Date: Sat, 14 Dec 2002 14:22:58 -0800 (PST)
From: Ehman Penn <ehman_penn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Matthew Figures It Out - Part 10

This is the continuation of the first story I've ever
written. The feedback has been great and has given me the
confidence to pursue a different story line than I had
originally planned. Please continue sending your honest
feedback to ehman_penn@yahoo.com

This story is 100% fiction and about 15% true. Don't read it
if there's any chance that doing so might send you or the
author to jail. This story is also copyrighted by the author
and cannot be altered or reproduced without his consent.

*****************************

Matthew Figures It Out - Part 10


... I pulled the blanket over us and then I melted into the
boy I loved. Holding him like this was a deeper intimacy
than I could have possibly hoped for. I had never felt so
warm inside. I don't think he had ever been so loved. He was
safe and secure within my arms. My restless nights came to
an end, though I wish they could have lasted for just one
more night. I didn't want to lose consciousness. I didn't
want to miss a second of this experience. The warmth of love
and acceptance made for a powerful sedative that I could
finally no longer resist.....

My body was tired and was now in full sleep, but my mind and
subconscious were not so quick to turn in for the night. As
was often the case for me, my mind drifted off to a world of
dreams. We were back in the old shack again, locked in
embrace. The dream had freed my frozen tongue and I was
speaking softly into his ear, telling him how much I loved
him.

A smoldering ember from the earlier fear had crept its way
into my slumber. Suddenly Chris was gone and it was dark in
the old shack. I called out for him but he wasn't there. One
moment, he was in my arms and the next moment, he had
vanished. I stumbled out into the darkness. I suddenly felt
very, very alone and the trees seemed to move into my path,
grabbing at me as I tried to make my way toward a light off
in the distance.

The distant light glowed, illuminating my way as I neared
escape from the swaying trees. I lunged through the last
defense of timber and fell forward, sprawling onto the open
ground on the other side. Now I could see the source of the
glowing light. Chris's house was engulfed in flames.
Faceless neighbors stood on the perimeter of the property,
motionless, watching the fire. I heard a familiar voice
calling out for my help from within the inferno.

I tried to struggle to my feet, but I could not gain my
balance and my movement slowed to a heavy crawl along the
earth. I tried to scream out for him, but my voice and lungs
betrayed me. Finally, I mustered a faint yell. I looked to
each side; the faceless observers positioned evenly among
the trees, now turned as if on command and walked slowly
away from the fire. The heat of the flames was now melting
the sweat from my face, but still I shook from an
unexplainable coldness. I was shaking badly now, screaming
his name faintly.....

"Matt!" "Matt, wake up! Wake up!"

My eyes opened. The bright orange flames had instantly been
replaced by a soft white light reflecting in through the
basement window, courtesy of a full moon. I was covered in a
cold sweat. Chris was still shaking me, more gently now as I
roused from my nightmare.

"Matt, it's OK. It was just a dream. It's OK." Chris was
wiping my damp hair back from my forehead as he reassured
me.

The sudden wake had disoriented me and I wondered if I had
simply drifted from nightmare straight to fantasy. I lay
propped against the back of the old couch and Chris was
raised on his right elbow only inches separating us as he
continued to stroke my head. The heat of the flames had been
replaced by the softer warmth radiating from his body.

The relief of seeing him, whether fantasy or reality, was
overwhelming to me. I leaned my head into him and took his
lips into a tight embrace with my own, holding him there
long enough to convince myself he was in fact real. A burst
of my tears, and much needed breath, broke our kiss and my
forehead fell down to rest on his shoulder. So many times, I
had wanted to rest my weary head there.

The moment I had first admitted to myself that I loved him
came racing back to my memory. That day, I was unable to
speak the words that were somehow trapped in my heart. The
fear of losing him was so fresh from the nightmare. It was
time to speak the words clearly and with their full meaning.
I lifted my head and looked him square in the eyes.

"I love you, Chris. More than anything in this world, I love
you."

