Date: Thu, 28 Jun 2001 03:02:32 -0500
From: Brennan Jobse <bjobse414@hotmail.com>
Subject: Running Scared - Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: (cheesy horror movie music fills the background) This place is
not for the faint of heart or the foolish... Should you be one of the young
ones who falls below the age of maturity, it is in everyone's best
interests for you to be wary and not get caught being here. Should you be
one of the Ever Diminishing Masses, that is, those who are repulsed by such
things as two guys (or two chicks for that matter) falling in love, the
Steadily Growing Multitude, or those who are accepting and supportive of
such things, asks you to leave now, for the sake of your own pride, with
the warning that if you do not, your pride will not be yours much
longer. All others, feel free to come and go as you wish!

Running Scared
Chapter Seven
By Brennan Jobse

	"Let's go, guys! I don't spend my time after school here to
babysit! I'm here to coach!  Hustle!"

	I gritted my teeth and willed my legs to move faster as salty
rainwater dripped down into my eyes, blurring my vision. We were doing
man-makers, possibly the most horrific running drill in existence. At least
it was the end exercise. Which meant I could go home and collapse in my
nice, warm, comfy bed pretty soon. The thought preoccupied my mind and I
slowed down.

	"I said MOVE Ghallager! Our game is in two weeks and I will NOT
have slackers on my team!" Coach Haverland screamed at me over the
rain. She sounded pissed. I picked up the pace and began sprinting back
toward her.

	"Okay, guys, that wasn't too bad," she said, once we had all
finished the run. "But try to get some rest for tomorrow. I don't want you
guys getting hurt during the game. I don't think I need to remind you that
this game is crucial to our chances as Provincial Champs?" She looked
questioningly at the team. We were all huffing and puffing, leaning against
each other for support.  I couldn't remember when I had been this tired.

	Then she smiled and laughed. "Go home, guys." The only sound was an
exhausted sigh of relief. We gathered our strength and started in on the
walk home. Aaron was leaning against my back and pushed me away so that he
could stand under his own power.

	"You ready?"

	"Yeah, I'm coming," I replied, thinking about the suddenly very
long journey home.

	It took us a long time to get our shit together. We were just too
damn tired. Practice had been like this for the past week now and it was
beginning to show in the whole team. Four of us had already fallen asleep
in class at least once this week, and although the administration didn't
give us a hard time about it, Coach Haverland wasn't too pleased and told
us to eat more carbs and get more sleep.

	When we were finally ready, we started down the path to our houses,
making small talk seeing as how we were both too tired to get into anything
really heavy. We talked about school, and TV, and Napster (Aaron was NOT
pleased with the way the court cases were going). Somehow we got on the
subject of our better halves.

	"So what do you think of Amy?" Aaron asked me, keeping his eyes
ahead so as not to trip on any tree roots.

	"She's great. A lot of fun to be around." I shrugged. "I
dunno. She's cute."

	Aaron burst out laughing and I felt stung for some reason. Probably
because I was so wrecked. "Cute?" he howled.

	"What's wrong with her being cute? You think she's cute," I said
defensively.

	"Yeah, but..." Here he looked around to make sure we were far
enough away from everyone else so that they couldn't hear. "You like guys,
doofus."

	"I know that, retard boy," I replied, a grin fighting its way to
the surface, "but I still have eyes. Besides, I never said I wanted to bang
her, I just said she was cute."

	Aaron feigned a look of smiling hurt. "You wouldn't want to bang my
girlfriend? MY girlfriend? What, you think I have bad taste or something?"

	I managed a straight face. "Nah, she's just not my type. Doesn't
come with the right accessories."

	That sent Aaron into another spiel of maniacal laughter and he
collapsed on the muddy ground in a heap. Aaron had that kind of laugh
that's contagious and just hearing him sent my overtired mind into
hysterics. Pretty soon, we were both on the ground, shrieking with
laughter, holding our sides and slinging mud at each other just because it
was there.  Good times.

	After a while, we got up, newly exhausted, and stumbled the rest of
the way home in minimal monosyllabic conversation. My house was closer so I
said bye and went to stand under the rain gutter to clean off. The less
crud I tracked into the house, the less I had to clean later.

