Date: Thu, 29 Jan 2009 18:34:54 -0500
From: Sean E <ekidky@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Bully and the Bullied - Part 5
DISCLAIMER: I won't say anything more than just the usual - if you
shouldn't be reading this, then don't. This is a short story that involves
boys who are coming-of-age, containing things that boys get into, including
sexual situations, feelings, etc. It is my first attempt at fiction,
having written only one other series based on my personal life's
experiences growing up, titled "Life's Road of Discoveries" (also found
here on Nifty in the Young-Friends section, posted early in 2008). This
series has no basis in truth, whereas all characters and situations are
fictional. Any resemblance in real life is purely coincidental. The era
is based in the mid-1970's.
This story will spread across 9 or 10 parts of varying lengths, and I hope
that those of you who take to it and read it through will enjoy it. As
always, any feedback is welcome (to EKidKy@hotmail.com).
I sincerely hope you like it. :o)
The Bully and the Bullied
Part Five - Life's Hardest Mysteries...
---------------------------------------
As the Christmas break went on, a sudden sadness enveloped Michael as each
day separated him from his friend. Thomas had forewarned him that he and
his family would be leaving before Christmas Eve and staying with relatives
for most of the holiday weekend, and that they probably would not return
until just before the New Year. For the most part, Michael was satisfied
while Christmas came and went, having spent time as most families do with
what few friends and relatives they had. On Christmas morning, one of the
presents he opened was his own telephone, causing him to wear a wide grin
as he thanked his mother. She smiled, inwardly sighing at the fact it was
another sign of her son's growing maturity, as well as his transition from
childhood. With the help of a friend from work, the three of them together
established a new phone line to his room and before he knew it Michael was
quickly connected with the outside world. Although he had few people to
talk to, his mother knew that over time that would change. She cautioned
him against making long-distance or excessive calls, or to be making
conversations longer than necessary, but secretly she knew that those words
would be falling on deaf ears, especially as he got older. She was okay
with it for the most part; her son was growing up and becoming a
responsible teenager, and she was proud that she could be there watching
this magical transformation first hand.
Over the holidays Michael also was fortunate to receive a few other
gifts that ended up keeping him busy for a little while. Although one was
a rather large jigsaw puzzle, he was more excited about two rather
impressive plastic model kits he received, both military warplanes
depicting current models in use by the US Air Force. Michael's mother
found that when she arrived home in the evenings, he had been giving them
his apt attention during the day - enough so that she marveled at how well
he worked both constructively and artistically with them. Models were
something she had never introduced to Michael before, mostly because she
had never really thought of it until one day a friend made the suggestion.
After seeing how it grabbed his attention, however, she resolved to make
more of an effort in the future to find other kits. She reasoned that if
they grabbed his interest, he would be better off at keeping himself busy
during the long days she was away at work.
All would have been fairly normal had it not been for the lack of
conversation, the sharing of the friendship that had grown between the two
boys in the last few months. As the New Year drew near, Michael began
feeling more anxious, yet also depressed because he had not yet heard from
Thomas. When New Years Eve arrived, his anxiety increased ten-fold, and he
finally reached the point he could no longer wait. Although Thomas had
promised to call upon his return, Michael began calling instead to his
friend's house. He took care to call at a reasonable hour that morning,
waiting what he felt was a good hour between breakfast and lunch. As he
dialed the number, he was at least hoping at some point to speak for a few
minutes and determine that everything was all right. He wanted to share
the news of what Christmas had brought them over the holiday break, and
just hang out a little. He was surprised, however, when the phone on the
other end of the line was answered after the first ring.
"Hello?" an elderly female voice spoke pleasantly, one belonging to
none other than Thomas's grandmother.
"Uh, Hi Mrs. Wilson, it's Michael... I uh... I was wondering if I could
talk to Thomas a minute," he stammered, until he finally caught up with the
moment. "Is he there?" he added hurriedly, and then winced as he realized
how awkward he must have sounded. There was a slight hesitation, one which
Michael curiously could feel as if the question seemed to hang in the air
for some reason, before he heard a sigh.