Release of the words brought a new release of my tears.
Emotionally, I had exposed myself fully. The words had been
spoken and there was no turning back. Technically, `I love
you' might be a statement, but it may as well be a question,
because it begs for a response. The few seconds immediately
after such a declaration can be terribly lonely.

"I know Matt. I never doubted it for a second." Chris softly
placed a hand to the side of my face and held me in his
eyes. "Plus, you've been saying it all night."  Sleep-
talking was such a curse.

I saw a bright, proud smile flash across his face.

"And Matt, it sounded just as good the last time as it did
the first." His thumb brushed across my lips before he moved
in for a more affirming declaration of his own, kissing me
more deeply than he had ever before, then pulling back
again.

"I told you once that I didn't know what I would do without
you. I meant it, Matt." He paused before continuing. "There
have been times....."

His voice cracked and even in the faint light I could see
his face tighten as he tried to keep his composure.

I missed the feel of his lips already and I smothered his
with the warmth of my own, passing what strength I had left
onto him. I squeezed him a little too tightly and I heard
him take a sharp breath.

"Chris, I'm sorry. Are you OK?" I rose up again and away
from him, making sure I wasn't putting pressure on any of
his wounds.

"I'm OK, just really sore. You didn't hurt me, Matt."

But somebody did. I wanted to ask him why, but the terrified
look in his eyes earlier had told me he didn't want to speak
it out loud. It wasn't as if there was some logical or
reasonable explanation to be offered. This was beyond
explanation and beyond understanding. It was just wrong and
could have no justification. I was so worried about him.

"Chris, promise me something. Promise me that you'll just
leave next time. Call me, we'll come and get you. I don't
want you to get hurt. I can't even stand the thought of him
hurting you."

I didn't know if he would respond, but I had to tell him.

"I can take it, Matt." He said it with absolute confidence,
and acceptance. I couldn't accept it so easily.

"You don't have to take it. It's not right, Chris! It's not
even legal! He can't beat you like that and get away with
it!"

"No, Matt. I know what you're thinking." He was shaking his
head at me like I just didn't understand. "It's better that
he take it out on me. He's gonna take it out on somebody."

Chris was locked in a house of horrors and I didn't know how
to win his release. The helplessness must have shown heavily
on my face. He reached out and pulled me back down against
him, wrapping his right arm around me and nestling me easily
into his side. I found a comfortable notch that allowed me
to place my weight on my left shoulder and I softly rested
my head on his chest with my right arm draped over him. The
conversation had come full circle and once again all I could
do was offer him the comfort of my skin against his.

My hand rubbed gently over his shoulder. I could feel his
chest rise and fall with each breath. I could even hear his
heartbeat, with the pace quickening ever so slightly.
Tilting my head on his chest, I looked back into his still
wide-open eyes. His eyes and lips seemed to be calling for
me and I glided gingerly to meet them. The somber tone of
our conversation had only deepened my desire to comfort him
or at least to distract him.

Our kisses varied but were mostly soft. Kissing this way
must come naturally, because I had no real prior experience
before tonight, yet I seemed to know what to do. My mouth
moved off his lips and dug under his chin in the softest
spot it could find. An instinct that had lain dormant in me
until now was starting to surface, and I wanted to provide
him with more. My hand massaged its way across his toned
chest, snaring a firm nipple between my fingers. Of all
times, that's when it hit me.

"Chris, did YOU turn out the lights?" We hadn't bothered to
flip the switch earlier. The only light that had been on was
near the staircase. The couch was in a section of the
basement that was shadowy even with the benefit of light.
That light was definitely off when I awoke from my nightmare
and I held my breath for his answer.

"No." His answer was short on words, but long on
realization. We both tightened at the thought of having been
spotted sleeping together on the couch. Our lips rested and
my head returned flat against his chest. We both lay there
wondering what this meant.

It had to have been my mom. Oh please God, let it be my mom.
I'm sure she came back down to check on us one last time,
probably to make sure it wasn't too cold. She might not have
even made it down the stairs as there was a light-switch at
the top of the staircase. I quickly conceded to myself that
this was just wishful thinking. Still, I hoped it was my
mom.