	While I was standing there, the coming events wormed their way into
my mind. Aaron's birthday. What the fuck was I going to get him? I never
was good at getting presents for people.  But it was our sixteenth
birthday. Austin was right. It had to be special.  But what?

	I decided that it was too important a subject to think about in my
current state and went inside, being careful not to drip all over
everywhere. I put on some dry clothes, heated some chicken, and did my
homework, not really caring whether the answers were right or wrong, as
long as it was done so I could sleep.

	I was in that place where you're not really awake and you're not
really asleep, when Austin called, and my dad picked it up. If I had been
totally awake, I might have remembered to be scared. My eyes were closed
and I heard him come in my room with the cordless phone. Then silence. With
great reluctance, I lifted my heavy eyelids and looked in his direction.

	He was watching me (supposedly sleeping) in a way I hadn't seen him
watch me in a long, long time. It was sort of like the way you watched a
baby in the maternity ward. Almost reverent.  I couldn't figure out why he
was looking at me like that and some of the old familiar fear came back
just then, even though there wasn't really any reason for it. Then I saw
him mouth the word "Gabrielle" and it became a little clearer.

	My mom had long dirty blond hair and hazel eyes. Just like mine. I
had a pile of photo albums in the attic with her pictures in them. And
while she looked nothing like a guy, and I looked nothing like a girl, we
looked almost exactly the same, if you can figure that one out.  Same
stature, same face shape... From what I remembered, our hobbies were even
somewhat the same.  Books and those days in the park, amongst other things,
were what we both enjoyed most. Often, I had wished I had known more about
her, if only to see how much like her I really was.

	My dad, on the other hand, had dark hair and dark eyes. Even before
my mom died, he was regularly standoffish, although sometimes, like our
trip to Niagara Falls, he could be great. But his volatile temper set us
too far apart. He and I were nothing alike and we both knew it. The only
thing I had inherited from him was a Y chromosome and I liked it that way.

	My dad was still watching me in a state not unlike that of a Zen
master, thinking about my mom. His wife. Gabrielle Lacroix Ghallager. I
knew that when she died, a big chunk of him died with her. Right then, I
pitied him more than I feared or disliked him.

	Just then, my dad seemed to snap out of his trance and saw me
staring at him. The angry fire that was reserved just for me flared up in
his eyes again and he threw the phone at my chest without a word, and
left. It didn't hurt, but it reinforced the point he was trying to convey.
And that was that I was a nuisance. But it didn't change the fact that the
pity was still there and probably would be for a while.

	"Hello?" I said, picking up the phone, feeling my former exhaustion
sweep over me again.

	"Hi," said the voice on the other end brightly.

	I yawned. "Hey, Austin." I felt that fluttery feeling start up in
my chest when I heard his voice and tried to ignore it. I hadn't figured
out what to do about the Austin situation. It just baffled me. I mean, it
was just something about him. It had to be.

	"You sound tired."

	"Man-makers with Coach Haverland today."

	"In the rain?"

	"In the rain."

	"Ouch."

	"Mmm hmm."

	He went to say something and my eyes slowly started to drift
closed. I tried to stay awake, but it was no use. I was out in minutes.

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

	I woke up some time later. It was rainy outside still, but the sky
was more gray than dark. Oh well. The good rains couldn't last forever, but
I knew they'd be back. I went downstairs and was surprised to find my whole
living room full of people. Some I knew, some I didn't. There was Mr. and
Mrs. Riveste, my second grade teacher, Ms. Lawson, and my dad's former best
friend, Ethan Burrows, who also worked at the hospital alongside my
mom. Everyone was dressed in black.  And they all
looked... different. Younger, sort of.

	I walked around a little and no one seemed to notice me. A little
kid with brown hair ran into my knees. He looked up at me and smiled and I
stopped cold. It was Aaron.

	Well, not Aaron now. Aaron eight years ago. And this was my mom's
funeral reception. I was more than a little confused. I didn't remember any
of my mom's funeral reception.

	"Hi!" he said with a big smile that showed a couple of teeth
missing.

	"Hi," I replied and looked around. "What's going on?"

