Date: Sat, 19 Oct 2002 15:14:56 -0700 (PDT)
From: Ehman Penn <ehman_penn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Matthew Figures It Out

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 2


My mind wondered back through the events of the day,
replaying over and over what I had said to Chris and what
Chris had said to me. It just didn't make any sense. "Katie
really was there for me a couple years ago when I went
through some very bad times" Chris had told me, practically
in full cardiac arrest by the time he finished the sentence.
Even briefly recalling the memory of that time in his life
scared him. What could be so powerful? He would have been
13, maybe 14 at the time. What could possibly have caused
him so much pain at that age and was it rearing its ugly
head again now? As the echo of these silent questions rang
through my head, a new series of questions arose. Why did
Chris "need" to trust me? What didn't I know? Would I be
able to be the friend to him I so desperately wanted to be?
Would I be able to....."List the materials used in
disposable diapers, Mr. Jordan."

"What? Excuse me?"

"Well Matthew Jordan, I do not excuse you for failing to pay
attention in my class" the ever likeable Mr. Spivey was
calm and respectful even in his attempt to chastise me for
day-dreaming during the riveting class discussion on the
environmental impact of disposable diapers. "That goes for
all of you. There will be NO late-afternoon daydreaming in
THIS 6th period class! Your full attention WILL BE
REQUIRED!" Mr. Spivey's warning just barely beat the buzzer
as this school day was finally and mercifully coming to an
end.

Tommy must have sprinted from his 6th period history class
to catch up with me as I hurried between buildings toward my
locker to grab a few books before heading home with Chris.
Tommy was frantic to say the least.

"Mattie, so what happened?" To Tommy, calling me "Mattie"
was like his own little sweet declaration of friendship. I
felt like Tommy really needed to call someone Mattie and I
took it as the compliment it was intended to be. "You guys
disappeared, then you missed 4th period English. Are you OK?
Was there a fight? You know Chris can get really crazy. Man,
I've been avoiding him all afternoon. I was really worried
about you. Hell, I'm really worried about me. You don't
think he'd kill me do you?"

My hurried pace slowed to a stand-still. Tommy, so caught up
in his own frenzy, walked a good 20ft ahead before he spun
around in a panic and came scurrying back to me.

At first, I found Tommy's rant to be amusing and I was
planning to tease him with my reply, but what did he mean
"Chris can get really crazy"? Tommy, after all was a pure-
bred local. He had probably known many of the kids in this
school since kindergarten. I didn't have the advantage of
that type of history, including any real history with Chris.

"Tommy, calm down" as reassuring as I could be at that
moment, my nerves starting to fray and just a little
irritated that Tommy was over-reacting. "Tommy, exactly what
did you mean when you said Chris can get really crazy?"

Tommy's face screamed of dread. "Mattie, I know Chris has
been friendly to you. You two seem to click pretty well
together. I shouldn't have said that. It seems like I'm
always saying or doing the wrong thing" his face now locked
in a grimace that conceded the fact that I wasn't going to
let him off that easy.

"Chris and I talked things out. He knows the whole pizza
incident was just a big misunderstanding. He was pretty
pissed at you though, sort of like I'm getting pissed at you
right now" my mind spinning with the overload of information
I had received in the last three hours. "What did you mean
when you said Chris can get really crazy, Tommy?"

"Oh fuck, Matt - not you too? Don't be pissed at me,
please."

"Tommy, breathe deep, calm down, and talk slowly" as
hypnotically as I could.

Tommy followed my instructions and gathered himself. "Well,
a couple years ago, Chris got in a fight with another kid,
Jay Henson. Matt, Chris almost killed him. Somebody had
tipped Coach Briggs off that they were going to fight. They
say if he hadn't shown up when he did...." Tommy paused for
effect. "Well, Jay spent a month in the hospital and another
6 months in physical therapy. He missed a whole school year.
They say he's still deaf in one ear. Chris just went off the
deep end. His dad got him checked in to this place up near
Charlotte. I don't know how long he was there. This happened
just before Thanksgiving and he didn't miss that much school
because of the holiday breaks and all. I'm sorry, Matt.
Nobody ever talks about this anymore. I feel real bad
telling you, but I don't want you to get hurt."