"I'm afraid not, he is out at the moment." When she offered nothing
further, Michael furrowed his brow wondering if something was going on.
He was unsure what he should do at that point, because it seemed an
awkward moment. He collected his wits eventually, recognizing the long
pause that was developing between them. "Um, well, okay, sorry I bothered
you mam... Would you, um, would you tell him I called?"
Again there was a hesitation on the other end before the elderly woman
replied, "Yes young man, I'll let him know you called." Without another
word the other end of the line clicked, and Michael immediately concluded
the woman had hung up on him. 'Young man?' he thought to himself, 'That's
strange, she has always called me by my name before...' As he replaced the
phone on the hook, disappointment overtook him as his heart felt like it
had dropped 10 floors through an elevator shaft. All manner of thoughts
cut across his mind at that moment, taking him through an avalanche of
emotions that included going from anxiety to that of immense unease. Had
they, Thomas's mother and grandparents, somehow figured out what had
happened between them? Had they grilled Thomas until he had to confess,
something that was held so close between the two of them that he was forced
to admit everything that had transpired that night and the next day? Did
they think Michael had seduced his friend or something worse, and now they
were taking it out on Thomas someway? Even worse, had Thomas now had
second thoughts, and decided he wanted nothing more to do with their
friendship? Maybe Thomas was the one avoiding them on purpose, for
whatever reason, not giving him the call as had been promised?
Michael lay on the bed, pulling his glasses off and closing his eyes in
an effort to calm his rising fears. 'No, Thomas wouldn't do that... he
wanted our friendship as much as I did...' he slowly told himself. Then
what was it? Perhaps his friend had just gotten in trouble or something
and was being grounded. Maybe he had a row with his grandpa yet again -
Thomas had told him a few times they had been at odds. There were times he
usually ended up being sent to his room for a day or more as punishment.
Maybe it was that simple really, but - if so, why did his grandmother sigh,
and why was he having this feeling inside his gut that it simply wasn't
right, that something was indeed wrong.
He lay there for several minutes before finally taking a deep breath to
steady his nerves. "You don't know, Mike", he said to himself, lacking the
confidence he really needed but doing his best to keep himself calm.
"Don't start weirding out on yourself until you know something..." After a
moment long, he finally rose from the bed and started heading downstairs to
the kitchen.
As the day slowly trekked by, the return call never came, and the
deafening silence was rubbing his nerves raw, keeping him jumping at the
edge. His thoughts were haunted, mostly because he was afraid of what
Thomas might have to be going through if he were indeed home, and in any
kind of trouble. If it were not for the bitter cold outside, and the lack
of necessary transportation to make the relatively short trip, he would
have torn out to show up at his friends' door, demanding to get at least
something - anything - that would help him resolve what was happening. As
it were he could not, so he brooded most of the day. He tried working on
the puzzle, but his heart wasn't into it. With an exaggerated sigh, he put
the pieces back into the box and paced about.
That evening his mother came in from work and immediately sensed
something was wrong. She hung her coat before heading to the bathroom,
only moments later to return and join him where he was sitting on the
couch, his knees drawn up to his chest, his expression distant, yet
nervous. At first he seemed to not realize she had joined him, but
eventually he whispered "Hi, Mom..." His demeanor revealed that he was
wrestling with something, so she waited patiently for a moment before
moving her hand to the back of his neck and playfully running it through
his hair. He let her do that for a moment before unwrapping himself and
joining her, half lying in her lap with his back nestled against her.
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling his body close, and before
speaking she closed her eyes and savored the moment. As Michael grew
older, these moments came few and far between, and silently she was
thankful she could still hold him as such still. "What is it honey?" she
spoke softly into his ear. "You look like you've lost your best friend or
something..." She smiled as she said it, her voice hinting cheerfulness
she knew he did not feel, but still trying to coax him out. The house was
quiet other than for the TV playing aimlessly in the background, the sound
low and monotonous. They had talked about a lot of things over the years,
sharing a closeness few parents did with their children, and she knew she
had to prompt him, yet give him time to sort it out for himself. When at
first he didn't answer, she tried again. "Michael? Hello, Earth to
Michael..."