	He suddenly fell somber. "Oh, my friend's mom died yesterday. I
can't find him anywhere.  Will you help me find him? He's really sad."

	I was about to tell him that yeah, I'd help him, but I didn't get
the chance. One minute I was standing with the little Aaron and the next I
was sitting under a table. My knees were pulled up to my chest and my arms
were around them. I felt a lot smaller. I was me at seven. I had no basis,
none whatsoever, for believing that. It was just one of those things you
KNEW, without any room for questions.

	Anyway, I was under this table and there was a long white
tablecloth that hung off the side so that I was hidden. All I could see of
the passing guests were their shiny black shoes and the cuffs of their
pants. Two men were standing in front of me and were talking just loud
enough for me to hear them.

	"Dammit, Ethan, why the hell couldn't they do anything? They're
fucking doctors..." The voice was tearful and sounded bitter as hell.

	Another voice. "Hey, come on, Johnathon. I was there. It... It was
just too late for Gabrielle. She was hurt too bad. She hung on longer than
we expected her to.  We tried. God knows we tried. There was nothing we
could do."

	Under the table I hugged my knees closer to me and hot tears fell
from my eyes onto the black polyester of my pants. I missed my mom. I
didn't want to be here, listening to what I now knew was my dad and
Ethan. I wanted to be in my mom's study reading Robert Munsch. But it was
not to be.

	The two voices were quiet for a little while. Then Ethan said,
"How's Ben doing?"

	"I dunno."

	"What do you mean you don't know? He's your son, Johnathon. He
needs you."

	"Fuck you, Ethan," came my dad's listless voice. "I can't deal with
Ben right now. It's too hard. Gabri was always better with him than I was
anyway..."

	Then I was big again. Still under the table with my knees pulled up
into my chest. But I wasn't cramped beneath the furniture, despite my
size. I wept into my knees for some time before I felt a hand on my
shoulder. It was Austin. My wonderful Austin. I looked at him with tears
streaming down my cheeks, and he drew me into him and rocked me gently in
his arms while I cried softly.

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

	I woke up (for real this time) with a start. My dream rocketed
through my brain in an instant and I swept my hand over my face. To my
great surprise, it was wet.  I had been crying in my sleep. My mom. I was
dreaming about my mom's funeral reception. I hadn't remembered a thing
about the reception before that dream. But it was pretty accurate.
Obviously, Aaron didn't run into me and Austin didn't come and comfort me
under the table, but everything else... Every detail was exact, right down
to Aaron having missing teeth. I remembered he lost them when he was eating
an apple... The recovered memories whipped through my mind like a
whirlwind.

	The phone was on the floor, beside my bed. It was off. I must have
hit the button when I fell asleep. It occurred to me that I had hung up on
Austin. I considered calling him back, but when I looked at the time, it
was 4:39 in the morning. Maybe not.

	I got up and washed the tearstains from my cheeks in the
bathroom. The cool water felt good on my skin. I shuffled back to my room
and passed out into a restless, uneasy sleep.

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

	BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

	I reached out my hand and snapped off my alarm
clock. 7:45. Again. School.  I had school pretty soon. Gotta get up,
Ben. Gotta get up.

	I pulled myself out of bed and into the shower in a daze. I put the
water on cooler than normal to help wake me up. Didn't work. I was still
tired. Only now I was cold, too. Great.

	The day went on like every other day, only longer. By the end of
second period, I could feel my pulse pound in every vein. Mostly at my
temples, though. I'd take a step and it would reverberate through my entire
body.

	Finally, it was all over. And there was no soccer
today. Bonus. Coach Haverland's daughter was in a play at school. Thank God
for underfunded theatre. I went home and collapsed into bed. I'd only sleep
for an hour and a half. That way I could still make the house quasi-
presentable for my dad when he got home. I set my clock to make sure.

	I woke up some time later to a hard slap. I bolted upright into a
sitting position and before I knew what was happening, a fist connected
with my left cheekbone and I fell back onto my pillow, clutching my
face. The spots cleared away enough for me to see that my dad was hovering
over me. The fire I had seen yesterday was back.

	"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he spat at me. "Sleeping
up here when the house is a goddam sty?"

	I didn't say anything. It was better not to when it got like
this. He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up, close to his face.

