Date: Wed, 1 Dec 2004 08:38:37 -0500
From: EleCivil <elecivil@gmail.com>
Subject: Leaves and Lunatics - Chapter 7

Intro/Disclaimer:

You know the rules.  Don't read if you're underage.  Don't blame me, Nifty,
or anyone else if you get caught doing something you shouldn't.  Don't
steal the story.  All places, characters, and events are fictional.

Send any feedback to EleCivil@gmail.com

All chapters are first released on www.awesomedude.com

-------------------------------
Leaves and Lunatics by EleCivil
Chapter 7
-------------------------------

He drove with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses flashing with each turn of
his head.  It was over ninety degrees outside, and his half-broken down '86
Cadillac didn't have air conditioning, so he had all the windows down
("Four-Fifty A.C. - Four windows at fifty miles per hour.") and the stereo
cranked up so he could still hear it over the roar of the wind resistance.
He knew that he wouldn't be nearly as hot if he would just take off his
black leather bomber jacket, but he couldn't help it - he was finally out
of there, damn it, and he was going to look as cool as possible.  Besides,
he still felt strange about having his forearms exposed.

He checked the map once again, taking his eyes off of the road and steering
with his knees - a bad habit he had picked up a long time ago.  He knew
exactly how stupid it was, but that was the kind of habit you couldn't
break until something made you break it.  God knows he was familiar enough
with those kinds of habits.  There it was, highlighted in red - the road to
Gordon, OH.  With luck, he'd be there by five, and without using the
turnpike, too.  He had always prided himself on avoiding the turnpike.  Pay
just for the privilege of burning his gas on their roads?  No thanks.  The
interstate was good enough for him.

Laughing, he tossed the map into the passenger seat.  Nothing had really
caught him as being funny, he was just in a good mood.  The first one of
those he had had in a while.  Well, the first naturally produced one, that
is.  He rested one hand against the open window frame, grinning widely and
even taking the time to wave to the occasional other driver.

"Oh yeah!  Love this song."  He cranked the volume knob on his stereo to
near ridiculous levels, then noticed the nearby drivers giving him dirty
looks.  He kept the volume high, but turned the bass down as low as he
could get it, which seemed to make them happy.  "Nothing you can do, but
you can learn how to be you in time...it's easy!"

-----------------------------

Cam was the last to show up at Andrew's house, holding a bag full of
sweatshirts and a winter coat.  Nathan, Jerry, and Jill were already there,
holding simular bags.  Andrew, who had been sitting on his front steps,
jumped to his feet when Cam arrived.

"Going to tell us what we're doing now?"  Jill asked.

"Yep.  And remember - this is either the most brilliant idea I have ever
had, or...well, it could be the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
Well, probably not as bad as the Holocost, really, or that woman who tried
to return her murder weapon to Wal-Mart, but-"

"Just tell us already.  What's this brilliant and/or stupid idea, and how
does it involve sweatshirts?"

"All right, gather around, ladies and gentlemen, and listen.  Today is,
quite possibly, the hottest day of the year.  As you may or may not know,
I've been waiting all Summer for it, and I figure this is as close as we'll
get.  What is it, ninety-six out here?"

"I heard ninety-eight."  Jerry said.

"Right.  Well, the specifics don't matter."  Andrew grinned, his plan
finally coming to fruition.  "Here's the deal.  I've been out of my house
all day.  That is to say, I woke up, saw how hot it was, got all my
sweatshirts and winter coats out, and came out here.  But not before
calling you guys and turning on the heater."

"I...I think I see where this is going."  Jill interjected.

"Right, but listen closely.  You all brought a dollar, right?"  They
nodded.  "Here's the deal.  We all throw a dollar into the pot.  We go
inside, where it's ridiculously hot, and we start putting on sweatshirts
and coats.  Last man - or woman - standing wins the money.  Get it?"

"So...we're going to sit around in your living room and steam ourselves to
death?"  Cam asked, more to clarify than to disagree with the idea.

