Date: Sun, 19 Nov 2000 23:29:38 +0800 (WST) From: Christ Sol <routy@ucc.gu.uwa.edu.au> Subject: Skip Part 3 + Epilogue Disclaimer: Violence, foul language and the love of two teenage dudes. Don't like it? Read something else. Fan Mail to webtrash@unpunk.com -3- "What?" "That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't of done that to me, you fucking cocksucker!" My blood ran colder than the rain pouring down on us in frosty sheets. "Is that all I am to you? I love you man. I always have." "Don't say that! Don't fucking say that." "What am I supposed to say - that I sucked you off for the fun of it? You can't hide from it man. I'm attracted to you. I love you. Listen to me Ben!" "No! Fuck! Don't do this to me! This isn't who I am!" The punch came hard and fast, mashing lip into my teeth. I cried out, spitting blood into the puddle around my ankles. "Who are you, Ben? Who the fuck are you?!" I screamed, howling over the wind and rain, spearing my eyes and running down my face, washing away the shrap sting of fresh tears in the corners of my eyes. "Fuck man! Leave me alone! Just go! Leave me alone!" Ben backed away, panting, his green eyes blazing. I either wanted to kick the shit out of his sorry ass, or hold him in my arms and never ever let him go again. "Not until you answer me. Ben Parish, what the FUCK are you afraid of!" I took a step forward and shoved him. I needed to get through to him. I needed him to know what I was feeling. "TELL ME! Say something man!" Dull surprise filled my mind as I heard my own voice shriek and contort. I was losing it. I was fuckin going crazy. I took another step, but my arms dropped to my sides. Don't let your eyes waver, Skip. Don't let him know how close you are to defeat. If he was to reject me now, to run away, to leave me alone, I would die. I wouldn't want to live. He was everything to me. Everything I've known the past two years, everything I want to know. "I'm scared. Fuck it, Skip, I'm afraid!" With the last of my strength, I pulled him into my arms in the pouring rain. He looked up into my face searchingly, his eyes red and puffy with tears. I pulled him closer and spoke to him in a hoarse whisper, my voice choked with emotion. "Let's be afraid together, Ben. Let's be afraid together." He closed his eyes and I kissed him, sealing his mouth with mine and sliding my hands up under his shirt, needing to feel his warm skin underneath. We were cold and hungry and desperate, on the run from cops, on the run from civilisation. But we had eachother. I closed my eyes and Ben buried his head into my chest. I held him in my arms as the world died around us. Someone was shaking me, and a lazy eye dragged itself open. I looked up into the soft, gentle face of a West Australian police officer. "Stephen Adam Skipworth?" I supposed I should have been angry, scared. Thrashed around like an idiot. Tried to run. All that registered was the bitter irony. Boy meets boy. Boy falls in love. Boy goes to jail. "Someone's done their homework." "Stephen, I'm Constable Jane McGillivray. I'm placing you under arrest for robbery and accessory to damage by fire. Do you understand?" "Yes. Wheres my - where's Ben?" "Waiting in the van for you." "I suppose we're not going to see eachother ever again, are we?" "I honestly can't tell you. You kids are going to go through a lot, so in the meantime I don't see any reason to separate you." "Good." The policewoman lifted me to my feet and handed me my bag, minus drugs, money and alcohol. My cigarettes, jacket and polaroid of Ben and I were still in there. I shakily walked to the van, amazed at my calm. Ben looked up at me, eyes watery and face pale. "Morning." "We're in the shit, Skip." "You gonna stick by me, man?" Ben managed a half-smile and my heart melted all over again. We weren't cuffed. I took his hand in mine. He looked down at our hands. "Yeah." EPILOGUE. We were sentenced to six months each in the same juvenile institution. Jail is hell, but I see Ben every couple of days. I haven't been able to even kiss him since that night, and that cuts at me, but it's been three months and just the other day he used the L word for the first time. Now we're not soppy little queens, so this means something to us. Once we get out, Social Security are gonna find us proper digs, a fibro house out in Ballajura or something. There's also a job program for young offenders, labouring and gardening and shit. Ben and I have a future, but many other streeties just like us don't. And us, we had to go all the way to juvenile detention and back before they'd lend a hand. You pass us in the street, look down on us in disgust. Our faces are dirty and our clothes are torn. Our eyes tell stories you don't want to hear. To you, we're just a piece of scum you want out of your city. You put us here. You put us here with with your greed and your capitalism and your waste of taxpayers money. You put us here with your cold, uncaring attitude to youth. You put us here because you are so scared of your own mortality, and envy us for the mixed blessing of youth. We sleep in garbage, we eat when we can. We steal your wallets and your TV's and your cellphones to survive. We are gay, straight, white, asian, aboriginal, even wogs. Fuck you and the nine-to-five salary you rode in on. My name's Stephen Skipworth, and this was my story.