My mind was now at full boil. "It doesn't make any sense! I
may not have grown up with Chris, but I just don't believe
he could hurt someone like that! Tommy, this better not be
some bull-shit rumor like the one about Donna Simpson
blowing Mr. Duncan. I bet that's it. You fucking
southerners, you're all just a bunch of sneaky gossips
smiling to each others faces, then making up stories about
one another behind each others backs" the last part coming
out way too loud as I noticed people starting to gather,
watching me scream at poor Tommy. As I quickly regrouped and
refocused on Tommy, I could see tears starting to stream
down his cheeks.

For the second time today, I felt absolutely miserable. I
hadn't just shot the messenger, I had done it public-
execution style practically in front of what seemed like the
whole school. Tommy really had been worried about me and in
all honesty I never questioned his sincerity for telling me
what he had. What a day this had been. I felt like an ice-
man that had just been thawed out and then expected to
absorb all the history of mankind in one day. I did the only
thing that made sense to me at that moment, reaching out and
first grabbing his hand shaking it with the most apologetic
face I could muster, and then I pulled Tommy by my side as I
turned him with me toward the lockers, splitting a path
through the gathered crowd. I moved my hand up on top of his
shoulder still tugging him close to me and just simply said
a heart-felt "I'm sorry Tommy" as we made our way.

"Matt, I'm the one who should be sorry. I shou." I cut him
off in mid-word. Sometimes you had to do that with Tommy.

"It's Mattie. It's always Mattie to you, OK Tommy?"
affection and lingering apology mixed in my voice. Tommy
didn't say a word - which was a first. He reached to his
face, wiping away a tear before it ever had a chance to
dampen the smile that had widened from ear to ear as we
finally arrived at our lockers.

Having gathered my books and gym clothes into my bag, I
finally made my way out to the front of the school, where a
long line of mustard-yellow buses lined up, quickly filling
with noisy teenagers. I didn't see Chris anywhere yet, but I
found his bus number and waited nearby. I spotted him
running down from the student parking lot area, and in the
background I could see a displeased Katie getting into a
friends car. Something else caught me eye, as I also noticed
a dark-haired boy, apparently about to get into his beat-up
black truck, watching Chris as he neared me. This boy looked
vaguely familiar. I thought I'd seen him leaving Tommy's 3rd
period health class, but that wouldn't make sense because a
freshman wouldn't be old enough to have a driver's license.

Chris arrived throwing out his hand and clasping mine in a
warm greeting, showing no stress from our emotional
conversation just a few hours earlier. As we boarded the
bus, I peered back into the parking lot surprised to see the
dark-haired boy still standing by his truck and still
intently watching us. When my eyes met his, he quickly
looked down and opened his truck door, never looking back at
me again as he drove off. Something about this brief encounter
disturbed me, I just didn't know why. My thoughts were
quickly distracted by the intense amount of good-natured
ragging Chris was getting from the kids on the bus.

"Chris, buddy, you didn't miss your ride did you man?" asked
one boy I didn't know. Several others chimed in with similar
jabs.

"No man, I just thought I'd check in to see how the other
half was living now a days" Chris replied laughing and
playfully punching the boy in the shoulder.

That explained Katie's latest displeasure. It turns out that
Chris catches a ride home most days with Katie and her older
girl friend. I pondered why Chris hadn't just invited me
along to ride with them, but thoughts of the day's earlier
lunch-room catastrophe quickly came back to mind. To Katie,
Chris's choice to hang with the low-life (me included) over
her was no doubt considerably displeasing. I had lost all
sympathy for her and now just simply smiled at the thought
of her irritation. This day would mark the beginning of a
rivalry between us and an on-going competition for Chris's
attention. What had started as envy was steadily evolving
into bitter jealousy. Chris said he loved Katie, but I
couldn't for the life of me understand why. I was afraid
that a choice was in his future. Who would he choose? I was
getting a headache.