"Yep.  You can quit at any time, strip off, get some cold water and go
outside where there's at least a breeze, but then you're not allowed back
in until the contest is over.  You in?"

"Why not?  I could use five bucks."  Cam replied.  The others voiced
simular opinions.

"All right.  If this works out, I hope to make it an annual event.  Twenty
or more people would make it a pretty high-stakes game."  He opened up his
door, and the heat was nearly visible.  It lashed out at them on the steps,
nearly taking the breath from more than one.  "No turning back now.  As
soon as we're in, the Hot Guy Contest begins."

"That's what you're calling it?"  Jill asked.

"Sure.  Aw jeez, you're not going to make me be all politically correct
about it and change it to Hot Person Contest, are you?  That just doesn't
have the same ring to it."

"No, it's not that, it's just...you might send the wrong message with a
name like that."

Andrew shrugged and led them inside.  He picked up a sweatshirt from the
pile he had amassed in the middle of the living room and pulled it on over
his t-shirt.  The others did the same, drawing from their own bags.

"Round one.  Round two comes in...fifteen minutes.  So, what should we do
while we wait for it?"  He asked.

"Got cards?"  Jerry asked.

"Oh yeah."  He pulled a deck and a container of poker chips from a shelf.

They played for a while, the game taking their minds off of the fact that
they were sweating like crazy.  By round four, the cards were getting too
slippery to hold.

"Ugh.  Smells like a men's locker room in here."  Jill commented.

"What do you know about men's locker rooms?"  Andrew asked.

"I had a class next to the locker room last year.  I've walked past the
door enough times to know the smell, and this is it.  Hope you've got some
air freshener or something, or your parents will think you were having some
kind of...well, some kind of Hot Guy Contest in here."

"Don't worry, I've been planning this for a while.  Speaking of
which...round five?"

They were barely able to get the fifth layer of sweatshirts on.  It was
getting to the point where it was hard to move their arms.

"You know, no one's dropped out yet.  Maybe we should up the level of
competition a bit."  Nathan suggested.

"Since when are you the competitive type, Clint?"  Andrew asked.

"Hey, when there's money involved..."

"Good point.  Don't fear, good sir, for I've got us covered.  I planned for
drawn-out stuff like this.  Time to break out the big guns."  He stood up,
spinning his arms a bit to catch his ballance in the top-heavy torture suit
he had on, and moved into the kitchen.  When he came back out, he was
holding a tray with five coffee mugs in one hand, and in the other, a full
pot of hot water.  He distributed the mugs and placed the pot in the middle
of the table they were currently seated around.  "We'll go shot-for-shot
with hot water.  I'd use coffee, but that takes too long to make."

He filled his own mug with water and passed the pot to Jill, who was
sitting next to him.  She repeated the action and passed it to Cam, who in
turn passed it to Nathan and then to Jerry.

"All right guys, drink it all at once.  And no blowing on it, either."  He
lifted the cup to his lips and threw his head back, trying to down it as
quick as possible so he didn't have to taste it.  Hot, unflavored water was
absolutely horrible, especially when you drank a lot of it.  He grinned
when he saw that Jerry and Cam were sipping theirs slowly.  They wouldn't
stand a chance if they kept that up.

They did this until the pot was empty.  Cam was currently thanking the God
of masochistic heat-related contests (who never gets much attention as it
is) that that particular event was done with.  He looked over at Nathan,
who gave him a sympathetic look and a pat on the back.

Jerry, on the other hand, wasn't doing as well.  He stood up, practically
swooning from a combination of the heat, the added weight of five
sweat-soaked sweatshirts, and the water.

"Ugh...I think I'm out."  He took in a deep breath of the hot, sticky air.
"Yeah, definitely out."  He slapped his dollar on the table, ripped off his
shirts, and stumbled outside to collapse on the grass.

"One down, three to go."  Andrew said, standing.  "All right, next round.
Winter coats."

"This...is such a horrible idea."  Cam said, not wanting to stand just yet,
but pulling himself up and over to his bag.