As I lay there basking in his warmth, I knew the time had
come to be honest with my mom and dad. I wasn't a little boy
anymore. I couldn't hide from them and I couldn't hide
behind them. I wanted to be honest before, but I just wasn't
ready.

"Matt, I don't want to make any trouble with your folks.
They were so nice to me. It's getting late and if we fall
back to sleep like this."

It was just a matter of common courtesy for him. I hated to
admit it but he was probably right. Even if Chris had been
the girlfriend my parents had once hoped for, we still
wouldn't be allowed to sleep like this together and I knew
it. My mom and dad really had made Chris feel so welcome and
loved. They didn't deserve any disrespect from us.

"You keep the couch, Chris. It's a lot more comfortable than
the bunk-beds."

There was no way I was having him move to a cold, hard bunk-
bed. The thought of him wrapped up and warm in the cozy old
couch was as comforting for me as it must have been for his
bruised back and ribs.

As I pushed myself up, he surprised me by clutching the back
of my neck and pulling me to him one more time. Our first
kiss in the old shack was accidental and held no real
passion, just understanding and acceptance and some deeper
expression of love. The kiss we were now locked in still
expressed love, but it was mostly fueled by deep passion and
a growing desire for sexual exploration that was shared by
us both.

When it was finally over, I was nearly unconscious from the
depths it had plunged me to, and I was also highly aroused.
When I stood up, it was impossible to hide the obvious. I
stood there for a moment looking down at him, wanting to
rejoin him and finish what we had started. Chris reached
down and adjusted himself, grunting a little as he did it.
His humor might have been the only thing to save us from
ourselves.

"Down boy, down." He could have been talking to me or
himself. Either way, we smiled and giggled together. He
reached out with his bare foot and nudged me away to a safer
distance, smiling with reluctance all the while. I sighed
and resigned myself to the solitude of the bunk-beds. I had
waited fourteen years, ten months, and three days. I figured
I could wait a little longer, but not much longer.

The initial chill of the cold bed was starting to fade. The
changing angle of the moon had directed a soft spotlight
onto the old couch. The boy I loved was safe and secure,
locked away in my basement for the night. Just seeing him
lie there so peacefully brought so much relief to me. My
mind drifted upstairs to find a fresh source of anxiety.

Just a week ago, my mother had revealed to me that my dad
hadn't been forced to transfer here from California as I had
assumed. He had asked for the transfer, with my mother's
blessing and agreement that it was the right thing to do.
When I pressed her to answer why, her response was "your
father and I both very much want you to be happy".

My parents had uprooted us and moved all the way across the
country because they wanted me to be happy. Or more to the
point, they were obviously convinced that I wasn't happy
before. So convinced and so concerned, that we wound up here
as a result.

They had been right. I don't know how they knew or what
instinct brought them to their decision, but they were right
to make it. Why we wound up exactly here was a greater
mystery with no answers. Fate must have had a hand in it
all. I believed in God, but to credit him for bringing Chris
and me together, I would also have to blame him for keeping
us apart for so long. Fate was easier to credit and blame.

My mind continued in drift, but my eyes had never left
Chris, still lying there peacefully in the fading light of
the moon.

Six months ago, I was nearly 3000 miles from here in a
culture that was polar opposites from the Deep South. I
couldn't have imagined that someone like Chris or Tommy even
existed.

My parents were all that I had then. Their rejection would
have been the end of me because I had nothing else to cling
to. I had protected them and myself by not testing their
love or acceptance. Even now, I couldn't bear the thought of
them rejecting me. I just couldn't believe they were even
capable of that. Outright rejection seeming unbelievable,
something short of that was much more emotionally plausible.

I flashed back to the night my dad thought he had it all
figured out, assuming my emotional swings were because I had
a girlfriend. He had been so proud at such a thought. My mom
had bought right in on this little parental fantasy,
spiraling me into a sibling nightmare in the process.

Chris hadn't pulled me away from them, but he had added a
new dimension to me, revealing a new self within me. This
new self saw my life and the world around me from a
different angle. It had its own desires and its own agenda.
My parents loved me and wanted what was best for me. My new
self wanted that too, but without terms and limitations.