The bus ride wasn't too long and 20 minutes and about 10
kids later, Chris let me know we were entering his "neck of
the woods". I started paying closer attention wondering how
many of these heavily treed hills Chris had climbed his way
over. The houses here were pretty small, not poor - just
modest. One house was a little more on the poor side, but it
was the appearance of a black pickup truck in the front yard
that really got my attention. I rubber-necked at the window
trying to get a better look as the bus continued down the
road for another mile or so before coming to a stop in front
of another small but well-kept house sitting just off the
road in a large clump of trees.

"We're here, buddy. Home sweet home." Chris said flatly as
we made our way through the aisle and plopped out the door.

As we walked down the gravel driveway side by side, Chris
lamented the formidable task of raking all the leaves that
would soon be falling from the large Oak trees hanging
overhead.

"Don't worry Chris, you'll have me to help you out this
year" I offered up enthusiastically.

"Matt, trust me dude, you do not want to sign up for that
job" Chris just laughed in reply.

"No really, I want to help. I've lived on concrete my whole
life, I've never even raked leaves. It would be a new
experience for me" now sounding like I was trying to
convince myself.

"Matt, you're a piece of work, you know that?" Chris smiling
and patting me on the back. "Unfortunately for you, those
leaves back there will be falling on top of your carcass
because I'm about to plant you right under that goal" as he
smiled big and pointed to the basketball goal sticking out
from a pole cemented in a clear patch of the backyard. A
basketball that looked like it could have been the first one
ever made was lying nearby under a tree.

Off to the side and a little further away from the house sat
a group of small fences. Puzzled, I wondered what type of
farm animal was contained in them when suddenly a rowdy
posse of beagles sprang out from their tiny shed to the
front of the fence, short tails wagging passionately as they
rose up on their back legs with their front paws rattling
the fence caging.

"Oh man, look at all your dogs" I said scooting over and
kneeling down at the fence sticking my soon to be wet
fingers in between the fence loops as the beagles sniffed
and licked at them wildly.

"Technically their not mine. Well, I guess in a way they are
`ours'. But really, they're my dad's. Those are his bird
dogs. He doesn't hunt anymore, but he still loves to just
take the dogs out and scare up some birds".

Chris walked over beside me and I feared that the dogs might
actually break their tails, they were wagging so violently -
stirring up dust as they beat against the bare dirt floor of
the cage.

"My dad loves these dogs more than anything" Chris said,
again flatly, almost as if resigned to finishing no higher
than second in that competition.

"They're really cute. I've never seen anything like this" it
was truly a wondrous sight.

"No, no, no. Their NOT cute! These dogs are HANDSOME.
Whatever you do, don't call them cute around my dad" and he
seemed serious about it too.

"Come on Matt. Let's go in and get changed. I'll need to
feed them before we start your ass-kicking" a teasing grin
again plastered all over his face as we turned toward the
open garage door on the side of the house.

"Is someone home?" I asked confused that the garage door was
opened, but I didn't see a car.

"No, why do you ask?"

"You mean you just always leave the garage wide open. What
about thieves?" I asked genuinely surprised at their
carelessness.

"Matt, this isn't Sauce-oh-little, San Francisco, or

wherever. This is the COUNTRY, plus we don't have much to
steal" as he pulled keys out of his bag and unlocked the
interior back door leading into the house.

"Sausalito, thank you very much" correcting him and unsure
if he actually knew how to pronounce the name of my former
hometown. "I see we at least still lock our doors out here
in the COUNTRY" raising my eyebrows and gently mocking him.

He didn't bother to verbally respond. A shake of the head
and a smile were enough to let me know what he thought.

The inside of the house was consistent with its outer
appearance. Everything was modest, old furniture, smallish
TV, no fancy paintings or artwork for sure. As we walked
through the living room, I noticed a room off to the side
with a large trophy case and lots of framed pictures.

"My room's down at the end of the hall. We can just change
in there. Or if you want some privacy, you can use this room
here" pointing me to what appeared to be a guest bedroom and
politely pausing for my reply.