"Definitely a horrible idea."  Jill agreed.  "But it'll make a great story
afterwards."

"Hey, I've got an idea."  Nathan said, struggling to zip up his coat around
the added size of the sweatshirts, but failing.  "Got any peppers, Andrew?"

Andrew's eyes lit up.  "I like the way you think."

Jill and Cam groaned in unison as he walked to the kitchen and returned
with a glass jar of peppers.  These weren't the ridiculously hot kind, but
they were enough to make you want to knock back a glass of milk after
eating one.  He popped open the jar and distributed one to each remaining
contestants.

"Are we allowed to drink anything after this?"  Cam asked, hopefully.

"Just hot water."  Andrew and Nathan both replied.

"Ugh.  I'm out, then."  There was no way he was going to go any further.
The water was already making his stomach flop around, and a pepper would
probably shoot the delicate ballance he was trying to maintain all to hell.
He pulled a dollar from his wallet and dropped it on top of Jerry's before
ripping off his extra shirts and practically falling through the door.

"You know," Jill said, watching Cam and Jerry through the window, "This
seemed a lot less stupid when five people were doing it instead of three.
Maybe it has something to do with peer pressure or mob rule or something."

"Are you saying you're out?"  Andrew asked.

"...No."  She attempted to stare him down, gripping the pepper between two
fingers and locking eyes with him.  "I want to win this thing, just so that
you have to admit that a girl won your Hot Guy Contest."

"We'll see.  Peppers on three.  Ready?  One.  Two.  Three."  He tossed it
into his mouth, ground it once with his back teeth, and swallowed it, not
letting any of the seeds or juice hit his tongue.

Nathan did the same, but it looked like Jill was taking a bit longer to
chew hers.

"That's a mistake."  Andrew muttered.  Nathan nodded to him.

"Oh...damn."  That was all she got out before ripping a dollar from her
pocket, throwing it at the table, and running to pour a glass of milk,
which she took outside with her, leaving a trail of sweatshirts behind.

"All right, cowboy.  You and me.  For the title of hottest guy in Gordon.
Last round.  Hats and gloves."

Nathan nodded, pulling on a pair of gloves and a wool hat.  Andrew did the
same, making it look suspiciously like winter inside his house.  Outside,
the others had gathered at the window, watching it go down.

"You know the worst part of this?"  Cam asked.

"Hm?"

"We'll never be able to get these shirts to smell halfway decent again."

"Very true."  Jill replied.  "Hey, look.  They're about to do something."

Back inside, Nathan and Andrew were facing each other, arms stretched
skyward.

"Three.  Two.  One.  Now!"

At Andrew's signal, they both began doing jumping jacks.  Rather, almost
doing jumping jacks.  The real thing was quite impossible, since neither of
them could completely bend their arms.  Still, it was getting the job done.
Sweat was practically pouring down their faces, even more powerfully than
before.

"Who do you think is gonna win?"  Jerry asked.

"Can't tell."  Jill replied, before taking another deep gulp of milk.  She
was still feeling the effects of that pepper...and the hot water, for that
matter.  "Based on what I'm feeling, it looks like this'll end as soon as
one of them throws up."

"Actually, the rules don't say you can't puke."  Cam pointed out.  "So long
as the sick one stays in there, they're still in the game."

"You...almost...done?"  Andrew huffed.

"Not...by...a...long...shot."  Nathan replied.

"You...sure?"

"I'll...keep...this...up...all...SONUVA-" His eyes widened and he fell
forward, taking Andrew down with him into the pile of shirts on the ground.

"You notice how they look like a pile of Goodwill donations?"  Jill asked.

"I knew they looked familiar."  Jerry said.  "Just couldn't place it."

Andrew, currently being crushed under Nathan, wasn't too comfortable.  Not
only was he ridiculously hot, but being underneath another ridiculously hot
guy wasn't making things any better.  Not to mention that he was rather
uncomfortable with the fact that he just thought of Clint as a ridiculously
hot guy.