Her attempt at humor brought him out of his thoughts as he glanced up
and around, shyly smiling. "I heard you Mom," was his soft reply. He
paused before continuing. "I dunno Mom, its j-just - a feeling, it's
weird..." In a slow but steady voice he told her about how he had been
waiting for Thomas to call him this week, as his friend had promised to let
him know when they returned. He told her how he had grown tired of waiting
and not yet hearing anything, so he finally gave in and called himself. He
told her about being surprised when Thomas's grandmother answered and about
how strange the conversation had went, at least to him. Then he told her
that he started feeling really uneasy and weird, as if something wasn't
right. When asked, he repeated the conversation between them. He had
waited all day hoping Thomas would at least call back, but so far he hadn't
and he was worried.
Michael's mother listened as the story unfolded, interrupting her son
little and giving him a chance to say what he wanted to say. She did not
think it odd that the two boys had developed such a tight bond, at least
insofar as Michael was concerned. She grew somewhat saddened, because she
felt she understood how much Michael needed his friend, especially since he
had been growing up in a lonesome world where there was little she could
offer in the way of companionship. Perhaps that was where the strength of
their mother-and-son relationship existed, because of the freedom of
talking with the other was never one-sided. They shared things on the same
level, each knowing there were things important to the other, some private,
some not so private. It was a level of respect she saw in few kids at that
age, and the fact she was blessed with a son that had as much insight as he
did made her proud.
She reflected on what he told her for a moment, thinking about how the
boys had hit this "wrinkle", for lack of a better word. When Michael told
her it made him feel weird, she knew he was serious because it was a side
of his character that dealt with perceiving and interacting with the world
he was learning from. She was careful not to play it down, although for
the moment she felt he was probably overreacting. "Well, honey," she spoke
to him after he fell silent. "Maybe Thomas just can't get to the phone
right now, you know? It's still early you know, he might call in a little
while." She knew immediately that it was a lame excuse, looking at the
clock and seeing it was already past 7:00. For the moment, however, it was
the best she could offer. Michael lay back into her silently, and they
both stared at the TV blankly for a little while.
Michael finally turned around and faced her, smiling weakly but
silently giving her a warm embrace. He felt there really wasn't anything
more that he could say, so he rose and headed upstairs. Later she fixed
them both sandwiches and took his up to him on a tray, but upon arriving
discovered he was sprawled on the bed, his glasses to the side, fast
asleep. She placed the sandwich and drink on his night table and left him
alone. That night, for the first time since she could remember, they
retired without watching the New Year ball drop at the midnight hour. In
years past Michael had always been excited by the event, begging at an
early age to stay up with her and watch the old year leave out and the new
one arrive in its place. It had become a tradition and custom for them,
and it saddened her when she accepted the fact something more dearly was on
his heart for the time being. She watched it alone for them both...
Morning dawned for the New Year and as the brightening sky arrived,
Michael awoke in need to relieve himself as usual. Returning to his
bedside, he sat staring out the window as his nerves still left him
unsettled. He saw the sandwich and took a bite before putting it back on
the tray and rolling back onto the bed. He so wanted to make the call
again, to make sure his friend was at least okay, but he was afraid to do
so this early. He also feared if indeed something was wrong, he might end
up aggravating the situation, so for the time being he held off.
Thankfully his mother was off that day, and as he got dressed and went
downstairs, he found her in the kitchen fixing them both a hot breakfast.
They spent the better part of the day taking down the Christmas tree and
tidying up the house, putting things in order as a lot of families do for
the coming year. At times it was a happy experience as they joked and hung
out with one another, Michael's mother trying her best to ease her son's
worries. As the evening drew near, however, Michael finally took his
shower and once again fell across his bed, wrought with exhaustion and
uncertainty of what the future was going to hold.