"Your room's fine" I answered trying to sound casual,
although my shy nature was begging me to dive into the guest
room instead.

Chris's room was well-decorated with posters and full page
photos of his favorite athletes. I had to smile in
appreciation because my room looked nearly the same. I even
called my collection the `wall of fame'. Chris had a virtual
shrine of Michael Jordan posters. His Atlanta Braves were
well represented as well, but it was the poster of Troy
Aikman that got my attention.

"Oh no, don't tell me" dropping my bag beside the twin-bed
and putting my hands on my waist, starring the Cowboy
quarterback right in the eyes. "You can not be a Cowboys
fan. Tell me it's not true." As I looked around the room and
saw more Cowboys memorabilia, the conclusion was
inescapable. "It's not enough that you get to torment my
Giants with the Braves, but do you have to take sides with
my Forty-Niners arch rival too?" I just looked at him
incredulously, unable to comprehend the treason that must lie
in his heart.

"Hey, bud. Your Forty-Niners have put plenty of misery on my
Cowboys, just not so much lately" his answer completely
unacceptable.

"Ok, we'll call a truce in baseball and football. For
basketball, can we at least both settle on the Bulls?" I
asked knowing the answer full well. Chris's right hand went
in the air and we did a high-five across the bed.

"I knew there was something I liked about you" his words
muffled a little by the shirt being pulled over his head.

The sudden exposure of skin caused me to blush and I
instantly turned my back to him and fumbled into my bag for
my own gym clothes. Chris went into a long tribute to MJ
talking about how he had gone to see him play once in the
ACC tournament when it was held in Charlotte. At this point,
I was only hearing about every third or fourth word he said,
my brain spinning out of control at the realization of being
in his room taking off our clothes - together. By the sound
of his voice, I knew he was still facing me. I hoped he
didn't find my shyness just downright goofy. The ruffling
sound of clothes told me his pants were now off. For all I
knew, he was completely naked. One part of me wanted to turn
around and face him, but that would require confidence and
boldness that I hadn't achieved yet in life. Another part of
me just wanted to run out of the room, but that would make
me a coward to my own emotions and I wasn't quite that
pathetic - yet. As I peeled my own shirt and dropped my
jeans, my eye detected movement in a framed picture sitting
on top of his dresser just in front of me. As I focused in,
I could see that it was his reflection being cast into the
glass by the fortunate angle of light coming into the room
from his rear window. I knew I shouldn't look, it felt like
I was spying on him - but my curiosity got the better of me
for the second time this day.

He wasn't naked, but I could see that he was standing there
in nothing but a well-fitting pair of CK boxer briefs. When
he adjusted himself, I thought his hand lingered a little
too long on the curve in his briefs and I was afraid that I
had gasped out loud. I looked at the reflection of his eyes
and he was looking me up and down, not with any apparent
lust, but he was checking me out none the less. As I allowed
my eyes to feast over his image, the only word that came to
mind was beautiful. Chris was nearly 16 years old. He had
been a natural athlete all his life, obviously the
benefactor of genes that didn't run in my family. His young
muscles were toned, his young chest, like mine - still
hairless. His arms weren't huge, but definitely muscled with
well-rounded shoulders. Everything funneled into a waist
that was as flat and hard in the front as could be. I
noticed his belly button was an outie, I always wished I had
an outie. Like the rest of him, his legs were lean and
strong and left no room for separation from the boxer
briefs. The next time he spoke, I actually jumped a little.

"Matt, you don't have to be shy around me. You've got
nothing to be ashamed of" he sounded sincere, trying to
break the tension of my silence. Then in the reflection, I
saw that familiar grin that meant he was about to deliver a
zinger. "Lots of guys have small dicks, you know" he was
trying to keep a semi-straight face but he couldn't hold it
in any longer. Without even thinking, I spun around to show
my displeasure but I wound up laughing with him instead.
Having already put on a fresh t-shirt, Chris pulled up a
long shiny pair of gym shorts, glancing down at my own
briefs.

With a raised brow and a wide grin, he said "I stand
corrected" throwing a pillow at me and walking out of his
room.