	"When I tell you to do something," he whispered menacingly, "I want
it fucking done." He had my left hand in his grasp and squeezed my fingers
so hard I yelped. "Got it?" I nodded quickly. He leered at me and bent them
back until I heard a bunch of little snaps.

	"Fuck!" I hadn't had a bone broken in a long time and I had
forgotten how much it hurt.  Pain flared, and instead of dying away
gradually, it lingered. Tears sprang to my eyes and I cradled my broken
fingers in my good right hand.

	"Now you listen, boy, and you listen good. Disobey me again, and I
swear to Christ I'll break more than your fingers." His voice was steady
and full of raw hatred.  That said, he turned and left my room.

	I focused my attention on my throbbing fingers. The bottom section
of my third and fourth fingers were lower than the rest and the sharp bone
chunks were pushing up against the skin. I tried moving my index finger and
pain ricocheted all the way up to my elbow.  They were broken alright. I
needed to go to the hospital.

	"Dad?" I called. No answer. I heard the door downstairs slam and
the squeal of tires on wet pavement. I got up and walked down the stairs in
amazement. He had left me there. The nearest hospital was over half an
hour's walk away. What the fuck was I going to do now?

	I couldn't call Aaron for a ride. He'd read more into this than I
wanted him to and I wasn't sure I'd be able to bullshit my way out of this
one. He knew too much. But Austin didn't.  I could call Austin's house and
get a ride. I dialed his house and held the receiver between my ear and my
shoulder so I could hold my hand. It hurt too much to let my fingers
dangle.

	"Hello?" Austin picked it up on the third ring.

	"Hey, Austin."

	"Ben!" he exclaimed happily and I smiled despite myself. I loved
the sound of his voice.

	"Hi. Um, listen, I got a favor to ask," I said, suddenly feeling
like a mooch.

	"What d'ya need?"

	I had prepared a story months ago in my spare time in case this
ever happened. In fact, I had a story prepared for just about every
possible injury I could think of.  Isn't it incredible what you can do when
you put your mind to it? Of course, this was the first time I had to use
this particular story... and on Austin no less. Guilt was steadily rising
in my throat and I swallowed hard to force it down.

	"Well, I was coming inside and the wind slammed the door on my
fingers--"

	"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

	I fought down the urge to tell him I was fine. I really needed to
go to the hospital. "I think they're broken," I told him.

	"Shit. I'll be right there," he said and hung up the phone. I heard
him yell for Michael before the phone went click.

	I hung up the phone and got my stuff together. I wouldn't be there
for long, I knew. Just long enough for them to splint it and give me some
pain medicine. And I didn't have to leave a note in case my dad got home
before I did either. He would know where I'd gone and nothing more would be
said about it.

	A few minutes later, Michael and Austin pulled up in the
Convertible. I ran outside in the rain and got in the backseat with
Austin. Michael spun his tires and we sped down the street.

	"Lemme see," Austin demanded and I held my fingers out to him. They
were purpler and more swollen than the last time I looked at them and they
felt really cold. They definitely looked more mangled when they were
bigger.

	Michael swerved to cut into the lane of traffic we needed to be in
and three or four cars honked at him. "Are you okay, Ben?" he asked and
sped up some more. I got a quick look at the speedometer and saw we were
pushing 80 km/h. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel and I was
worried we'd hit something.

	"They're just broken fingers, Michael," I said and laughed
nervously, in a sad attempt to downplay the injury. "They're not worth
wrapping the car around a tree."

	He caught my eyes in the rearview mirror and nodded, slowing down
to 50.  "Sorry."

	I relaxed a little and looked over at Austin. His azure eyes were
full of concern and his hand was resting on my knee. I threw him a small
smile, which he returned and then let fall. He was still worried.

	We pulled up to the doors of Vancouver General and Michael and
Austin rushed me into the Emergency Room. I felt a little silly, having
them hover around me like that. You'd think I'd been shot or
something. Thankfully, the place wasn't busy. I shuddered to think what
kind of a scene the two of them might have caused if we would have had to
wait.