The next day was Saturday, and although she worked few weekends as it
was, Michael's mother had volunteered to cover a vacant slot for a coworker
that day. She did not like the idea of having to leave her son alone,
especially now giving everything that was happening, but she knew that her
shift was far too long and early for him to hang out with her. She rose
and dressed quickly, but as she was heading out and arriving at the end of
their driveway, she suddenly directed the car toward the Wilson's house
instead of taking her usual route to work. She had the sudden sensation
she could at least drive by and **see** if anything was out of the
ordinary, perhaps even talk to one of the women if they were outside by
chance. As she approached the one-story structure, she saw smoke billowing
from the chimney and that both vehicles were indeed in the driveway.
Arriving in front however, she saw no sign of life beyond the obvious, the
house dark and silent inside. Sighing, she drove past and after a short
distance further, turned along a side road and pursued an alternate route
toward town.
She had let the incident pass from her mind as she worked throughout
the day, the clinic being unusually busy incidents that had arose from
people's overly exuberant holiday celebration. It wasn't until she arrived
home when everything resurfaced rapidly again as she walked through the
door. Michael was once again sitting back in the corner of the couch,
seemingly more distraught than ever. "What's wrong honey?" she asked again
as she hung her coat, knowing full well the likelihood of what troubled
him. As she sat down next to him, she collected him in her arms and noted
how he was visibly shaking as he spoke.
"It h-happened again m-mom... I called o-over there and h-his grandma
answered, and she just s-said the same thing she did the other day, that he
was out and then n-nothing! She didn't say she would have him call me or
anything, and .. and..." Michael was trying not to break down into tears,
but he now knew beyond doubt that something was wrong now. From the way he
was quivering, his mother could not help but have a growing feeling that it
did indeed now seem very odd.
"SShhhhhh... it's probably alright honey," she soothed, attempting to
calm him. She was left in a quandary of her own now, unsure if maybe she
should intervene and check it out for herself. It was some minutes before
he calmed and began breathing deeply again, and it was then she reasoned
out a plan, coming to a decision. "Listen to me honey," she said softly to
the boy she held in her arms. "We'll wait until Monday when you go back to
school. If you don't get to talk to Thomas and get some answers or
something, then Monday night I'll call down there and talk to Linda, okay?"
Michael only nodded half-heartedly in response. He did realize it would
only be a short time before Monday morning arrived, but he so wanted it to
come now sooner than later. After a bit he turned once again and fell into
her arms as he had done before, embracing her and burying his head into her
shoulder so she could not see the hurt that he was feeling. It seemed it
would take an eternity for the day to arrive, but he was determined to try
and be patient and wait it out.
She felt his worry nonetheless, and resolved to try and get his
attention away from everything as best she could. After a few moments of
cuddling, she got him to his feet and decided that since the day was still
only half-spent, she changed out of her nursing uniform and gathered
Michael, leaving the house behind for a night on the town. Afford it or
not, for money was still tight at the moment, she was determined to get him
away from everything for a little while. They dined out that night and
went to the movies, a rare treat even for a Saturday, and although Michael
was only initially half into it, he warmed to the evening as time went on.
They returned home late, and thankfully she watched her son go to bed and
fall asleep almost immediately.
- + - + - + -
It was early, the sun only hinting at rising in the east. Jeremy
Riddle shivered in the cold as he got on the bus, relieved to be back in a
familiar pattern once again that took him away from home. He didn't glance
around at the occupants already onboard, which he suspected were no
different than any other time of the year. As he took his usual seat, he
began staring out the window at the featureless landscape sweeping by. The
bus was surprisingly warm, and he figured Stan must have gotten up early
and started up the heaters before beginning the route. It did not take
long for the chill within him to subside.
He sighed, again thankful it was over. That first day of break he had
come home and found the old man passed out, he had made a decision then
that he didn't want - or need - to be there when his father came to. There
were times in their past that still haunted him, memories for years where
the man had become wild and crazy when he came out of a deep stupor. More
often than not he had taken out his frustrations on anyone unlucky enough
to be nearby - especially Jeremy himself. For once in his life, he
couldn't stand the thoughts of what that would cost him, especially with it
being the holidays, especially with it being Christmas, so he had made up
his mind the old man needed to come to on his own. How he wished now, as
he looked out at the landscape that was slowly being illuminated, that he
had just stayed home.