I was afraid to look down, having gone completely numb
sometime earlier. I was definitely showing signs of arousal,
but it wasn't that obvious - was it? Maybe it was, but I
couldn't accept that right now for fear of death via
embarrassment. I quickly finished getting dressed.

Without the appealing distraction in the reflection, I
squinted and took a closer look at the framed picture on the
dresser. Arousal, embarrassment, humor for that matter - all
fled the scene as the now crystal clear image of Katie
Barnes stared straight back at me. It was a sobering
reminder to say the least. She truly was a beautiful girl,
and she was Chris's girlfriend. He was her boyfriend. I was
just his new friend. I was also very confused.

"I'm going to feed the dogs, I'll just meet you outside" he
said as I heard the back door close.

I couldn't stand to be alone in the same room with her for
another second, and I drifted into the side room that had
caught my attention earlier. There must have been 100
trophies in that room and dozens of old framed pictures -
fortunately none of Katie. There were lots of pictures of
Chris's parents, though no recent ones that I saw. The old
ones of his dad looked so much like Chris that I had to look
closer just to make sure it wasn't really him. There were
pictures of his dad in military uniforms - Army I think.
His mom had been a beautiful young woman and I wondered what
she looked like now. His sister was very pretty and
shared some of his striking features, with little
resemblance to his mother. It was the old ones of Chris that
really got to me. I stood there in a trance looking at these
pictures of a little boy accompanied by many more that
seemed to document every year in his life. I couldn't help
but long for the days of youth that we had never spent
together. I wished it could have been us fishing, playing
baseball, hunting, shooting at squirrels - not that I had
anything against squirrels. My dad had always told me I was
way too sentimental for my age. I didn't really understand
what he meant by that until this moment. It was hard for me
to push myself out of that room. Maybe I could re-write
history if I could only stay there long enough. My eyes
clouded up as I conceded I had no such powers. I had grown
up very much alone, without the benefits from a friend like
Chris.

"You better not be jacking off in my room!" Chris announced
his re-entrance into the house wondering why I hadn't met
him outside as instructed.

I was still lingering by the photos when he found me and I'm
sure he could see the emotion in my eyes. His face got very
serious and after some hesitation, he entered the room to
stand beside me, quietly reflecting on the pictures he must
have seen a thousand times.

"I haven't been in this room for more than two years" his
quiet words bringing a quick turn of my head as I stood
there staring at his face, a face now seemingly as lost in
the frames as mine had been earlier.

"Why?" Such a simple question, but one that can't always be
answered - at least not today.

"Come on Matt, let's go play some ball" he said these words
while still staring into their faces, pulling me by the arm
out the door. It felt like he was trying to move both of us
away from a danger that might cause us real harm if we
stayed in its presence any longer.

Once outside, Chris headed straight for the old basketball
under the tree scooping it up on a dead run then doing an
impressive cross-over move against an invisible defender
before skying for a lay-up on the shaky old goal. Catching
the ball as it dropped through the net, he turned to me and
threw me a bounce pass that I caught, and then promptly
returned to him as a 15foot air-ball shot from 18feet out -
one that would have hit him in the head had he not been
watching. He held the ball and looked back at me. I made a
sheepish wince and tried to explain that it had "been a
while".

"Why don't we start closer in and work our way out. That
will give us both a chance to get loosened up" Chris offered
understandingly and obviously not wishing to embarrass me
despite his earlier teasing.

For the next thirty minutes, we shot lay-ups and short jump-
shots. I noticed that Chris would feed me the ball several
times in a row, skipping his own turn to keep me in rhythm.
I wasn't a bad athlete. I had above average quickness and
was much more coordinated than I had remembered (air-balls
aside). Since our family moved early in the summer, it had
been a good six months since I had done anything athletic at
all. I was encouraged by the new agility my maturing body
seemed to have acquired.

