Date: Sat, 26 Oct 2002 15:26:08 -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 3


We sat there together on that old stump for at least ten minutes.
Neither of us spoke another word. Instead, we just sat there in
peaceful silence. I wondered what was going through Chris's mind right
now. After all, it was he who had initiated this small but much
appreciated act of kindness and intimacy. I assumed he meant it as an
affirming act of friendship. I also sensed that he understood the true
loneliness I had expressed, a loneliness that he himself had felt at
some point.

My pondering was interrupted by his sudden move off of the stump and
the firm announcement "my dad's home". Chris pulled his shirt back over
his head as he raised himself up and started walking toward the garage.
Likewise, I quickly pulled the shirt from around my neck and put it on
without delay, my previous shyness now fully restored.

Chris had heard the familiar sound of gravel being crunched under his
dad's old blue pickup truck. As we both neared the house, the truck
came into full view circling around an oddly placed tree before finally
resting inside the garage. I had never been directly in the presence of
Chris's father. I had seen him from a distance at school and I had
certainly heard plenty about him from other students. He definitely
didn't have a reputation for humor. Almost everyone saw him as very
serious and took him very seriously. With the added advantage of having
seen the old Army photos of him earlier, the reputation made more sense
to me. I couldn't honestly say that I looked forward to knowing him
better. His baseball teams had once enjoyed a good deal of success, but
he seemed to be on a bit of a losing streak the last few years. His
relationship with the schools other coaches had soured, and word was
that several of the schools best athletes just simply wouldn't have
anything to do with him now.

Chris had paid a price for his father's reputation. I had asked Chris
why he didn't play football. The answer was some long standing feud
between his dad and the football coach, his dad being adamant that
Chris not play for "that son of a bitch". I could only imagine that
baseball had its share of conflicts for him too. After all, who would
be comfortable playing for their own dad? At least the school had a new
basketball coach this year and even old hard-ass Coach Briggs hadn't
had enough time to piss him off yet.

I was wondering what his first words to me would be. As he stepped out
of his truck, he looked me over then turned directly to Chris asking
"you fed my dogs?"

"Yeah" Chris replied not bothering to make eye contact.

I was struck by how stiff Chris's body language had become, starting
from the instant he realized his dad was on the property. I was so use
to seeing Chris full of energy, greeting everyone with enthusiasm and
an engaging style. I hadn't expected that full version of himself with
his dad, but what surprised me was the utter lack of anything remotely
describable as warm between them.

I treated my own dad with his fair share of dull and unenthusiastic
responses, but I was generally always glad to see him. My dad almost
always treated me to at least a warm smile even if following that with
a question of why I hadn't mown the lawn yet. I imagined it must be
different since Chris and his dad were at the same place all day, even
if not in constant contact. Maybe if I went to work each day with my
dad, he would feel less obliged to show his affection. The one thing I
was sure about was this wasn't comfortable to be around, triggering the
reminder that I needed to be home myself.

"Your mother hasn't been home yet?" Coach now fully focused on Chris
and demanded some eye contact.

"No" Chris meeting his eyes just long enough to deliver the short
answer.

Coach reached back in his truck and grabbed a carry case before
slamming the truck door and walking right by me as he entered the
house.

Chris looked at me and tried to muster a smile, but his face was too
stiff to allow the upward movement of his lips.

"I should probably call my mom and see if she can come pick me up" not
really knowing what else to say. Chris looked down and nodded in
agreement.

It was almost 6:00 and my mom was normally home by 5:30. I was
surprised and a little nervous when she didn't pick up. I was sure that
she was OK, probably just ran by the grocery store or something. My
nervousness was due to the prospect of spending more time in the
presence of Coach Briggs. Just then I heard another car pulling into
the driveway.

"My mom won't mind running you home Matt." I was sure Chris could sense
my discomfort.

I didn't want to leave him here, but I knew there was no other choice.
This was his home. His earlier dry reference "home sweet home" came
back to mind. It dawned on me that I could invite him home with me.
Just then his mom entered the house.

