sort of did, too. I
definitely didn't want his sister in there. I waited for nearly an hour
before the light came on and a woman who must have been his mother looked
around. The light went out, I heard their car start, and they left.

Three days later I was out in our backyard shooting hoops when I became
aware of a shadow on the driveway. It was long and didn't move once coming
to a stop. I took a rebound and turned. Up close he was maybe an inch
shorter than me, maybe the same height because he slouched. A nervous smile
made his lips quiver slightly.

"Hi, my name's Kiel," he said. He was wearing the same black
high-tops. They were Converses, but they looked too big for his feet and
they were too new, too clean. All of his clothes looked too clean. What
kind of kid wears a white shirt out to play in?

"Geoff," I said, quickly tossing the ball to him, purposefully intending to
knock him down. Not only did Kiel look like he instinctively brought his
hands up to catch the ball, he dribbled in and made the most perfect layup
I've ever seen.

The ball was sailing back to me before I knew it and I flubbed the
catch. My right thumb took the brunt of the impact. The pain was instant
and distinct, bringing tears to my eyes.

"Hey, sorry," Kiel said, running over to me as I turned away so he couldn't
see me crying.

"Damn, damn, damn," was all I could say as the pain climbed up my arm.

"Come on, you need to ice that," Kiel said, pulling my other arm,
practically dragging me to my back door.

"What's wrong, honey," my mother said as Kiel pulled me through the
door. She was ironing my sheets. She ironed everything, including my
underwear.

"He jammed his thumb when I tossed him the basketball," Kiel said. "I'm
Kiel Elkins from next door. I think he needs some ice on that."

"Put your thumb under the tap," my mother said, turning on the cold water
in the laundry basin. "Kiel? Would you like some chocolate chip cookies?
They're fresh."

"Okay," Kiel said, following my mother into the kitchen, leaving me in the
laundry room.

I couldn't quite hear what they were saying probably because of the running
water. My thumb hurt, but the cold water was starting to numb it a bit. I
couldn't believe Kiel caught me off guard with that pass. He was definitely
better at basketball than I was, but that wasn't any reason for me to like
him. After all, Stevie Carlson was better at basketball than I was. Heck,
nearly everybody in the world was better at basketball than I was. It
seemed the more I practiced, the worse I got.

"Cookie?" Kiel said, holding one up to my lips. He was smiling, the steel
in his mouth sparkling. He was so close I could smell the tartly sweet
scent of his perspiration.

"I can feed myself," I said reaching up with my good hand to get the cookie
away from my mouth. He let go an instant before I could grab it.

"Uh, huh, sure you can. You don't play football do you? I'd hate to throw
you a pass."

I looked down at the cookie on the floor. Then watched him squat down to
get it and come back up. He practically pushed it into my mouth. His
movements seemed to flow like water. It was as if he'd rehearsed this very
thing and was playing out all the movements to an invisible audience. I
wasn't certain I liked him. I wasn't certain I hated him as much as I
thought I was going to, but I wasn't certain I could like him. He seemed
too sure of himself. He definitely wasn't as uncoordinated as I was. That
was not a plus in his favor.

"I called Doctor Connor, he'll meet us at his office," my mother said,
walking into the laundry room. "Here put your thumb in this bag of
ice. Kiel can you watch Sally while we're gone? She's up in her bedroom
playing."

"Sure, I'd be glad to."

"You're going to leave Sally with a stranger?" I asked as Mother pulled my
good arm. The screen door slapped shut when I couldn't catch it with my bad
hand.

"Kiel's not a stranger. I know his mother from work."

"You know those people next door?"

"Of course, silly. How do you think they found out about the house?"

"But, you didn't say anything to me."

"Why should I?"

"But, Stevie was my best friend."

"I know, honey, but it's time to move on. That's what Doctor Morgan told
you. Don't you remember him telling you that?"

"Yes." Of course I remembered everything I was told by the fat psychologist
with a bald head my parents hired to get me through the grief over Stevie's
death. Only, I don't think he got me far enough because I was still crying
myself to sleep most nights. I wasn't as loud as I was in the beginning,
but I was still doing it. And, I found out where my dad hid the key to his
gun locker. I figured the .38 caliber revolver would do the trick when the
time came. I'd already secreted a couple bullets out and had them hidden in
the bottom drawer of my dresser.

---------

Kiel was reading a story to Sally when we returned. My hand was wrapped up,
but nothing was broken. I could have told my mother that, but early in life
I learned never to tell my mother anything when she was on a mission of
mercy.

"Mommy? Can Kiel come over and read to me again?" Sally asked when she
noticed us walk into the family room. For a mistake, my five year old
sister was about as obnoxious as a chirpy canary. I was supposed to be the
last mistake coming along four years after my sister, but somebody didn't
learn their lesson and nearly ten years later Sally showed up. Now, my
brother Karl was in Southeast Asia helping the keep the Commies from
knocking down all of the dominoes all the way to Australia and my sister
Trudy was down in Oregon, a freshman at Springfield Poly.

"Were you a nice little girl?"