I could count on one hand the number of times I had played
basketball in my life. Needless to say, no one had spent any
time showing me the ropes. Chris on the other hand was not
only a great athlete, but also a coach's son. Along with all
of his teams baseball trophies, I had spotted a couple old
black and white frames of his dad with a basketball in his
hand, so I'm sure Chris had lots of instruction - probably
more than he wanted. Chris was definitely showing some
pretty keen teaching skills with me. By the end of the first
hour, I was respectable around the basket causing Chris to
smile and playfully grab me around the back of the neck with
some unspoken compliment.

"Chris, didn't you say that YOU were trying to get ready for
basketball season?"

"Yeah."

"I really appreciate all the help. Obviously, I need it. But
unless you're planning on coaching this year, this probably
isn't doing much for your game. Why don't you let me play
ball-boy for a little while and you can get in some work." I
bounced the ball out to him and moved under the basket.

"I've got a better idea. Why don't we do this so it helps
both our games? I'll work on my ball-handling and my moves
around the basket. You work on your defense. You seem pretty
quick, defense might be your natural strong point" he summed
it up well, and I was encouraged that he noticed my
quickness.

"Matt, defense is all about footwork. I know where I'm
going, you don't. That gives the guy with the ball a big
advantage. But if you watch my feet and try to match your
own movement, you've got a chance to at least slow me down.
Remember, you don't play defense with your hands - you play
defense with your feet" this sounded like something I could
do. "You can hand-check, you just can't be too obvious about
it. A hand-check isn't a push, it's just something like
this" as he placed his open hand against the small of my
back applying just enough resistance for me to know it was
there. It dawned on me that this hand-checking was something
I could really get used to.

"Matt, are you following me on this" snapping me back from
my momentary loss of focus. "Now, try me. You need to get a
feel for this" and I placed my hand flat against the small
of his back just as he had done to me. "Here's the tricky
part. When I lean back into you, or anytime I shift my
weight against that hand, you've got to learn to use your
hand to slow me down ever so slightly - giving you an extra
feel for which way I'm moving. And you've got to do all this
without the ref thinking it's a push. Let your elbow flex in
and out, but keep that slight pressure at the ball of your
hand. Got it?" I gave him a serious nod letting him know I
was ready to give it a go.

Chris started his dribble, turning his back to me then
quickly facing me again, moving to the side with his
patented cross-over move. To my surprise, I shifted and
stayed in front. He backed off briefly, and then made the
same move to the left side, this time with a deft dribble
behind his back. Again, I managed to stay in front. He
backed off again, pulling the ball up and placing it under
his arm looking at me quizzingly.

"Soccer" I said not waiting for him to ask. "We did play
lots of soccer. You play soccer with your feet, you know."

Chris flashed that familiar smile. Now it made perfect sense
to him.

"OK, your footwork is pretty good. Now I'm going to be more
aggressive toward the basket, let's see you use that hand-
check."

The move he started looked similar to the one earlier, but
this time he turned his back to me setting his weight on his
heels, leaning back into me and throwing me a little off
balance. Before I could recover, he did a spin move pivoting
around me straight to the basket for an easy lay-in.

"Matt, when I lean back, you use that hand to help keep
space between us. If you let me lean into you un-checked,
I'll kill you with that move every time. Let's try that
again" my patient coach insisted determinedly.

This time, I did the hand-check as instructed and I could
feel his weight shifting ever so slightly to his left. The
spacing gave me just enough room to shift my feet and get in
front of his move beating him to the spot just a split
second before he crashed into me sending us both sprawling
to the ground.

I felt all of my earlier progress evaporate, feeling once
again like a hopeless dork. "Chris, are you OK. Man, I'm
sorry."

"What are you talking about, that was a charging foul on me!
Congratulations, you just created a turnover" Chris was very
pleased with me and even more pleased with his own coaching.

"I did? Are you sure?" unconvinced since I didn't think
basketball was a contact sport.

"Hell, yes. That was perfect defense. I've only got one
thing to say about this" Chris stopped and waited for me to
ask.

"What would that be?" I had no clue where he was going with
this.

"You're going out for JV basketball, my friend!" as he
reached down and took my hand, pulling me to my feet and
brushing enough dirt off my back to bury a small animal
with.