She was carrying a very heavy frown and looked a little out of it. The
woman who was walking toward me didn't even look related to the
beautiful younger woman captured in the pictured frame down the hall. I
wondered if she might be ill. As she staggered past me, she paused
briefly making eye contact, looking at me as if she thought she might
recognize me. Chris's voice broke the trance.

"Mom?" he asked it as though he wasn't sure who she was. I could see a
mixture of concern and disappointment in his eyes as he stared at her
intently.

The question jogging her back into motion, she walked on past me,
barely brushing Chris on the arm with a poorly aimed hand as she
continued on down the hallway into a bedroom and then behind a closed
door. The trailing bitter perfume of alcohol answered any questions
that were remaining in my mind about her odd behavior.

Instinctively, I looked at Chris, wanting to offer him some
transference of strength or understanding.

His eyes had fallen to the floor, not following his mother's uneven
steps as she went past him. I could see his jaw tighten and his
shoulders narrow a bit. I quickly looked away deciding to offer him all
the privacy that such an awkward moment would allow. I was quite
certain that Norman Rockwell never painted this scene.

There was muffled loud talking from the bedroom down the hall.
Thankfully, it didn't last long as Coach Briggs re-entered the main
living room just as I was hanging up the phone for the second time, now
unsure how much longer I would have to be party to the drama that had
unfolded in the Briggs home tonight.

The long awaited first words to me from Coach Briggs now finally came,
"How are you getting home?"

"I've called my mom a couple times. She should be home any minute now.
She'll come pick me up. Let me try her again."

"I'll run you home" his stern words offering relief, followed by an all
new disturbing realization.

"Come on Matt, let's go" Chris had spoken up quickly. I wasn't sure if
he wanted to leave as bad as I did, or if he was just trying to save me
the sure discomfort of riding 8 miles alone with his father.

"You're going to your room and you're gonna stick your head in an
algebra book, or I'm gonna shove that book right up your ass! That's
right, I had a little talk with Mr. Davis today. I swear to god Chris,
if you fail algebra this semester, you can forget about basketball this
year." Almost every word he had spoken had spread fear and dread,
leaving my mind reeling to sort out which words had done the most
damage.

I was about to be stuck inside a truck with this man for the next 10
minutes - alone. That was now obvious, there was no avoiding it. Chris
has been crushed right there in front of me, causing us both great
embarrassments. That was just a fact, there was no denying it. But the
threat of Chris missing basketball was unimaginable. That was just
unacceptable, and could not possibly be allowed to come to pass.

Chris's mouth opened trying to form some weak defense against the
ambush of offenses that had been launched against him, but he was
overwhelmed.

His father launched one last stinger, quieting Chris completely. "If it
happens Chris, it's what you deserve."

It's a mystery how the human memory works. Some things we so
desperately want to remember are so easily forgotten. Some things we so
desperately want to forget are with us always. Some things enter into
our memories as lies, only to slowly creep back out accepted as truths.

Less than 6 hours ago, Chris had said something to me that struck me as
oddly out of character for him. While making the sad confession that
sometimes he felt that Katie was just biding her time with him, waiting
for someone better to come along, he said "if that happens, it's
probably what I deserve."

In my mind, Chris didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve a
girlfriend whose love he had to question. He didn't deserve a father
whose love seemed far beyond his reach. He didn't deserve the drunken
excuse for a mother that had staggered into his home and disappeared.
To Chris, the lie had become truth.

My earlier nervousness had been replaced by a growing anger. I stood
there watching my best friend emotionally crumble right before me from
the unbearable weight of hopelessness and despair. How could they, I
wondered. What drives people, parents for god's sake, to this kind of
sorry behavior?

I still didn't know what had happened in Chris's past, why he snapped
and lashed out. As I watched his train-wreck of a family derail before
me, I no longer doubted that something had happened. Somewhere deep
within me, I had finally grudgingly accepted that Chris was capable of
harm. My only hope now was that he hadn't been damaged beyond repair.
This boy that I greatly admired had far too many qualities and I wasn't
going to give up on him. In many ways, I respected him even more. How
many people could walk through this fire and survive? Chris was doing
that every day, over and over again. Someone had to believe in him.

