Date: Sun, 27 Jul 2003 15:20:11 +0300
From: AS <sanansaattaja2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sam, chapter 2

The following story is a romantic tale about love between males. If that is
offensive to you, or if it is not legal to read it where you live, then
consider yourself warned!

All events, characters and places mentioned in this story are a product of
the author's imagination, and the copyright belongs to the author.

A special thank you to Tim for editing and encouragement.

Any and all comments are welcome and all mail will be answered promptly.

sanansaattaja2003@yahoo.com


Sam, chapter 2

(Told from Jay's viewpoint.)

My head was practically spinning as I watched Lee walk away down the
block. Then when he turned around suddenly to see if I was watching and
waved at me, my heart literally gave a lurch. It almost felt like it was
turning a cartwheel inside of my ribcage. But no wonder, really, because
that's exactly what I felt like doing right then and there on the walk in
front of our house. I was feeling so happy I could hardly contain myself
inside of my skin! I just wanted to jump up and down and shout out my
happiness and declare to the whole world the love which at that moment was
swelling to the bursting point within my breast. But in spite of my
euphoric elation, grim, cold reality hastened to remind me that I had
better get a lid clamped down quick on my innermost feelings and not let
them show on the outside, not even to my family. Especially not to my
family. I knew my dad well enough to understand that instinctively. And my
poor mousy mom would never dare to oppose him--not for anything or
anyone. Not even for me. I never doubted that she loved me and my little
sister, but her slavish fear of my dad far exceeded her love for us, and
always had. Probably always would. Poor Mom. And poor us, especially my
sweet little sister Jenna. I had long since given up shedding tears over it
for my own sake, but I did still weep for Jenna sometimes, when alone in my
bed at night thinking about her repeated and generally futile efforts to
gain some assurance of being loved and accepted by our unreasonable and
overbearing dad and our dispirited and downtrodden mom.

I wanted to stand there on the step and watch Lee's retreating back until
he turned the corner at the end of the block and disappeared from sight,
but I didn't dare. If my dad was watching from the window he would surely
demand to know who I was standing there "mooning over" and why. That's no
doubt the exact phrase he would use. He was always so sarcastic. Everything
he ever said to me was tinged with a nasty, acidic bite. For as long as I
could remember, I had always felt he hated me. Maybe he didn't, really,
back in the days when I was a baby and a toddler, back before I could
remember. I don't know. But ever since he realized that I was destined to
be a "runt", as he loved to call me, I knew he hated me. He never missed a
chance to berate and belittle me and to let me know what a disappointment I
was to him. What a failure. What a worthless runt. Totally unworthy to be
his son and to bear the Evans name.

My dad was a big man. Huge, really. He was way over six feet tall and broad
and beefy. He had been a football player in high school and a good one too,
I suppose. That is, if being a remorseless, mean brute, totally devoid of
fear and feeling for others makes one a good football player. His younger
brother, my uncle Robert, told me once that he had been like a steamroller,
flattening any opposing player who dared to get in his way. He had always
been a bully in school, but his size and his football prowess made him the
alpha male in the pack of jock wolves back then, and everyone catered to
him. To tell you the truth, everyone had catered to him all his life. No
one ever dared to stand up to him, and he had always gotten his own way,
according to what Uncle Robert said. Getting his way had included getting
the cutest little cheerleader too. He had claimed and marked her as his own
property from the outset and no one ever dared contest it--least of all,
she herself. He never was a scholar, but not because he was dumb. Oh no. He
was smart enough. Clever and cunning, anyway. But he never applied himself
to his lessons and his teachers always gave him barely passing grades, just
enough to keep him in school and eligible for football, and no doubt out of
a sense of self-preservation as well, to prevent him having to repeat a
class so they would have to put up with him for another year. No sooner did
he and his cheerleader girlfriend graduate from high school when they got
married and Dad started working at the local power plant. Just short of ten
months later I was born. And less than half a year after that, we moved for
the first of many times, because Dad lost his job at the plant. Every time
we moved it was the same story. He could never hold down a job for long
because of insubordination to his bosses and inability to get along with
his workmates. But it was never his fault, oh no, and woe betide the fool
who dared to suggest that he might need to consider changing his own
behavior.

I wasn't very old before it became evident that I had inherited my mother's
short stature and her thin and more or less fragile body type, rather than
my father's impressive height and brawn. I had also inherited my mother's
pale complexion, her thin, mousy brown hair and her gray eyes. And to top
it all, I had inherited her timid nature. My dad began very early to call
me a sissy and to say cruel, belittling things to me, like: "How's my
little girl today?" (when he was in a good mood) or, worse: "Get yer damned
pansy ass off of that chair and bring me my paper, runt." (when he was
feeling mean). I was never particularly interested in playing ball, or in
sports in general, but I understood he would have thought it demeaning to
even try to play catch, or anything else, with a "sissy like me", and I
never expected it. For as long as I could remember, I just did my best to
stay out of his way and to be as inconspicuous as possible in an effort to
avoid his acid tongue. Fortunately, he was never physically violent. I
don't remember ever being hit. But words can be wounding enough. I don't
think he ever hit my mother either, but neither was she spared his verbal
cruelty. Ironically, Jenna took more after Dad than Mom physically. She was
tall for her age. Even though she was four years younger than me, she was
already nearly as tall. And she had our dad's thick, wavy auburn hair and
green eyes. Dad never belittled her like he did me and Mom. But neither did
he show her love. I honestly don't think he knew how to love anyone. And
besides, I'm quite sure he was mad at her simply for being a girl.