That day replayed in his mind all too clearly. He had stayed at the
abandoned house for the night, curled on an abandoned mattress that was
surprisingly in decent shape, all things considering. The next day he
returned reluctantly to the house, however, when hunger began to convince
him he could wait no longer. He made his way back home just as snow began
falling from the overcast sky. Stepping inside, he found the elder Riddle
sitting at the table, a beer in his hand and a lewd-smelling cigarette in
the other.
"You getting out early today ain't you?" the man asked, almost
nonchalantly.
Jeremy sighed inwardly as it dawned on him the old man didn't even
realize what day it was. It annoyed him even more that he himself had been
gone unnoticed for nearly a whole day. He hesitated, unsure as to whether
to own up to that fact or just let it go. He opted for the latter, hoping
that maybe his old man would just forget it entirely. Jeremy slowly
nodded, but as he thought back on it, he wished now he had just ignored it.
He shuddered briefly, the day's events replaying in his head. The old man
had grunted before reaching out and pulling on his overcoat. "There are
cattle to feed and animals to tend; we might as well git it done before
that snow starts getting messy." He moved forward and out the door.
Jeremy it was not a question whether he should follow or not, so he
followed behind the man. His stomach growled in dissatisfaction, but he
knew it would have to wait. They broke across the yard, heading toward the
half-standing structure that housed the hay and entered. Therein he loaded
several bales of straw onto a short bed trailer, and then hooked it up to
the tractor while the man sat in the seat. When everything was ready, the
elder Riddle started it up and then proceeded out of the barn with Jeremy
riding a comfortable distance behind on the back of the trailer. They
crossed into a field a short distance from the house, slipping through the
fenced gate and out into a gravel-covered feeding area without incident.
It was here that made the old man being scratching his head, as if in
puzzlement. As Jeremy recalled, it should have been a warning to him, for
he had seen the man's expression change but had ignored it. The area was
clean, with only little scraps of straw seen scattered about. It looked as
if the spot had not been visited in days. As he brought the tractor to a
halt, the elder Riddle shut it off and began calling out, "Here
heifers... suey... suey... here heifers..." In the distant, they both
watched a herd of cattle begin to emerge from a band of trees stretching
across the back of the farm. Upon site of their master and the impending
meal, they began rushing and galloping forward at a rapid speed.
Again the elder Riddle scratched his head, thinking the site rather
peculiar. "What the hell...?" he swore softly, which made the hairs on the
back of Jeremy's neck stand on end by then. It was the first true warning
of what was to come, and he had looked around, trying to determine what was
amiss. As he began throwing the bales off and into the bins, he tried to
ignore the uneasy feeling he was getting. The first of the cattle arrived,
and each were acting frantic, pushing one another so they could reach the
fresh straw first. The elder Riddle watched their reactions, speaking more
to himself than anyone else. "What the hell? They sure cleaned that out
overnight like there was no tomorrow..." Jeremy held his breath as it
finally began to dawn on him what the old man was pondering. The herd had
not been attended now for at least 3 days as far as he knew, which was 2
days too many. They had gone as many as two days in the past, but it was
rare, and 3 days was unheard of.
He paused and watched his father continue to ponder the situation,
hoping and praying he didn't make the connection. Much to his dismay,
however, a sudden change came over the man. "That is... unless..." Their
eyes met at that moment, and Jeremy could visibly see a boiling anger
rising from within the older man. "You, boy, when is the last time these
cattle were fed?" When he didn't get an immediate reply the man pushed on,
his voice rising even louder. "I'll not ask again BOY, when is the last
time these cattle were fed?!"
Jeremy stared at the older man glaring down at him from the tractor
before shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know, Sunday or Monday I guess,"
he replied, daring to try and push the envelope as far as he could. It did
not, however, improve the situation.