	I was whisked into a white room, leaving Michael and Austin in the
waiting room, and Dr.  Taylor came in shortly. He was an older man with
silvery hair and big Coke bottle glasses. He'd been my doctor for ages now,
ever since I fell off the monkey bars when I was three.

	"So, Ben, what happened to these fingers?" he asked taking my
fingers gently in his hands.

	"I was coming inside from getting the mail and the wind blew the
door closed on them," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I never was
good at out-and-out lying to people.

	"Well, they certainly look broken," he said after carefully poking
and prodding them for a few minutes. "Let's get you down to X-ray and we'll
see what they look like." We walked down the hall to the X-ray room, and
while the X-rays themselves didn't hurt, arranging my fingers so that they
could be viewed was beyond painful. 10 minutes later we were looking at the
sheets.

	"See here? Where these little lines are?" he asked me, pointing to
the plastic paper.  "You've got a transverse fracture here," he pointed to
the bottom of my third finger, and then the bottom of my fourth, "and
here. Your pinky fared pretty well. Just a small greenstick fracture near
the base. Your index finger is the worst off. You've got tiny spiral
fractures all the way up the bone nearest to the bottom and a bruised
carpal near your knuckle. But," he said with a reassuring smile, "it's
nothing that a little time won't fix."

	"How long?" I was worried it might affect my game.

	He shrugged. "If all goes well, three weeks."

	Shit. My game was in two. "Can I play soccer still?"

	"Oh, most definitely. In fact, you need to exercise so you can get
some blood circulating in those fingers. Just try not to knock them around
too much. We'll splint them up and give you some mild codeine pills for if
they hurt real bad."

	And that was that. I walked out of Emerg 15 minutes later, hand all
patched up and a bottle of what were essentially super Tylenol 3s in my
pocket. Michael and Austin were exactly where I left them and when they saw
me, they jumped out of their chairs and came over to me with all sorts of
questions.

	"Are you okay?" "Does it hurt?" "What'd they say?" "How long do you
need it bandaged up?"

	"You guys, they're just broken fingers," I stressed. The few people
in the waiting room were looking at us like we were a bunch of babies
crying over a scraped knee. I led the guys out of the hospital and they
asked their questions again outside.

	"How is it?" Michael asked.

	"Dr. Taylor says I have a bunch of fractures all up and down my
fingers, but they should be better in a few weeks."

	"How many?"

	"He said three if everything goes as planned."

	"What about your soccer game?" Austin asked.

	"He said I'm good for soccer. I just can't get too rough." I raised
my eyebrows suggestively at Austin and he blushed. Michael didn't catch it,
though.

	They drove me back to my place and we chatted about this and
that. We got to my place and the lights were still all off. The garage was
closed, which meant my dad wasn't home yet. I opened the door and started
to get out of the car.

	"Thanks, guys, I really--"

	"Is there anyone home at your place?" Austin asked, squinting
through the rain at the dark windows.

	I shrugged. "Probably not."

	He looked at me funny. "You can't go home to an empty house."

	"Why not?"

	"Cause you've only got one good hand. What if something bad
happens?"

	I grinned at him. "Like what? The microwave will attack me? I'll
take my chances."

	"Come to my house for supper," he said in the same matter-of-fact
tone that he had used the first day I met him. "Mom and Dad won't care,
will they Michael?"

	He shook his head. "Nah. The rents are in with the whole 'more the
merrier' deal. Austin's right, Ben. You should come eat with us."

	I considered it. My dad wasn't home yet. I could go have supper at
Austin's house and if I didn't say anything, he'd just think the hospital
had taken a long time.  It would work.

	"Okay, sure," I said, and closed to car door.

	Supper was great and the company was even better. Mr. and
Mrs. Albrecht were wonderful people. They liked to laugh and joke and tell
stories. They reminded me of Aaron's parents a little. I must have talked
soccer stats with Austin's dad for 20 minutes. I couldn't believe I had
known Austin for so long and never met his family. But then, Austin had
never met my dad either.

	After what seemed like no time at all, Austin dragged me away from
his parents and we went up to his room.

	"Your folks are great," I told him with a smile as I followed him
into his room and onto his bed, where two cats were sleeping on one
another. They opened their eyes a little when we came in, but decided we
weren't a danger and closed them again.