The idea of me in the warm embrace of another boy was not
likely to produce those same parental reactions of pride and
joy. A much more muted acceptance might be the best I could
hope for. The new self within me challenged the assumption
and asked the unanswerable question of why.

What was it about the idea of a girlfriend that made them so
happy? Wasn't the ultimate goal for them my happiness, and
wasn't the presumed loving relationship of a girlfriend just
the means to that end? If I was happy, wasn't that enough?
Did it really matter so much how I got there?

They had showered love and acceptance on Chris in a way that
far exceeded my expectations. I had never been more proud of
my parents. Could they shower the same love and acceptance
on us as a `couple'?

Before, I would never have allowed myself to challenge the
basis of their feelings. Now, I might have to challenge
them. I felt torn between the love I felt from my parents
and the love I felt towards Chris. My new self expected both
loves and was pushing me to accept nothing less.

Still, the idea of disappointment in their eyes was powerful
imagery for me. Their disappointment translated into an
emotional punishment for something I had done wrong. How
could love ever be wrong?

I felt like my mom would accept me fully. I even believed
she would be genuinely happy for me. I also knew it would
deepen her worries for me. I was much more uneasy about my
dad. Why hadn't I been closer to him? Maybe I always feared
he wouldn't love me as much and had always kept a little
distance between us to soften the blow.

At least in my case, being honest with my parents was an
option, no matter how painful it might be for them or me. I
doubted that Chris even considered himself gay. He had been
attracted to Katie, after all. Knots formed in my stomach as
I contemplated if we really had a future together. The
future held so much uncertainty.

The setting moon had bid us goodnight. The basement was now
completely dark. Chris was making a faint snoring noise. I
was thankful to hear it and for the reassurance that he was
still with me. The night was almost over and I was finally
drifting back to sleep.

When I woke, my eyes sprinted directly to the old couch.
Much to my surprise, the warm cuddled body sitting upright
didn't belong to Chris. My mom must have been keeping watch
on me for some time, and she smiled as soon as my eyes
opened.

"Hey" as I gave her a sleepy yawn and a stretch before
looking around the room.

"He's upstairs talking with your father."

Now I was wide awake and not sure how to respond. Many
possibilities raced through my gnarly noggin, severe bed-
head having set in during the night. I feared the worst, but
couldn't imagine that dad would talk with Chris before me.
Who had turned out those lights?

"What time is it?" That seemed like the safest question to
ask first.

"It's almost nine. Chris has been up for about an hour and a
half. He and your dad were talking when I came down to the
kitchen. I decided just to come and sit with you for a
while."

What the hell had they been talking about for an hour and a
half? Why was my mom sitting with me instead of with them? I
crawled out of the bunk-bed and stumbled over to the couch,
collapsing and then worming my way closely up against her.
She wrapped her arm around me and tried to level my knotty
hair. We sat quietly for a while with her stroking my head.
I loved my mom so much. I pulled my head back a bit and
looked her in the eyes. My face was silently pleading for
her understanding. She sighed and smiled, but there was
worry in her face.

"I love you, mom." Three times over the last day, I had
spoken those three words. Many more times than that, if you
count my sleep-talking with Chris. My dad had finally heard
me say it just last night. I had finally heard myself say it
to Chris. Mom had heard it many times before but the look in
her eyes told me she had never appreciated it more.

Her hand pulled my head down to her shoulder and she planted
a long slow kiss right on my forehead. After such a long
rest, this old couch had come out of retirement to carry the
weight of some heavy emotions over the last day.

"Mom, what are they talking about?" If it had to happen this
way, then I was prepared to accept it.

"Oh, Matt. I think your father and Chris just have a lot of
catching up to do. It's probably as good for your father as
it is for Chris. They have some things in common, you know."

I remembered how softly my dad had spoken about his own
father, recalling the pain and misery that alcoholism had
brought to my dad's childhood. My dad was always putting
forward a positive, upbeat image of himself. It really was
part of his training and profession. There was so much about
him I didn't know and it made me sad. Just as the
realization entered my mind, another fresh realization
followed it. There was a lot about me my dad didn't know
either and I wondered if it made him sad too. My dad and I
had spent too much time on the surface with each other. It
was time to dig deeper and find out who we really were. I
hoped we could both handle what we found.