"Sunday or Monday - you guess???" A snarl echoed around them. "What
the h-" He stopped in mid-sentence, then looked at his watch. "Shit boy!
You mean today is Wednesday??!!" He banged the hood of the tractor in
front of him, roaring. "What in the Sam HELL!!!" He jumped up from the
seat and swung down, approaching his son with a rage Jeremy knew all too
well. "What the fuck were you doing then?" the man exploded as he stood in
front of the younger boy. "You were supposed to be home yesterday, not
today damn it!" He reached out and slapped the youngster. "Where the fuck
have you been? ANSWER ME ASSHOLE, WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN??!!"
Jeremy stared back, fear searing throughout his body, his face stinging
from the contact. He began to inwardly quiver and shake in the presence of
the older man. When he could not answer, the elder Riddle grabbed him by
the arm with one hand and reared back, his other hand following through
with another hard slap. Jeremy would have stumbled had the man not been
holding him in a vice-like grip. His cheek stung and reddened, and his
ears began ringing as he heard the man bellow. "You asshole, I said answer
me! I want a god-damned answer and I want it now!!"
Jeremy refused to say anything right then, not sure there even was a
right answer he could give that wouldn't further infuriate the man. The
man let out a heavy breath of air before speaking yet again, but this time
the voice lowered, became quieter, taking on a deathly tone of steel. "You
fucking, piss-assed, hell-born damnable bastard! Did you honestly think a
whole day could go by and I wouldn't miss your sorry, shit-stinking ass
sooner or later? Do I look like an idiot to you, huh boy?"
"Look at this," he paused, his hand sweeping the herd of cattle who had
now arrived in their entirety. Each were pushing the others aside
frantically, trying to get to the straw. "Look at them! They are
starving, fucking starving, and you act like some dumb shit-faced
2-year-old, like some ignorant faggot-fucking asshole, who could care less
whether they live or die!" The voice took on a hard edge as he turned back
to the boy in his grip. "Why is it I have to get a faggot son, and then on
top of that get an ignorant bastard to boot? What is with you, can't you
learn or do anything right without having to be told a god-damned million
fucking times?!!" The elder man paused before narrowing his eyes and
shoving his face into that of the other. When he spoke, his breath stank
with alcohol mixed with who knew what, and his voice became even colder
still as he stared down into the younger eyes. "Let me guess, you been off
screwing with those kids again? Huh? Have you been off screwing, getting
your fucking rocks off with those kids-"
"I DON'T SCREW WITH ANYBODY YOU ASSHOLE!!" Jeremy finally found his
voice, roaring himself in the rage that quickly built up.
The older man was surprised at the venom he found in his son's voice,
but it did not deter his intent, and he pressed onward with the advantage.
"Don't lie to me you shit face! You ain't no virgin you asshole, you've
probably had more dicks up your ass than there are people between here and
the damned Mississippi river! I KNOW YOU!"
"Do you?" Jeremy replied, quietly with almost a deathly chill.
"What, you think I'm an idiot or something?" When the Jeremy didn't
reply, the man pressed on. "Who went and got themselves knocked up by a
bunch of faggot kids, huh? What was it you told me? You said you HAD to
let them do it, was that it? Yeah, you HAD to, not because of living or
dying but because you loved it, didn't you - DIDN'T YOU??!! Knowing you,
if you can't get someone to stick their dick up your ass, you probably try
to hump any damned kid-"
"YOU DON'T KNOW FUCK ABOUT ME OLD MAN, SO QUIT PRETENDING YOU DO!!!"
With that the elder Riddle reared back and slapped Jeremy yet again.
Bright red skin streaked across his cheek and Jeremy literally felt like a
steamroller had just smashed him to the ground. The older man grabbed his
son and started heading across the field toward the house. Not a word was
exchanged as they moved as Jeremy desperately tried to shake the cobwebs
from his head. Trying to focus on some way to get away or to at least calm
the old man as they neared the house, he began to panic.