	"Yeah," he smiled back at me and scratched the black and white cat
behind its ears. Its collar said Skrae in black letters. The other one,
Punk, was pure black with the exception of orange tipped ears and
tail. Skrae started purring and rolled over. Punk got up with an accusing
look in its eyes, stretched, and came and sat in my lap.

	"Hey, kitty, kitty, kitty," I cooed at the little animal. "Where'd
you get them?" I asked Austin, who was scratching Skrae's belly.

	"Some family was giving away kittens in Regina when I was real
little and Michael and I wanted some. So we picked the two girls. The only
pussys I'll ever love," he said with a lewd grin.

	I groaned and laughed at the same time. "That was bad, man." He
laughed, too. Downstairs, the whirring of an electric can opener could be
heard and both of the cats' ears pricked up. They jumped off the bed and
padded noiselessly down the stairs for dinner.

	Austin laid back on his pillow and I lay beside him. He picked up
my splinted hand gently.  "Does it hurt?"

	I shook my head. "Not now. And I got some painkillers if it does."

	He nodded and kissed my lips softly. One hand was holding mine and
the other was stroking my hair. I sighed and cuddled close to him. He
smelled good. Like warm laundry. The fatigue that had plagued me earlier
began to come back and I felt myself drifting off.  Austin noticed it, too,
and shook me a little.

	"Wake up, Ben. You gotta go home sometime tonight, remember."

	I sleepily mumbled a pile of partial words before I finally got
some out that made sense.  "I'm sleeping. Shh."

	He laughed. "C'mon, get up. You and me'll have lots of time to
sleep soon enough."

	I opened my eyes and glared at him. "What?" It came out more
clipped than I meant it to, but luckily Austin didn't seem to notice. "What
do you mean?" I tried again.

	"I can't tell," he said in a tone that said I should know these
things.  "It'd ruin the surprise."

	I gave up. I'd find out what he meant soon enough. We went
downstairs and asked if Michael could give me a ride home. When the three
of us were on our way out the door, Austin's parents called, "Don't be a
stranger!" and waved. Yeah, I really liked them.

	We pulled up to the curb in front of my house. I could dimly make
out the outline of Austin's face in the semi-darkness of the
streetlights. I moved forward slightly to kiss him goodbye before I
remembered Michael was in the front seat and, blushing furiously, got out
of the car.

	"Thanks for the ride, Michael. I'll see you tomorrow, Austin," I
said hurriedly and jogged across my yard to the front door. My dad was home
now, and we didn't talk to each other that night. I went upstairs and
changed into my sweats for bed. I kept thinking about what just
happened. Shit. What if I hadn't caught myself in time? With Michael in the
car, that would have been some end to the evening. The little brother and
his friend, supposedly straight, kissing goodbye. That would have gone over
REAL well.


Brennan's Ramblings: Hey, guys! Let me start off by expressing my
unbelievable gratitude to that super kickin' dude that makes all this
possible. It's David! The Nifty Archivist guy! He posts all this clutter
out of the goodness of his heart. Isn't he a great guy? I thought so,
too. Thanks David! So I got back from this canoe thing on Monday and holy
God, did I ever have a kick ass time. Showering in waterfalls, drinking
rapids water... It was great. I totally recommend it. And I'm off to Regina
in five hours to go swimming, so I've been putting off packing to finish
this.  And I'm totally sure you guys care, but you're a captive audience
(ha ha) so I thought I'd tell you anyway. Yeah. So I got a question. How
come I don't get any emails from the ladies? C'mon, girls. I know you're
out there. Hell, at least five of my chick friends read Nifty on a daily
basis and I'd be willing to bet everything I own that more of them read it
and just won't tell me.  I know there are more of you out there. Drop me a
line.  bjobse414@hotmail.com

The Recs: Alright, ladies and gentleman, today's recommendation is this
totally kick ass story called My Jay. It's in the Gay High School section
of Nifty. Now, listen, if you guys read this and you like it, you GOTTA
email the author. He gave up on it for about a year and a half, which
completely sucked, cause it's a really good story. Anyhow, he started
tinkering with it again, so it's near the top of the list. That said, have
fun kidlets!