"But only in the temperature sense, damn it."  He mumbled.

"Huh?"

"I said get the hell off before I have a heat stroke."

"I don't know...seems to me like I've got the upper hand.  I'll get up when
you surrender."

"Aw, come on.  Hot Guy Contest isn't a contact sport."

"I don't remember hearing that rule."

"All right, Clint.  You want to play it that way, we will."  Andrew started
squirming, trying to get out from Nathan's strategic hold.  If his mobility
hadn't been impaired by the large number of layers of clothing, he probably
could have broken the hold easily, but this took him a few minutes.  Not
quite willing to stand up and let the contest go on as it had been, he
flipped himself on top of Nathan and pinned him down with both arms.  Now
it was his turn to try to squirm his way out.

"Dude, I'm starting to get jealous."  Cam said.

"Know what you mean."  Jill mumbled.

"Huh?"  Cam spun around to face her.

"Nothing."

He shrugged and turned back to the window.  The struggle inside had turned
into a full-on shirt-hindered wrestling match.  Because of their position
in the pile of shirts, it was hard to tell who was winning.  It just looked
like a pile of clothes rolling around on the floor.  Finally, they could
see someone's head pop up on top.

"I...give..."  Andrew breathed, pinned to the floor.

"What's that?"

"I said I give up!  Just let me up already."

Nathan stood, wobbled a bit from dizziness and top-heaviness, and fell
backwards.  Still, he didn't land on Andrew this time, so he was able to
make his way to the table and slap his dollar on to the stack before
peeling off his extra layers and swaggering outside.

"Whoa.  Beaten at your own game, Andrew?"  Jill asked.

"A little worse than just beaten.  That was an example of straight-up
ass-kickery."

Nathan had found his way outside now, sans sweatshirts.  He fell to his
knees at the first strong breeze and spread his arms, feeling the cool wind
racing across his skin (which was currently alternating between pale and
bright red).

"Oh man, that was the worst idea ever."  He said.

"You up for doing it again next year?"  Andrew asked, sucking in the
significantly cooler outside air.

"You kidding?  I won, didn't I?  Now I've got a title to defend."

"Cool, cool.  Right now, though, I've got to get to work on getting the
house back to a somewhat reasonable condition before the parents get home,
so I'll see you guys later.  You guys want to grab your stuff first?"

They did so, picking up the carpet of discarded clothing and managing to
sort it out.  After the time it took to sort everything out inside the
still ridiculously hot house, they were all in agreement that for now they
would all head home, crank up the air conditioning, and pass out.

---------------------------

The first thing they noticed was the car in their driveway.  Neither of
them recognized it, but as they walked by, Nathan's eye caught on the
jacket that was slung over the passenger seat.  His breath caught in his
throat for a second, but he forced his lungs to sort themselves out.  Jerry
didn't seem to notice.  That didn't matter - he'd know soon enough.

He stopped for a second, staring at the door.  He decided that he should
probably get everything worked out in his head before he went in.  Keep
everything cool, maintain.  Now, exactly how should he feel, and how did
that compare to how he did feel?

Jerry pulled the door open and stepped inside.  A wave of muffled
conversation and white noise splashed past him and hit Nathan dead-on.  No,
he thought, I'm not ready yet.  Give me a few more minutes.  I don't know
how I'm supposed to react.  Don't know what I'm supposed to say.

Unfortunately for him, time has a habit of not slowing down, even when you
really hope that it would.  Jerry, still oblivious, stepped inside and let
the door hang for a few seconds before the spring-loaded hinges snapped it
shut again, cutting Nathan's connection to that world of wallpaper and
carpet.

He stood there for what felt like forever, his eyes cast down to his feet,
his thoughts so intense that he didn't hear the door open.  It was only
when he heard his name called that he looked up to see him standing there,
wearing jeans and a white "Hard Rock Cafe" t-shirt, his blond hair blowing
in the wind.  His father.