I've always wished my dad could be more like his brother. I don't know how
two brothers in the same family could be so totally different from each
other. Not surprisingly, really, Dad hates Robert too. He absolutely can't
stand him and refuses to even speak to him on the rare occasions when they
are together at family gatherings. But I love Robert. He is so cool. He's
not married, even though he's almost thirty now. He's big and tall, though
not as beefy as my dad. He's more slender, but has a really nice build. And
he's so nice. He loves to joke and tease and he isn't ashamed to play with
us kids, even those of us who aren't jocks like him. I got to know him
really well two years ago when I spent two weeks during the summer with my
grandma and grandpa Evans and he was there too, home from Los Angeles where
he lives. He works as a trainer in a gym there. We became really good
friends then, and I miss him so much. I wish he lived closer because I
hardly ever see him, and my dad would never allow him to come and visit us
here.

When I went into the house after waving goodbye to Lee, I wondered what
kind of reception I would get. I had never been away at meal time before so
I couldn't believe my absence wouldn't gain me an interrogation, or at the
very least some snide remark from my dad. I hardly dared hope I could pass
unnoticed up to my room where I would spend the rest of the evening doing
homework in peace and quiet. Dad was sitting in his usual armchair in the
living room reading the paper when I walked past. He lowered the paper an
instant and glanced at me as I walked by him, but wonder of wonders, he
said nothing and I continued on past the kitchen where Mom was finishing up
the supper dishes. I said a hasty "Hi, Mom!" on my way by, and ran on up
the stairs toward my room before she had time to answer. Jenna's room was
right across the hall from mine and her door was open and she was there
waiting for me.

"Mom said you were having pizza with a friend from school," she said, as
soon as I appeared in her line of vision. It was worded like a statement
but her inflection made it a question, and the expression on her face was
also like a question mark.

"Yeah," I replied. "Lee. He's in my history class and we've been working on
an assignment together."

"I saw him just now when you came home. He's cool."

"Mmm hmm." I mumbled. Jenna's room was on the front side of the house, and
while she sat at her desk facing the window she could easily see the front
walk, so she'd obviously been spying on us.

I could tell she wasn't really satisfied with my curt answers. She was
curious and wanted to talk. Jenna and I were close. We found the connection
with each other that we were lacking with our parents and we relied very
heavily on each other to fill that void. We generally shared everything
with each other. No secrets. But obviously, I wasn't overly anxious to tell
her about the amazing things that had happened that day with Lee. Actually,
I had never talked with her about Lee--about the crush I'd had on him
since the first day of school, about watching him whenever I could and
thinking and dreaming about him every waking minute and sometimes even at
night in my sleep as well. That had seemed too private to share, even with
dear, sweet Jenna. Besides, it made me too queer. I couldn't let anyone,
not even Jenna, know that my heart beat for a boy rather than a girl. I
knew my dad hated queers more than anyone. Oh, he hated sissies too,
definitely. Many times when he was especially enraged with someone, some
guy at work, for example, or even his boss, he would rant and rave, calling
them "that damned sissy". Of course those guys weren't sissies any more
than he was, but that was about the lowest name he could think to call
them. I know he thought me a sissy, but he never went so far as to think of
me as a queer. That would have been too humiliating for him to endure. That
his only son was a sissy was bad enough, but for him to actually be a
queer... Impossible! I had never really admitted to myself, even, that I
was gay. I knew that I was head-over-heels in love with Lee, but I had some
kind of a mental block that kept me from fully realizing my own
gayness. Some day I would marry, of course I would. But that was in the
dim, distant future. And Lee was here and now. The light of my life. My
love. And my one and only secret from my sister Jenna.

I think Jenna had begun to suspect I was holding out on her, and she was a
little miffed, a little hurt. She had been asking me a lot lately about
girls. Didn't I have a girlfriend yet? What did I think of the girls at
this new school? Which girls did I think were cute? And so on and so
on. For awhile I had played along, telling her about one girl or another,
but always insisting that none of them was my girlfriend. Well, she agreed
that yes, I was almost too timid to actually have a girlfriend, but surely
I must have special feelings for some girl at least. I wished she would
just drop the subject, but she was nothing if not persistent. She had had
dozens of boyfriends already, even though she was only in the sixth
grade. But every week or two it was some different boy she liked. And she
always told me about them in detail. She hid nothing from me and she
expected an answering candidness from my side. But like I said, she was
beginning to suspect I was keeping something back from her.