"I've GOT to pee." I didn't want to go upstairs, but I had
to go to the bathroom. Mother Nature was calling and she was
being very loud.

I eased up the staircase, trying not to interrupt the
conversation and also trying to steal a word or two with my
ear. Slowly, I peaked into the living room. Chris and my dad
were talking very quietly and I couldn't make any of it out.
Both were leaning forward in their chairs, not looking
directly at each other as they spoke. There was nothing
relaxed about the body language. I had the feeling that
secrets were being shared that only the unlucky would fully
understand. I felt out of place and proceeded quietly to the
bathroom.

Just as I came out, my mom came walking by whispering
"pancakes" with a smile. That sounded really good right now.
Chris turned and we made eye contact briefly before the
phone rang and broke the moment. I was closest and picked it
up.

The voice on the other end was a frightening intruder to our
home.

"Is my son there?" Instantly, my eyes found Chris's again.
His face dropped and it made sense to me in an instant.
Chris didn't need to wait for me to tell him and he was on
his feet and reaching for the phone.

"Hello." He was trying to cover, but we both knew better. So
did his dad. "But I told mom!" No he didn't. "Well, just..."
His jaw was clinched now and I could tell he was under
verbal assault. "But..just." The conversation was over and
Chris hung up the phone.

"I've got to go. I'm sorry, Matt." The news was devastating
to both of us. Tears were swelling in his eyes as he walked
past me down to the basement to gather his things. Almost
absent mindedly, he added "My dad's on his way".

I forgot for a moment where I was and I must have looked
surprised to my parents when I refocused on them. We all
shared a look of shock and concern. One moment, things had
been the way they really should be. The next moment, things
were the way they really are.

I went downstairs to share a few more minutes with Chris.

"I know you did this for me, Chris." I had been so
disappointed when I asked him if he was coming over. The
look in his eyes two days ago had given me the true answer.

"I did it for me too and I wouldn't change it for anything
in the world, Matt. He can beat the shit out of me again and
I still wouldn't change it." Determination and conviction
had already replaced the tears in his eyes.

He had never even asked his dad if he could come over. No
doubt, he knew the answer in advance. His dad wasn't likely
to let him too far out of his sight, at least until his most
recent bruises healed. If I could have taken his beating and
a hundred more in his place, I would have.

"Don't worry, Matt. He won't touch me for a while. He's not
stupid enough to put me in the hospital."

His dad was a methodical abuser, having learned how to work
his abuse into the system long, long ago. Abuse was less an
angry reaction and more an emotional fix for him. Whether he
had been born with this addiction, or developed it in his
stockade days was more than I could know. I imagined he had
extracted his fix from many who he believed `deserved' it.

Chris refused to wilt from the pain and abuse. Somehow, he
just drove right through it. The boy I loved was so brave.
Where did it come from and how did he summons it? It
obviously wasn't hereditary, unlike his physical attributes.

He could be so sensitive and caring, able to oblige the
smallest personal details to make someone feel special.
Maybe he longed for those same feelings of appreciation and
caring and just assumed that others would want them too. I
certainly cared about him more than anything and appreciated
him more than I could express. Maybe that was the deeper
source of his attraction to me: I gave him the things he
needed the very most.

Whatever he needed from me, I was willing to give.

He had changed back into his jeans before ever going
upstairs earlier. It only took him a minute to gather his
other clothes and bag. Now, he stood and waited. The minutes
were counting down in his mind. He looked around the
basement, then back at me. He was now shaking his head and
was getting very antsy. I had to get my arms around him.

His old words came back to me and I whispered them in his
ear. "Don't show him any fear." It had become the drumbeat
for us two warriors. He squeezed me so tight I couldn't
breathe for a moment.

"Matt. Please tell your mom and dad how much this meant to
me. If I talk to them before I leave, I'll lose it. I can't
afford to do that right now. I'm really sorry." He was
grinding hard and trying to keep himself intact.