No matter how prepared he thought he had been, the sight sent him rocketing
back to mental oblivion.  It took him a few minutes to try to work the
tears out of his voice, but it still cracked when he whispered, "Where did
you go?"

"Let's go inside.  This...might take a while."  They went inside.  Nathan's
dad, Tim Hensley, asked if they could talk somewhere private, so they went
to Nathan's room.  Julie Hensley, Nathan's aunt and Tim's sister, was
keeping Jerry busy downstairs.

"All right.  I suppose you'll need to hear this from the beginning, as much
as I hate to tell it."  Tim said, both of them sitting down on the edge of
Nathan's bed.  "It started just before your mother died."

Nathan flinched at this.  He was used to the concept of his mother being
dead, hell, he had been well used to it even while she was still alive.
The therapist from the hospital had done that for him.  To him.  Whichever
it was, he wasn't too happy with it.  It made him feel like she was already
gone, when she was still holding out.  He hated that therapist for making
him feel that way.  The point was, he was well used to the concept, but
still wasn't quite used to hearing it.

"Sorry.  I've spent the past few months getting...well, not getting over
it, but getting used to it.  I guess once I got used to the idea, I just
kind of subconsciously assumed that you would be, too."  Tim continued.
"Anyway, the time while she was still alive, but in that hospital...you
know how different I started acting.  I started not showing up until late
at night, getting to work late, forgetting to do things.  I'm sure you
noticed."

Nathan nodded.  Oh, he had definitely noticed.

"Well, I had been hanging around in bars.  All the time.  Every night,
getting pounded out of my mind.  Thank god someone always took my keys, or
I may have killed somebody."

'Killed somebody'.  Not 'killed myself'.  Nathan picked up on that right
away, but didn't say anything.

"Anyway, I was in terrible shape.  I knew I had to shape up, that I
couldn't keep going like that, but then...that's when she died."  He took a
deep breath and cleared his throat before continuing.  "That made me even
more depressed.  And angry.  Extremely angry.  I stopped being the mopey,
head-on-the-bar drunk and started being the raging, chair-throwing,
stranger-punching kind of drunk.  Of course, the bar owners didn't like
that very much, and pretty soon I was blacklisted at every place in town.
It still wasn't enough to get me to stop, though.  I started buying from
liqueur stores, then practically drowning myself in the back alleys."

Nathan's eyes widened at this.  Getting drunk in the alleys of Chicago at
night?  Everyone knew that was dangerous.

"So that's when I started meeting the wrong kind of people.  You know, the
kind that hang out in the back alleys after midnight.  They saw me, saw
what I was.  They saw my nice clothes, my suits from the office, so they
knew I had money, but most of all, they saw how hopelessly messed up I was.
It wasn't hard to get me hooked on something.  Especially not something as
strong as this."  He bit his lip.  Hard.  He was obviously straining to get
this out.  "Do you know what heroin is, Nathan?"

His mouth went dry.  Of course he knew what heroin was.  Well, not
technically, really, but he knew the reputation well enough.  A
needle-drug.  The worst kind of drug there was.  His mind flashed back to
the halls of his old school, some of the other guys rolling up their
sleeves and tapping the insides of their elbows, laughing.  All he could do
was nod.

"Well...they introduced me to it.  I can't explain it to you, but it was
horrible.  It had me so tightly...I just couldn't think about anything
else.  I started not going to work at all, just leaching out of my bank
account, out of your mother's life insurance.  That last day...that's when
I hit rock bottom.  That's what they call it, 'hitting rock bottom'.  I
woke up somewhere.  It was the worst feeling in the world, waking up
somewhere and not knowing how you got there or how long it's been.  I
thought of you.  I thought about what it would do to you if I had blacked
out like that at home.  If you found my lying on the bathroom floor with a
needle in my arm."

Nathan shuddered, the image strong in his mind.  Stupid vivid imagination.

"I got up, found the closest pay phone, and called the police.  Told them
what I'd done.  Told them that I wanted to stop, and that I had to do it
right then or else I'd lose my nerve and go do it again."  He said.  "I got
down there and talked to them for a while.  We worked it all out, that I'd
go to rehab for as long as it took.  I called Aunt Julie and worked it out
with her, so that she would take care if you while I was gone."