His dad walked past me and out into the garage, motioning for me to
follow as our unavoidable trip together was soon to take place. Chris
straightened up and walked over, looking me intently in the eye. "Don't
show him any fear. Just don't!"

I kept his stare and nodded to him trying as best as I could to reflect
his words back into his own will. As badly as I dreaded leaving with
his dad, I dreaded even more the thought of his dad's return back to
Chris. I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder giving it a firm
squeeze. "Thanks for having me over and thanks for the coaching. Same
time tomorrow, right?" It was important to me for him to know that I
wouldn't be scared away, that I was in this with him, that he wasn't
alone.

His face lightened just a little, and he looked at me, no doubt
wondering "haven't you had enough?" He was still too numb to actually
speak. I affectionately let my hand slide over to the base of his neck
before releasing him and turning to the door. His last spoken words to
me were repeating themselves over and over in my head. "Don't show him
any fear."

I took my seat in the truck and as the doors closed I wandered what
gladiators must have been thinking when they heard the cage doors
close, locking themselves and their adversaries into the arena of
combat. I told Coach Briggs the name of the neighborhood I lived in,
and he refused further directions as we made our way out the driveway
and onto the dark road.

"I understand you're from San Francisco, Matthew." He actually knew my
name. I was surprised and a little disturbed.

"From near there, across the bridge in Sausalito, sir." I was
respectful of adults by nature.

"I'm very familiar with the area, son." I assume he called me son by
some abuse of teacher-speak. "I spent almost 7 years stationed at the
Presidio. You know where that's at, don't you?"

"Yes sir. What did you do in the Army?" As I asked he looked at me with
surprise, evidently taken back that a 14 year-old would be observant
enough to know which branch operated one of largest military bases in
northern California. The Presidio was hard to ignore, taking up almost
1500 acres located just on the San Fran side of the Golden Gate Bridge.

"I worked the stockade" he paused, conjuring up memories of a job that
must have left many in his mind. "We had lots of deserters, criminal
types, pansies, degenerates, and such." I saw him looking at me out of
the corner of his eye as he read the list. I figured there must have
been lots of men in that stockade that "deserved it".

"Don't show him any fear!" I could hear Chris calling out to me, well
beyond the limitations of the human ear. I turned the conversation back
at Coach, again surprising him with my knowledge. "Sir, you know the
Indians used to roam that same land long before the Army took it over."

He turned his head, taking a closer look at me, then turning his eyes
back to the road. "Have you ever been there, son?"

"Yes sir, but only to play soccer." The Presidio had been abandoned by
the Army, becoming a national park well after Coach Briggs had left.
The hundreds of structures were mostly still intact, but athletic
complexes and civilian recreational activities had replaced the daily
grind of military life.

"Well son, we didn't play any god damn soccer when I was there. I'll
promise you that. No sir. Everybody talks about Alcatraz being so
tough. Men would have gladly taken a transfer out of our stockade over
to Alcatraz. I guess San Francisco has changed a lot since I was there.
What a waste."  He was shaking his head in nauseated disgust, but was
at least looking straight ahead this time.

I decided to be quiet for a little while, hoping that Coach Briggs
would do the same. He didn't.

"Your dad must do pretty well for himself", again looking at me out of
the corner of his eye.

Coach Briggs no doubt knew where our neighborhood was because it was
one of the nicer ones in the county. My father was a marketing
executive for his bank, a job that evidently paid much better than that
of a high school teacher and coach.

"I don't really know anything about stuff like that, sir. He's not home
all that much now days. I guess he does OK."  That was an honest
answer. I was smart enough to know we lived in a nice house. My parents
had been thrilled at what they could buy here with the money they got
for our old house in Sausalito. Our house there was much smaller and
didn't come with any grass. Here, we had an hour and a half worth of
grass, and a scattering of trees. Evidently, we weren't doing well
enough to hire anyone to mow the grass. Mostly, I knew my dad wasn't
home nearly as much as I would like. If not being home made a dad
successful, then my dad was a smashing success! It's a shame that
Chris's dad couldn't have been more successful.