"I think they already know, Chris. But I'll make sure they
do. Don't worry and don't be sorry for anything. The first
time my folks mentioned having you over, my dad said he
wanted to make sure you knew you were part of this family
too." Now I was the one grinding and I didn't want to burden
Chris with my own emotions right now.

I did want him to know just how welcome he was here. A
frightening thought flashed through my mind: What if he
wouldn't be welcome here anymore? If my parents knew the
full truth about me, would Chris pay part of the price?
Every choice seemed to bring a powerful new dose of reality
back into the picture.

Just then, I heard the loud muffler of an old truck
approaching our driveway. We had lost our earlier embrace
but were all but leaning against one another. At the noise,
I leaned in closer and was about to kiss him when I
hesitated. His eyes scolded me for the pause, and he
delivered his lips to mine for one last declaration. Fresh
determination was on his face and he all but commanded me as
he walked up the stairs "Don't worry about me." I followed
close behind him.

A rude horn blew before we could even make it to the top of
the stairs. My dad was about to open the door and introduce
himself to Coach Briggs. There was a glare in my dad's eyes
that I had never seen before and I waved him off before he
made it outside. Chris politely nodded to my mom and dad,
but his jaw was clenched so tight, he couldn't speak a word.
My mom and dad smiled as reassuringly as they could and my
mom waived before nervously pulling back her hand.

I stood at the door and watched Chris get in the old truck.
He looked back at me through the passenger window as they
pulled around the driveway. I felt myself melting as they
disappeared out of sight.

"Matt, what just happened here?" My dad was both confused
and irritated, but not at me or Chris.

Chris had been repossessed right before us, though stolen
from us was more like it. Dad knew that something terribly
wrong was brewing, but I couldn't answer him. The answer was
more complicated than I could offer so quickly.

It was all I could do not to crumble right there in front of
them both. I copied Chris's clenched jaw, put up a hand of
surrender to my dad, and went back down to the basement in a
silent retreat. I was afraid if I started crying now, I
might never stop. I wrapped myself up in the blanket we had
spent part of the night under together. The basement had
regained its dreariness. Like me, it suffered without the
energy that Chris brought to the room.

It wasn't long before I heard footsteps coming down the
stairs. It was my mom and her eyes were red and wet. I
didn't think I could possibly hurt anymore inside, until I
saw her cry. She sat down on the couch with me. This was the
way it normally was. My mom never backed away from my
emotions. She was always the one to calm me from my
nightmares, always the one dad sent to learn what he
couldn't ask himself.

It was much to my surprise when I heard more footsteps
coming down the stairs. John Jordan was no longer willing to
watch his son's life from a safe distance. He pulled an old
metal folding chair from under the staircase and pulled
himself up a front row seat.

It was time. It was not as I would have planned it, but it
was time. I took one last look at them, letting the images
of their faces burn into my memory. It was the last time I
would see their faces without the strain and burden of full
knowledge I was about to place on them.

On a chilly late November Saturday morning, sometime between
nine and noon, almost two months before a fifteenth
birthday, Matthew Heath Jordan openly declared his love for
Christopher Samuel Briggs.

It was time.

"I love him!" My face was so numb. I had to say it again to
make sure it came out.

"I love him!" I heard it clearly that time. The tears were
gathering, not that they ever had to gather from very far.

"And he loves me." He hadn't actually said the words, but I
believed it. A small drip had appeared.

"His girlfriend ran around on him behind his back. She
didn't love him. But I love him." The drip had become a
stream.

"His mother is a drunk. His dad beats him, and probably her
too. And I love him." The stream had become a torrent.

"He goes to bed every night in a hell-house, only to wake up
there every morning. He's the bravest person I've ever
known. And I love him." The torrent was now roaring.

"I love him so much! If I could give him everything I've
got, trade places with him. I would. I wish he could have
all of this. I wish he could have YOU. He `deserves' that,
and I love him that much."

The emotional flood had escaped its banks. The overflow had
channeled through one more set of eyes as my mom was now
fully immersed right along with me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad's head drop. His
eyes were now boring into the cement floor and his hands
were clenched together, the white tops of his knuckles
visible even through my tears.