"But...they never told me...all they said was that you had to go.  They
never told me."  Nathan was sitting rigidly, barely able to move.
Everything was hitting him, and hard.

"That was my fault.  I made them agree not to tell you what I had done.
God, Nathan, I was so ashamed.  I let you down.  I couldn't face you, not
until I was clean again.  Not until I could tell you that I was better,
that I'd never let you down like that again."  His voice was scratchy,
gravely.

"You...you're better now, then?"

"Yes.  God, yes.  It was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I knew I had
to do it.  I made the police swear to me that they wouldn't let me see you
again until I was clean.  I don't think they would have anyway, but I made
them say it.  I didn't want you to see me like that ever again, but I knew
that I couldn't live without seeing you, so...I guess that helped me.
Every time I felt like I couldn't do it - and believe me, that was most of
the time - I just told myself 'I have to do this so I can see my son
again'."

Nathan was crying now.  Not big, dramatic sobs or giant streams of tears
that divided his face, but just small streams from the corners of his eyes,
making him blink a little more than usual.

"That's the whole story, I guess.  I know I can't ask you to forgive me for
what I did.  All I can ask is that you please try to understand."

"I understand."  He whispered.  His heart was pounding.  "I know what it's
like to be ashamed of what you are."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..."  His mind was racing.  Should I say it?  Should I just say it
now, get all the self-disclosure out of the way for both sides?  Yeah.  Do
it now.  Do it, quick, before you lose your guts, damn it.  Say it!

But what if he doesn't...what if he can't handle it?  What if it pushes him
back to drinking or drugs because he can't deal with it?  What if I tell
him and he goes crazy and...

"Nothing.  I mean, I forgive you."

"I know that ever since the funeral, you didn't want anyone to-"

Nathan turned and hugged him.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're over that."  His dad said, hugging back.  When they
pulled apart, he looked at his son.  "You know, with your hair dyed like
that, you look just like your mom."

This made him jump.  No, he didn't know that.  Was that why he had done it?
He didn't think so, but it could have been one of those unconscious
decisions...

"We always used to say that the only things you inherited from me were your
hair and your attitude.  But with your hair dark-"

"I'm letting it come back in.  Not dying it again, I mean."

"You don't have to do that for my sake."

"I know, but I'm still going to."

"God, I missed you so much."

----------------------------------

They stayed up late talking, finally getting to sleep after one.  Tim
crashed on the couch, while Nathan slept in his room.  It was without a
doubt one of the most emotionally draining days of his life.  When he got
up that morning, he was expecting things to still be a bit hectic, but on
the downswing from the previous day, at least.

That expectation, however, jumped the tracks, flipped over, and skidded
across the metal surface leaving a trail of sparks and corpses.  Figurative
corpses, that is.  After all, expectations don't have tracks.

He stepped easily into the kitchen, where his Dad and Aunt Julie were
already knocking back a few cups of hot water and caffeine.  He stayed
quiet for a while, letting them talk between themselves.  After all, he
never was much of a morning person, and his mouth seemed to work a few
seconds faster than his brain for a few minutes after waking.

"So, have you decided when the two of you are going back?"

It took a few seconds for his Aunt's words to punctuate the early-morning
haze and hit the awake part of his brain.  He quietly excused himself and
went back upstairs.

Of course.  This was temporary.  He knew that.  Had known it, at least.  He
had definitely known it well enough to not make any attempts to make the
room he was now sitting in feel like anything more than a guest room.  So
why the hell did he root himself so deeply into the place?  How could he
have let himself get so...so invested in other people?  He had to go back
to Chicago now.  Back home with his Dad, back to normal life.  Back to
being a nobody.

Back to living without Cam.

No, no, he had to do something.  But what could he do?  A minor has to go
wherever the parents tell him to go, and that's that.

Fuck.

---------------------------------