"I guess your mom stays home, taking care of that big house." Now he
was talking about my mother. I didn't show fear, but I might have shown
a hint of irritation. This was normally the time I would display my
unmatched skill as a smart-ass, but now wasn't the time to be a smart-
ass. I took a quiet breath or two before replying, trying to look like
I had taken his question in stride.

"No sir, my mom works at a veterinarian clinic in town. She's not a
vet. She's just a vet technician." I felt like I had short-changed her
somehow. My mom loved what she did and she still found time to take
care of me and my dad too. "She also takes care of the house, and me
and dad. I guess you could say she's working three jobs." I was trying
to make it up to her.

If Coach Briggs was impressed, he didn't show it. He did accept some
last minute direction as I pointed him to our house. Finally, the old
truck made it up our concrete driveway. All things considered, I
thought I'd fought him to a draw. I thought wrong.

"Matthew, what was that business up by the baseball field this
afternoon?" He put the truck into park and turned so he could watch my
reply with undivided attention. I was sure he had done this as a
calculated strategic act. I had been too caught up in the roar of the
crowd to have seen this last attack approaching from the rear. Chris
and his dad shared at least two traits; physique and those damn x-ray
eyes. Coach Briggs was at least well into his fifties, but was still as
solid as a rock. At the moment, it was the eyes that had me most
concerned.

"Think fast, think fast. Stay cool, stay cool" the words bouncing off
the insides of my skull. Tommy's face appeared inside my head, almost
as if he were a vision sent from a higher power.

"Tommy Johnson." I said shaking my head in mock disgust, turning to
look Coach Briggs right back in the eye. "Tommy was goofing around
during lunch and splattered some pizza on Katie Barnes. Katie got
pretty upset and Chris came along right about that time. It was all
just a big misunderstanding, an accident. Chris was pretty pissed off,
sorry sir, he was upset. I was just making sure he knew it was an
accident. Tommy can be a real goofball sometimes, but he didn't mean
any harm." So far, I had told the truth, not the whole truth, but at
least the truth. It was the only way I could look him in the eye. I was
afraid a lie would show on my face. I wasn't sure he was completely
buying it. After all, Chris and I were up there talking for quite a
while. I made a split decision to give him just a bit more. "I think
Chris was a little upset too about something silly him and Katie were
fighting about. Things just got all mixed together, but it all got
worked out. Poor Tommy was about to have a heart attack..." I thought
by rambling on he might lose interest and write it off as teenagers
just being goofy. He interrupted me before I could finish.

"Matthew, there's not much that goes on at that school that I don't
know about. You remember that. Now try and have your transportation
arrangements in order the next time you show up at our house."

"I will sir, thanks for the ride." With that, I limped out of the
truck, a little bloodied and battered but still mostly intact. I would
at least live to fight another day. I imagined Chris would be proud.

I looked back as Coach Briggs pulled around, past my mom's car, and
back into the road. He might have been looking at me, or maybe he was
just taking in a last look at our house. In some ways I felt a little
ashamed, like we had too much or didn't deserve what we had. As the
word deserve ran through my brain, my thoughts again turned to Chris. I
sighed in a fleeting moment of relief, at least knowing that he would
be free of his dad for another ten minutes. The sobering reality of his
drunken mom spoiled that moment of relief before it even began.

I turned the door and entered into a much different setting. I had
gotten so wrapped up in the many dramas of this day that I had failed
to even let mom know I would be home late. What a day it had been.
Spotting her in the kitchen, I headed straight for her barely slowing
down before grabbing her with a big hug.

"Hey, where have you been? Matt, are you OK?" I didn't answer right
away, trying as hard as I could not to cry.

I wanted to tell my mom all about it, or at least all about Chris's mom
and dad. I wanted someone else to understand what he was going through.
I needed someone to understand what I was going through with him,
trying to keep his head above water. I was also desperately afraid that
I might give away too much. Would my mom let me go back to Chris's
house if she knew about his drunken mom, or about what a hard-ass his
dad was? I had never had a friend as close as Chris, never had anyone I
felt the way I did about Chris. Again, I was in un-chartered waters.
Navigation would be at a premium. I suppressed my desire to burst out
all the questions and instead first just told my mom how much I loved
her. Yes, I was late and no, I didn't call her. Chris's dad gave me a
ride home. But I talked about the "big picture" and how important it
was that I had made a great friend and how happy she should be. I threw
in some b.s. about how tough it was making friends at a new school just
for added effect, but mostly I just told the truth - or at least as
much of it as I was prepared to reveal.