"Chris, slow down. JV basketball? Me?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely! JV basketball! You! Bud, not everybody
can play defense - especially against my moves. By the time
practice rolls around, I'll have you ready, trust me! It
would be great, Matt. Me and you. We play 20 games, half of
those on the road. We'll travel on the team bus together.
Plus we've got the Christmas tournament and conference
tournament at year end. Who knows, maybe even the state
playoffs" his confidence made me believe it was possible.
The idea of doing this with Chris was the part that really
hooked me. It was now my mission to make the JV basketball
team. If Chris said I could do it, then I believed him. I
didn't even care if they let me in a single game.

"OK. I'll give it my best shot. But I'm not gonna hold you
back. If I even so much as feel like I'm dragging you down,
I'm out" it was important for me to say that and I meant it.
I wanted this, but not at any price.

"Matt, that's what you don't get. You're not gonna hold me
back, you're gonna make me better. We're going to work like
this every day until practice starts. Man, I'm so fired up.
I can't wait! We're gonna have a blast, Matt!"

Satisfied with his accomplishment, Chris walked over to a
large stump left behind by what must have been a
tremendously large old tree. As he neared the stump, he
pulled off his dripping t-shirt. For mid-October, it was
a near-record hot day, still hovering in the low 80's.
I followed Chris toward the old stump and felt so emboldened
with my surge of newfound confidence that I too stripped off
my shirt, though I draped it around my neck hanging down in
front for at least some shelter for my shyness. Chris sat on
one side of the stump. I took a seat on the other side with
my back to him. We were both breathing hard and sweat was
beading down our chests and backs. It was amazing how quiet
things could be out in the country. You could actually hear
nature all around you, especially the birds chirping merrily
overhead.

"Matt. I'm really glad you came over. I haven't had a friend
over in a long time. People at school treat me real nice,
but it seems like they try to keep a certain distance. Maybe
they stay away because of my dad. I don't know, maybe it's
me."

"Chris, everybody likes you. I wish you could see yourself
the way I see you, then you'd know. Maybe some folks are a
little scared of your dad."

"I don't know, but I meant it. I'm glad you're here, Matt."

"You know you were the first person at school to ever speak
to me? Did you know that, Chris?"

Chris just softly chuckled recalling the moment. "I didn't
know that. You have to admit though, that was pretty damn
funny."

"That it was, most definitely. If you hadn't spoken up that
day, I wouldn't be sitting here with you right now. I've
always been so afraid to talk to people, to make that first
move. It just seems like I've always been a loner, like no
one ever liked me enough to stop and find out who I was. The
reason I never talk about any of my old friends from back
home is because there weren't any, at least none good enough
to miss. You know how earlier, I was staring at all those
old family pictures? I know you wondered why I was standing
there, almost in tears, looking goofy. You want to know why,
Chris?"

"Tell me why."

"Because I wished there were some pictures of me in there
with you, riding bikes together, playing little league
together, opening Christmas gifts together, fighting over
some toy, stuck up in some tree, just growing up together.
It's like I missed so much, Chris. I don't want to miss
anything else" quiet tears now mixed with the sweat running
down my face.

There was more I wanted to say, but that would risk more
than I could afford to lose. I had said enough for one day.
What a day. We sat there, our backs to each other in silence
for several minutes. Just as earlier in the day, I
again hoped that I had not already said too much. Just as
the worry entered my mind, and just when I least expected
it, the most wonderful and most intimate thing in my young
life happened. It was a simple gesture, but it meant the
world to me. I felt Chris slowly lean back against me,
resting first his bare back and then also his head against
mine. In turn, I relaxed my weight back into him and the two
of us sat there resting squarely against each other. I
wished we could stay right there on that old stump together
forever. If only we could.


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Authors Note:

Thanks to everyone who replied to Part 1 with so much
encouragement. I can't begin to express how much it means to
me. Unfortunately, no one in my own life would be so happy
with this story or the fact that I wrote it. The only folks
I have to discuss it with are you the readers. Please keep
the responses coming, good or bad: ehman_penn@yahoo.com

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