It wasn't the look of support that I needed. He seemed
disappointed, distraught or both. Instinctively, I felt the
need to apologize for whatever I had done wrong.

"I'm sorry, dad. I am so sorry. I never wanted to disappoint
you." Those words hurt me and betrayed the new self within
me.

"Remember that night? You were so excited because you
thought I had a girlfriend. I'm sorry it's not like that,
dad. I'm sorry I'm not like that."

I was begging with him now and a part of me, the new self
within me, was growing tired of it.

My dad looked up at my mom. "John." She simply spoke his
name, but she also placed a hand on his as she said it.
Their eyes held each other for a minute before my dad
released her hand and stood. He walked slowly back toward
the staircase.

I was devastated and I was angry.

"Dad?" I made my final plea. He kept walking, barely putting
one foot in front of the other.

"DAD!" Much more insistent now, demanding a response. He
kept walking.

"Don't turn your back on me, dad!" Now, I was indignant.

He walked to the underside of the staircase, moving aside
several old unpacked boxes before reaching a smaller flat
one. He paused to look at it warily before finally reaching
down to pick it up. Once the box was in his hands, he
finally made eye contact with me. There were no more mixed
emotions in my father's face. He was simply distraught.

I was speechless, having exhausted all of my words and my
emotions. My eyes moved from the box to my dad's face, then
back and forth again. I didn't know what was in the box, but
I dreaded its contents. Confused, I looked to my mother for
some clue. She was looking at the box too, with a similar
look of dread. Again, she made eye contact with my dad and I
could see her trying to bolster him. What was happening
here? Something in that box was connected to me, but I had
never seen it.

My dad sat back down in his chair and removed the lid. I
could see what appeared to be old family photos, several
still in frames. Dad seemed to know exactly what he was
looking for and when he found it, he paused and I could
finally see a glimmer of tear gather in his eye. He held the
photo in his hand for some time before finally reaching it
out to me.

I had seen old pictures of my dad before and I recognized
him easily enough. The other boy in the picture looked
familiar too, but I couldn't name him. I looked up at my
dad. My eyes were pleading again, but this time for an
explanation.

"That's me and your Uncle Heath, Matt. He was 16 there and
had just gotten his car. We were about to go on our first
camping trip to Big Sur."

I searched both their faces.

"My brother and I were so close, Matt. I never thought we
had any secrets from each other, but we did." My dad looked
like he still couldn't believe it, even now.

"My own brother, and he couldn't tell me. Maybe it was
because he was more like a father to me than a brother. I
wonder if he thought he was letting me down somehow, or
disappointing me. God knows, I had to depend on him like a
father. When dad was drunk, it was always Heath that made
sure everybody else was all right." Dad couldn't say it, but
I finally got the connection. I had questions, but it was
his turn to talk now.

He flipped through the pictures. I had the feeling he hadn't
seen them in a very long time.

"Finally, in the last days of his life, he was able to tell
me." Dad's eyes were now begging my forgiveness and
understanding.

"Matt, your Uncle Heath died from the same epidemic that
took so many lives in the early eighties, and even now. He
was one of the early victims. We didn't know what to call it
then, but we knew he was very sick."

Pain was radiating from my dad's face. His memories had been
packed away like the old box of pictures, but never
forgotten.

"I was angry, Matt. I'm not proud of it now, but I was even
angry at Heath. I was angry that he didn't believe in me
enough to trust me. I was angry that I couldn't help him. I
was angry at him for getting sick. I was angry at him for
leaving me. I was angry at some faceless person somewhere
out there who had killed my brother and I was angry at
others like him. I was so angry at his funeral that I
couldn't even cry, and my own sister won't talk to me still
because of it."

My dad had to drop his eyes back to the floor. Small dark
splatters of moisture were collecting on the cold wet cement
beneath him. These were tears that were a long time coming
for him.