"She was a snap to watch Mrs. Johnson, no problem at all," Kiel said,
closing the book and handing it to Sally. He came up out of the sofa into a
standing position seemingly by simply straightening his legs. I'd never
seen anyone do that before. He was so skinny, I couldn't see how he had
enough muscles to do anything.

"Here, take this," my mother said, holding out a five dollar bill.

"No, that's all right, she wasn't any trouble and you needed me to be
here," Kiel said, walking toward the door. "My mother wouldn't want me to
take money in such a circumstance. I'll see you around, Geoff. Sorry about
the thumb."

"Yeah, sure," I mumbled watching the front door close.

"What a strange boy," my mother said. "You were paying attention? Right?"

"Yeah, I suppose, to what?"

"The way he wouldn't take my money, silly."

"Yeah, I suppose. Was that good?"

"Yes! That's what you're supposed to do. You don't take money when people
need you in an emergency."

"I would."

"You'd better not."

"Why?"

"Because it isn't nice. Don't you pay attention to anything Pastor Fischer
says? I think you'd better go up to your room and read your Bible."

"Okay," I mumbled walking toward the stairs. We're not as religious as
mother makes us out to be, but you never know when she'll turn something
into a Christian lesson. Here I am suffering from a jammed thumb and in
trouble for thinking Kiel should have taken the five dollars. Heck, I take
any money that comes along. If it's offered, I take it. Why worry about
trying to be a good Christian?

Kiel was in his bedroom when I walked into mine. He waved. I waved back. He
shut his curtains. I sat down on my bed and heard the phone ring.

"It's for you Geoff," my mother called out. "It's Kiel."

I almost ran out of my room, then wondered why. I still wasn't too certain
I liked him. He was obviously nice, but he seemed too sure of
himself. Heck, I could trip over my two left feet on smooth carpet. Maybe
I'd be better if I had expensive shoes, too, but I didn't, so I wasn't. So
I slowed to a walk.

"Hurry up, silly."

"I'm coming," I said looking out while I came down the stairs. I always
worried about stumbling on the stairs. I'd always heard people died if they
fell down stairs. At least they all died in the movies.

"Yeah?" I said after taking the phone from my mother.

"Hey, Geoff, are you well enough to go down to drug store with me?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"My Dad needs me to pick up his prescription and Mom isn't back from my
Aunt Leona's."

"I'll be over with my bike."

"Uh, I don't have a bike. I never learned how to ride one."

"You don't know how to ride a bike?"

"No."

"I guess we'll have to walk."

"That's what I do best."

"I'll be over in a sec'."

Well, I'll be, Mr. So-Sure-Of-Himself doesn't know how to ride a
bicycle. Everybody knows how to ride a bike. Heck, even Sally knows how to
ride a bike. Maybe Mr. Perfect isn't so perfect after all.

---------

It was nearly a mile and half down to Oak Park Drugs and down is the key
word. It was all downhill and uphill the way back. Going you could walk
straight down One Hundred Thirteenth for six blocks which were so steep it
seemed to be nearly vertical. Definitely not for the faint of heart on a
bicycle, especially the stop sign at Oak Park Boulevard at the bottom. Four
lanes of constantly busy traffic were a certain test of brakes. Coming
back, I usually went down to One Hundred Second because the slope was
easier. It added another half mile to the trip, but you weren't so tired at
the end. No use getting bushed just for an errand.

Kiel was waiting for me out front, but I went out our back door anyway. The
front door was for company and I never used it. He had that quivering shy
smile I'd seen earlier.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"We have to go to Greenwood Drugs because Dad hasn't moved his
prescriptions to Oak Park, yet."

"Okay," I said, mentally picturing the two or three mile walk ahead of us,
not counting the trip back.

"I hope you don't mind, with your sore hand and all."

"No, I don't walk on my hands."

"I can."

"But, you can't ride a bike. Why didn't your dad teach you?"

"You've never met my dad."

"No, I've never seen him. I saw you, your sister, and your mother the day
you brought out your birds, but I didn't see your dad."

"He's in a wheelchair. He's paralyzed. A car hit him when he was riding a
bike. He was ten."

"I'm sorry."

"That's all right. You'll like him. He saw you shooting hoops this morning
and sent me over to give you a few pointers."

"I'm not that bad."

"Do you play any other sports?"

"I golf."

"That's a sport?"

"It's on TV."

"Demolition derby is on TV, too, and that's not a sport."

"It's on Wide World of Sports. I watched it last Saturday."

"Oh, yeah, I did, too. My dad likes watching that."

"Your dad sounds cool for a, uh ^Å"

"Crip?"

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Yeah, you were. Everybody says that."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, no problem, like I said, everybody says that."

"I don't want you to think I'm like everybody."

"Tell me about Stevie Carlson."

"He was my best friend, he's dead."

"I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah, my mom told me you two were close."

"Stevie was special," and I told Kiel everything I remembered about
Stevie. Well, almost everything. I left out he was a great kisser and we'd
been all the way a couple times. I figured Kiel didn't need to know I might
be gay, not right now anyway. He definitely didn't need to know Stevie
liked doing it with guys. No use ruining a dead friend's reputation when he
can't defend himself.