"Hook, line, and sinker" - as they say. My mothers love had been a
constant in my life. I had never doubted it for a second. It wasn't
always enough, but it was always there. The excited joy in her eyes
also spoke of relief. It was important to her that I be happy. I don't
think I had ever fully considered that she might be so aware of my
loneliness and the pain it had caused me. My mother was likely always
suffering right there along with me, just in the background where I
didn't notice. Maybe she had her own words for "Don't show him any
fear." She suddenly seemed so much wiser to me. Was she wise enough to
handle the whole truth?

The front door opened again. My dad was home early, it wasn't even 7:00
yet. Sure enough, he greeted me with a warm smile and a "Hey there
Matt!" I surprised him with an even bigger smile in return and a bonus
hug.

Tonight, John, Joanna, and Matthew Jordan sat around the same table,
eating dinner together - for a change. I looked across the table at my
mom and dad and tried to take a moment to be thankful for what I had.
It might not always be like this. Again, my thoughts turned to Chris.
The happy contented smile on my face gave way to a distant look of
concern, a change noticeable enough to catch the attention of my dad.

"Matt, something's up with you. One minute you're bouncing off the
ceiling, then all of a sudden it's like you're in outer space. I think
I might know what it is." My dad had stopped shoveling food into his
face and was staring at me with one of those proud, fatherly smiles.

"Oh, god, no. No. Please don't say it." My lips didn't move. I was the
deer in the headlights, about to meet an 18-wheeler.

"You've got a girl, don't you?" He was so proud of himself. He was so
proud of me. He looked over at my mom and nodded. She turned to me. She
was so happy.

"Matthew, is this true?" My mom's words now completely paralyzed me.

This could not be happening to me. I was in a complete state of silent
panic, and couldn't remember my last breath. My face went hot, then
cold. My hands tingled. I did the only thing I could do. I passed out.

"Matt. Matt." The voices seemed like they were coming from another
room.

"Matthew, son." I opened my eyes. The faces were blurry at first, but
slowly snapped into something that looked familiar.

"Matt, are you OK?" I had been out for only a few seconds. My dad had
reached my side just before I slid completely out of my chair and onto
the hard kitchen floor. I wasn't there to see it, but it must have been
the fastest he'd moved in 20 years, or 40 pounds - whichever came
first.

"I'm OK, a little space please?" I was still a little dizzy, but was
mostly just irritated, still remembering the sequence that led to this
point.

"Really, I'm OK. Mom, dad, I'm OK" and I tried to laugh. They weren't
laughing.

My mom wanted to call our doctor. I begged her not to. It dawned on me
that I hadn't eaten all day. I was running late getting ready for
school and had skipped breakfast. The pizza fiasco killed lunch. Mom
and I normally had dinner by 6:30. It was almost 7:30 now and I had
barely started in on my lasagna. I had played basketball with Chris for
almost 2 hours, burning whatever fuel I had left in my system.  It all
sounded reasonable enough and my mom finally agreed that we would hold
off on calling the doctor for now. I had to promise that I'd tell her
if I felt at all dizzy again. I slowly finished my dinner, rubbed my
full belly and pronounced myself cured.

The phone rang. My dad answered. "Yes, he's here. Yes, you can speak to
him. Hold on please."

"Matt, phone call." I looked at him unsure. I didn't get a lot of phone
calls. My mind raced again and I feared it might be Chris, in some type
of trouble.

"Hello?"

"Mattie. It's me." No one else called me Mattie. Tommy needed no
introduction by name.

"Tommy, everything OK?"

"Oh yeah, Mattie. Everything's great. Hey, are you going to the
homecoming game tomorrow night?" I hadn't even thought about it, but
then I didn't need to.