Jenna knew me very well and besides that, she was very perceptive. Call it
a woman's natural intuition, perhaps, even at her young age. But I knew it
was very hard to keep anything secret from her for long--especially when
she made it her business to know everything. I had just had the most
revolutionary experience of my young life that afternoon, of course, and
the thing I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined possible had
actually happened. My beloved Lee had made love to me, and not only that,
he had said he loved me as well, and I believed him. Oh yes, I believed
him! I just wanted to sing. My very soul was singing, and I wanted to sing
out loud, I was so happy. I tried my best to act like nothing was out of
the ordinary so Jenna wouldn't get suspicious and ask me too many
questions, but I could see she was starting to look at me a bit strange and
all at once she blurted out, "Alright, Jay. Tell me."

"Tell you what?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage.

"Tell me whatever it is you're not telling me."

"What makes you think I'm not telling you something?"

"Ja-a-a-a-ay," she said, in that tone of voice that meant "don't fool with
me".

Well, I always did know when I was beat. And when it's a fight you deep
down inside don't really want to win in the first place, you give in pretty
easy. I was practically dying to share my joy with someone, and who better
to share it with than my sweet sister Jenna who had always meant more to me
than anyone else in the whole world? Except that now Lee was number one,
and Jenna, though still unbeknownst to her, had been relegated to number
two. But how would I tell her without revealing more about myself than I
was prepared for her to know? More even than I was fully prepared to
acknowledge to myself--that I was gay? Oh hell! Why did life have to be
so complicated?

I flopped backwards onto Jenna's bed with a loud sigh and lay there with
one arm thrown over my eyes.

"Jay..." she almost whispered.

After a minute I sat up and looked earnestly at her. "Jenna, promise me you
won't tell a soul..."

"Yes...?" She knew some really serious revelation was forthcoming, then,
and she looked at me with eyes as big as saucers.

"You promise?" I asked again.

"Of course I promise, Jay. Besides, who would I tell?"

That was a thought. Who indeed? I knew she wasn't any closer to either of
our parents than I was, and I trusted her not to betray my secrets to
anyone outside the family. We really did only have each other to confide
in.

"Jen..." I began. And then I couldn't bring myself to say any more. I had
to tell her. Hell, I wanted to tell her. But it was so hard to actually do
it.

She had the sense to keep quiet for once and she just waited, staring at
me, hardly breathing.

And finally I blurted it out, "Jen, I'm in love!"

"You're what?!" She couldn't believe me.

"Honest, Jen... It's so wonderful... I... I..." And I started to cry.

Dear Jenna then threw herself into my arms and hugged me tight and held me
for a minute until I got a hold of myself again and wiped my sleeve across
my face to stop my tears. And then slowly, haltingly at first, but with
growing enthusiasm, I told her about Lee and about how I'd had a crush on
him since the first day I saw him, watching him and wanting him from afar,
and about how we had finally been thrown together by our joint history
assignment and had really gotten to know each other and then... And then I
almost started to tell her about the best part of all, about what had
happened at his house that very afternoon... But I caught myself in
time. That part just had to be kept secret, between me and Lee alone.

Jenna, of course, knew that there was more. But bless her heart, she was
wise enough to not press me. I think she had been shocked enough for one
sitting. She would have to take time to digest what I had already
divulged. She just sat there looking at me, speechless, her mouth slightly
open, her eyes huge. I searched her face, her eyes, for some reaction. I
was so afraid I would find something ugly
there. Disgust... Condemnation... Rejection... But no... Dear Jenna. I read
only love in her big emerald eyes. Love, yes, but also a dawning
understanding. It's like the pieces of the jigsaw were suddenly falling
into place. She was finally beginning to see the picture and all the
unspoken and half unconscious questions she had had about me were now being
answered. And she just accepted this "new" brother of hers wholly, without
reservation, without passing judgment. My love for her grew tenfold, no a
hundredfold, in that moment. I was so blessed to have her, and then I burst
into tears again and once again she held me tight while sobs shook my body,
tears running down her cheeks as well.

"I... I... I... love you, Jen..." I sobbed.

"I love you too, Jay," she answered softly as she wiped the tears first
from my cheeks and then from her own. "And I'm so happy for you. But we
mustn't let Dad and Mom find out about Lee. They would never understand." A
shudder ran through her as she thought about the horrible possibility that
they would somehow get wind of it. So I knew I had a loyal ally. She would
never betray me and I felt such a wonderful freedom at that moment, knowing
that I could share my deepest secrets with my sister and they would be safe
with her. Some things are just too big, too overwhelming, to keep locked up
inside of oneself. They simply have to be shared with someone else. It's so
true that a joy shared is doubled, and a sorrow shared is cut in half.

The rest of the evening passed, then, almost like a dream. I felt like I
was floating on air and that if I were any happier I would surely die. And
I could hardly wait for the next day to come so that I could see Lee
again. But then, suddenly, I thought of Sam and was nervous about how she
would fit into the picture, how she would react if she sensed I was somehow
coming between her and Lee. They were always so inseparable. I know, Lee
had assured me she would be fine with it, but I just couldn't see how she
could be. So my euphoria was dampened more than a little bit by that new
worry. I tossed and turned for the longest time in bed that night,
vacillating between happiness and apprehension. But finally, sleep overtook
me and then suddenly it was morning, the beginning of a new day. The first
day of the rest of my life, like the cliche goes.