"I never told him how angry I was. I hope that he didn't
feel it, but I fear that he did. I tried to do everything I
could to make his last days comfortable for him. Really, I
just tried to follow his example in the same way he had
always taken care of us. One of the last things he ever
understood me say was that I was naming my son after him. It
was the last time I ever saw him smile. A few days later, he
was gone. Once he was gone."

My mother had one hand stretched out to his shoulder, the
other hand stayed behind for me. It was time for us to end
the separation.

"Dad?" He slowly raised his head to look me in the eyes.
"Please?" I reached out my own hand and made room for him on
the couch with me and mom. He took my hand and I pulled him
to us, sitting between us, no longer on the fringes or
sidelines of our family.

He continued. "Matt, I had put him away for so long. I
didn't know how to deal with it. It's been almost 15 years
and I still don't know how to deal with it all."

Mom and I gave him all the comfort we could.

"You've always reminded me so much of him, son. He had such
a strong spirit." His eyes had relocked with mine and an
admiring smile had wrestled through the pain and guilt on
his face.

"Matt, you will have to be patient with me. But you can know
right here and now that I love you even more than I did
yesterday and I will love you even more tomorrow." Those
were the words I needed to hear more than any.

"I don't want to lose you too, son. Just trust me and don't
shut me out. Whatever happens, we'll work through it
together. Give me the second chance I need. I don't want you
to ever feel the loneliness and pain my brother must have
felt so much of his life." Those were the words my father
needed to say more than any.

My coming out was his chance for emotional redemption, to
himself.

I was in emotional shock. My lips had said so much and now
my ears had heard so much. My brain was trying to sort it
all out. My heart refused to get bogged down by the details,
it understood the big picture and that was all that really
mattered right now.

Mom's eyes told me everything I needed to know, not that I
ever really doubted her. We were a family, and it was time.
Well, we were actually one short of a full family.

"Matt, we've got to find a way to help Chris." That was my
mother talking. She still had one more boy to worry about,
though the two on the couch were doing a little better.

"Chris has been trying to get Peggy some help, but I think
his dad won't hear it." My father knew Chris's mothers name,
and I didn't. She had just been a nameless object of fear
and disappointment to me.

"That's why he did it." I had been so open this morning, now
my thoughts were leaking straight out of my lips.

"Why who did what, son?" My mother was fully engaged now.
She could be a real bulldog when she needed to. The warrior
had claimed his alliances.

I hesitated for the second time this day. Again, I felt eyes
scolding me for it. There was no point in holding anything
back now. Those days were over.

"Chris missed a day of school this week. I think his dad
beat him up really bad the night before. I think that's why,
because Chris was trying to get his mom some help."
Confusion and new concern filled the room.

"Why, Matt? Why wouldn't his dad want her to get help?" My
mom's question was one I couldn't answer yet.

My dad's experience offered a theory. "Most people use their
addiction as an escape from something. At least, they think
of it as an escape. Really, it's just another well disguised
trap."

What was his mom trying to escape? Was that my clue? What about
Coach Brigg's addiction to abuse? I wondered what he was
trying to escape.

The only escape that was really important right now was
Chris's. It had to be safe, and it had to be soon.


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Authors Note / December 14, 2002:

Thanks for your patience during the two-week break since my
last posting. I expect to make at least two more postings
before the end of the month, probably three. I also expect
the current storyline to fully reveal itself during that
time.

I want to stop and say a heart-felt thank you to every
single one of you who have responded to this story. I can
never adequately express the amount of appreciation I have
for you all. Through your encouragement and reassurances,
this story has truly become `ours'. I no longer feel that
it's honest to simply call it my own. I haven't accepted any
plot suggestions, but there is no doubt that the motivation
supplied by your response has elevated this story above the
limits of my natural writing abilities.

I can also no longer honestly say that this story represents
the only true documented expression of how I really feel
about myself and the world around me. My inbox is a constant
source of education for me and my replies to you have
allowed me to realize things about myself that had
previously escaped my observation. Again, please accept a
sincere thank you!

I still truly enjoy corresponding with you and hope that you
continue to communicate your response to me. I do promptly
reply to all emails and welcome the chance to make new
friends.

Please keep the responses coming, positive or otherwise:
ehman_penn@yahoo.com

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