Homecoming games were followed by homecoming dances. Homecoming dances
were attended by boyfriends and girlfriends, and, oh shit, how much
more of this torture could I stand? I hadn't even begun to contemplate
how I was going to deal with seeing "them" together - again.

"Tommy, do you know any hit-men?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind, it's not realistic. I don't have the cash."

"Matt, are you OK? You sound kind of out of it?"

"Yeah, Tommy. I am sort of out of it. But to answer your question, I
will NOT be going to homecoming. Why do you ask? You weren't going to
invite me to the dance, were you?" trying to distract myself with
humor.

Silence.

"Tommy, you still there?"

"Matt, I don't think they would let us go to the dance together. All I
wanted to know is if you wanted to come over tomorrow night and go
camping with me down by the creek behind my house. We'll do some cat-
fishing and stuff, it'll be fun."

"Camping and fishing, huh? That does sound like fun. Hold on a sec and
let me check with my folks." It really did sound like fun and I
realized that I needed the distraction. Homecoming night was second
only to prom night in its effect on the promiscuous hormones of teenage
girls. Whatever defenses Katie had been putting up against Chris were
likely to be lowered tomorrow night. I felt sick.

It took some convincing but my parents finally agreed, only under the
condition that my mom give me a clean bill of health tomorrow
afternoon. If everything was OK, she'd drive me over to Tommy's. Any
warning signs and I'd be staying home for the night and in a doctor's
office on Saturday.

Tommy was ecstatic. He was becoming the younger brother I never had,
even though we were the same age. Tommy was slight of frame, a couple
inches shorter than me - maybe 5'8" tops, and was immature even for his
young age. With light strawberry hair and a few scattered freckles, I
occasionally teased by calling him "Opie". Tommy's dad wasn't a
sheriff. He was a professor at a state college near Charlotte. Tommy
was a serious brainiac, scoring 1550 on an SAT he had taken this
summer. An idea started brewing and I wondered if Tommy had any
potential as a math tutor. Mmhh.

Dinner was finished, plans for tomorrow were made, and I was ready for
an early bed. What a day.

As I lay there, all of the events of this most-eventful day came
flooding back into my memory. Chris and I were friends when this day
started, but we had made so much progress in just one day. Were we now
at least best friends? What did Chris really think of me? The familiar
spoiler of self-doubt crept into my thoughts. Was I reading too much
into too little?  I had admitted to myself today that I was attracted
to Chris. I had yet to even comprehend that he might actually be
attracted to me. I knew that I had always recognized appeal in other
boys. I had never been dishonest with myself about it, it was just
simply a fact that I accepted along with the fact that I was right-
handed, or that I didn't have an outie - like Chris. Chris was the only
person I had ever met that I could identify a strong physical
attraction to. I never labeled myself as gay, or as anything else for
that matter. I never thought of myself as sexual at all. Was I gay? Did
I care? Others would, that was for sure. I saw the look on Chris's
dad's face when he described the "pansies and degenerates" and San
Francisco in general. I wasn't sure what a pansy was, but I had a good
idea of what he meant by "degenerates". "What a waste" he had said. A
waste of what, I wondered. I also saw the look on my own dad's face.
Would I see that same look if I told him I loved a boy? Would my own
mom still love me as much? I was an only child. My parents might never
have grandchildren. Did I owe that to them? What did they owe to me?
What did I owe to myself?

All of the questions faded as sleep slowly started to overtake me. The
image of Chris returned to me, free of any clutter or complications. I
saw him sitting there on that old stump, shirtless, taut muscles
straining against his smooth skin. I felt the warmth of his bare back
as it pressed up against mine, melting my own body into his. Finally,
we had a peaceful setting where we could enjoy this moment for hours on
end, free of the interruptions by parents and people. The birds were
chirping again, at least they were happy for us.

This time it wasn't the appearance of Chris's dad that scared us off
the stump, but rather my alarm clock dutifully going off at 6:30am. An
hour to get ready and eat breakfast before my mom would drop me off at
school on her way to work. I pushed myself up onto my elbows and let my
droggy head sort out reality from the dream. It didn't take long. Today
was homecoming at school. I didn't know exactly how they did it here,
but I imagined it would involve way more enthusiasm than I was willing
to offer. I wondered what Chris was doing right now. I caught myself
rubbing on my morning woody and decided I better hit the shower. I
loved a hot shower. I loved to feel clean and fresh. I never understood
why some kids liked being so grungy, I could never be comfortable that
way. Right now, I loved the feeling of a soapy hand. I leaned into the
wall of the shower stall, my left arm raised as a prop, the water
beating against the top of my head. I closed my eyes and drifted back
to the dreams of the night before. My right hand slid up my stomach,
gliding around the side and then the back of my neck, drifting slowly
downward over my chest circling a small nipple for a moment or two
before retracing its path, briefly bumping the small pit that was my
belly button, before arriving at its final destination and settling
into a slow rhythm. I might have stood there all day had it not been
for two things. The first was a rapidly diminishing supply of hot
water, the second was a voice.

"Matthew! Get a move on!" Nothing spoiled a personal moment for a
teenage boy like the loud voice of his mother. Sarcastically, I thought
to myself that I had a pretty good move going on already, thank you
very much!

Oh well, the moment had passed. It was back to reality and back to
homecoming day - shit! The night had been comforting, the morning
promising, but all of that now gave way to the sheer irritation of the
day.

I quickly dressed. After all, low long does it take to through on a
shirt and a pair of jeans? I tied my black tennis shoes and declared
myself physically ready to take on the day. Emotionally ready? That was
another story.

My mom insisted that I eat a full breakfast, not wishing to repeat the
late-day fainting spell from yesterday. I gladly wolfed it down and
gave her a big healthy reassuring smile. I hated the thought of my mom
worrying about me.

It was a bright sunny day, still warm. I thought about my camping trip
tonight with Tommy. I had never been camping before. I couldn't
remember ever spending a night away from home. This would be another
day of firsts for me.

As the school came into view, so did an unusually long line of cars
with parents waiting to drop off their kids. I saw my mom glance at her
watch. The combination of my earlier adventures in the shower and the
long full breakfast had thrown us several minutes behind. I didn't want
her to be late, my mom was pretty picky about stuff like that and I
knew it would bother her. She insisted on dropping me off in the
mornings, though I usually rode the school bus home in the afternoon.

"Mom, just swing in the student parking lot and drop me off. It's not
that far. I don't need curb-side service." We laughed together at my
little joke and my mom was glad to make up the lost time.

"Matthew, you call me this afternoon like we agreed, OK?"

"I will, mom. I promise. I'm OK, don't worry about me." I flashed
another big smile and closed the car door.

She waved at me as she pulled away. I decided just to smile in return
because I didn't really want any of the older kids to see me waving at
my mother. I was trespassing on their turf after all, though I didn't
plan to make it a habit.

As I watched my mom pull away, I heard the slam of a door not far
behind me. I turned my head and got a close-up view of the old black
truck that had caught my eye the day before. The rear window was tinted
and I couldn't make out the face still sitting inside, but I was sure
it was him.

The mysterious dark-haired boy stepped out of his truck and made blunt
eye contact with me. I should have turned and started walking, but
something kept me there a little too long. His features reminded me
very much of the actor Jared Leto, just not as pretty. He was wiry thin
and had that same well defined face, straight black hair, big dark eyes
and brows.

"What's the matter, are you lost? Need your mommy to come back and drop
you off a little closer to the school?" He looked right at me as he
coldly delivered the words. Was he just teasing, or was there real
menace in his words? I wasn't frightened of him - yet. I didn't know
who this boy was, but I had a growing suspicion. It wasn't my nature to
take a shot like that without firing back. I decided to kill two birds
with one stone.

Raising a hand to my ear, I tilted my head and mockingly replied "I'm
sorry, I COULDN'T hear you."

The anger radiated from his face, but it was tempered by embarrassment,
the kind of embarrassment one feels when a handicap is rudely pointed
out. His identity was confirmed, this was definitely Jay Henson. I
could now report to Tommy that the rumor that Jay's injuries included
deafness in one ear were most definitely true.

My feet were now moving. I wasn't about to stand around and challenge
him further. I didn't feel good about what I'd said, but I also felt
like he kind of deserved it. A tiny shock wave blew through my mind at
the realization that those very words "deserved it" had worked into my
subconscious vocabulary. Did Jay really "deserve it?" Now I felt really
bad. I was also starting to feel a little scared as I could hear his
footsteps closing in behind me. Maybe I was about to get what I
deserved.

I heard a voice that was music to my ears. Around the corner, Chris was
standing with his back to me laughing with a few friends before
homeroom. The music hit a sour note however, when I saw the girl
standing beside him. I couldn't even bring myself to say her name
anymore. I stopped in my tracks, briefly forgetting that Jay was close
on my trail. I turned half expecting him to plow right into me, but he
was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, I walked around peering into the open
spaces expecting to catch a glimpse of him, but it was as if he had
vanished into thin air. This whole episode was a little spooky and I
retraced my memory trying to reassure myself that I had really seen him
at all. I looked out into the student parking lot to confirm the
presence of his black truck. It was there, but where in the hell was
he?

Just then, two hands grabbed my shoulders from behind. I wheeled around
wildly, dropping everything in my arms, escaping the warm grasp I was
in.

"Matt, oh shit! I didn't mean to scare you. Are you OK, buddy?" The
startled look on Chris's face must have mirrored my own. He reached out
again, this time resting his hands gently down on top of my shoulders.

I desperately wanted to lean my head into him and just fall into his
arms, but I didn't.

"Chris, it's you. Oh man, I'm really jumpy this morning. Sorry, I'm
just a nervous wreck" my voice was rattled and I bent down in front of
him and starting to gather a couple books and loose papers from the
ground.

Chris knelt down beside me picking up a stray paper or two, handing
them to me and offering support with his eyes.

"Matt, about yesterday." He paused and my heart fluttered wondering
what he was going to say next. My old companion self-doubt was
screaming the words ahead of him, like an irritating movie-goer who's
seen a movie enough times to be able to speak the dialogue ahead of the
actors on the screen. He would probably tell me it was best if I didn't
come over again. Maybe he would use his dad as an excuse to push me
away. After all, he had so much more to lose than me. He had a
girlfriend, he had a reputation, he actually had a real life - even
though he had the real-life problems to go along with it. I felt a bit
dizzy again, but I knew this was no medical problem.

"Matt, about yesterday" he started over. I bit my lip and made myself a
promise not to cry. "It's not always that bad, OK. I know it looked
really bad, but.." he paused again, his eyes full of pain and his head
involuntarily shaking in a pattern I now recognized.

I was so ashamed of myself for letting doubt distract me. Why couldn't
I just believe in Chris? Why couldn't I believe in me? He was so brave.

"Chris, you don't have to explain." I paused for several seconds, now
struggling as Chris had earlier to complete the words. "Don't show any
fear, Chris. Don't show any fear." As the words escaped, I broke my
promise and felt a disobedient tear stream down my cheek. I saw his
eyes follow the trail of the tear, then return to meet my eyes again,
making a silent statement to calm me. He reached out once again,
touching me as I had touched him the night before, gently grasping the
curve at the back of my neck. I'm not he was even aware we were very
much in public.

It was confession time, if only silently to myself. I wasn't only
attracted to Chris and I didn't only admire him. The three short words
that had eluded each other in my head finally found each other in my
heart and spoke as one. I loved him.



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Authors Note / October 26, 2002:

Thanks again to everyone who has replied with so much encouragement.
Please continue to let me know how you're enjoying the story. I can't
begin to express how much your feedback means to me. I've enjoyed
corresponding with everyone and I will promptly reply to your email.
The plot is thickening and I do plan to carry this story through to a
conclusion.

Several of you commented that you could relate to my `Authors Note'
posted at the end of Part 2. It has been a personal disappointment to
me that no one in my `real life' would be happy to know that I've
written this story. Writing this story has consumed me over the past
few weeks, and it's tough to keep that bottled up inside. That
disappointment has been greatly lessened by the many of you who have
let me discuss this and other things with you. I really feel like it's
changed me for the better. Thanks.

Please keep the responses coming, good or bad: ehman_penn@yahoo.com

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