Jeremy closed his eyes, recalling the day ever so vividly. He was
unaware of the other students riding on the bus now, their voices building
to a crescendo as they swapped their vacation stories. He remembered how,
upon being roughly dragged to the house, he had stumbled and how the man
had pulled him to his feet to continue on. The house was suddenly before
them, and quickly they entered through the door as the man muttered under
his breath, "I'm going to teach you how little you are, how fucking little
you are you piece of shit..." They entered the hallway. "You'll think
twice ever again about fucking with my head!" Dragged toward his bedroom,
Jeremy fell onto his bed as the elder Riddle threw him down, slamming the
door behind them.
The older man pulled off his overcoat and promptly hung it on the door
knob. Turning to his son, now sprawled before him, he began contemplating
the scene before him. Jeremy already knew he was losing the fight, had
lost it pretty much before it even got started. Still he stared up into
the man's eyes, determined he would show no emotion, nor would he give into
the fear that gripped him now. When the man spoke, his voice was cold,
dripping with the rage he obviously had boiling within. "All right you
little shit, you think you're something, coming homing, mouthing off to me
like some little piss-ant! Well, I'm going to ask you one last time, and
you're going to answer me, you understand? Where the hell - where in the
fucking hell - have you been for the last day?" He took a step closer, and
his voice began to rise both in pitch and intensity. "Have you been out
terrorizing those kids down the road? Is that it? Thought you could take
advantage of me being asleep and then going after your kicks, is that it?"
When Jeremy remained motionless, yet alone silent, it infuriated the older
Riddle even more. "Answer me!! FOR THE LAST TIME, WHERE THE FUCKING HELL
HAVE YOU BEEN?"
Jeremy pondered whether or not he should tell him about the abandoned
house, debating whether he should just give in. No, he wasn't going to do
it - nothing was going to save him from the beating that was about to come
and he knew it. There were few things left in the world that he held to
himself, and the house was his only sanctuary from the screwed up life they
- rather he - had here. He pressed his lips together more firmly, and his
expression changed to one of passive indifference, making the old man swear
to himself.
"AARRRGGGHHHHH!!! Why do I even attempt to put up with you, you fucking
asshole!" He waved his arms menacingly. "You think you can come and leave
here as you please, is that it? Don't you fucking realize this farm is all
WE got, that it is the only thing even feeding us? If those cows had
starved to death while you've been off screwing with your faggot fri-"
"I AM NO FUCKING FAGGOT, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF CRAP!! HOW MANY TIMES
DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT? I DON'T SCREW WITH ANYONE LIKE YOU DO!" The
roar from Jeremy surprised the older man, causing him to blink and retreat
as Jeremy, seeing the opening, pressed his advantage. "Where the hell have
I been? WHERE HAVE I BEEN? How about you? Where the hell have you been?"
"Watch it youngen-"
"Don't tell me to watch it old man! If this farm is so fucking
important to feed us, then why is there never anything around here except
your fucking beer??!!" When the other did not reply, Jeremy continued.
"We both know what that gets us, right? Hell, do you even know what day it
is, or what you've been doing for the last two fucking days? Do you? If I
had to guess you went on another binge with your check, AGAIN - thinking of
no one but yourself!! Or have you even noticed there ain't anything in the
friggin fridge to eat, huh?"
When the man continued to stare back with blank eyes, Jeremy played his
last card in hopes of getting the man to calm down. "Let me guess, you
don't have a nickel now, nothing, zip... You probably spent everything you
had on those cases of piss out there, right? Hell Dad, do you even have
any idea what week this is, or even what month it is??!! Probably not
because you can't get your head out of those damn cans to even get from one
day to the next!"
Jeremy rose from the bed and confronted him squarely, face to face.
"What the fuck do you care though, right! You want to know where have I
been, right? Alright, I'll tell you - I came home yesterday, that's right,
YESTERDAY! And when I got off the damn bus came in here I found you passed
out, drunker than snot on your ass on the damned couch in there! You
didn't a worry or care in the world, did you? You spent your whole fucking
wallet on nothing but booze and bars somewhere, and wallowed away your
every misery in whatever way you wanted, right? You didn't even think
about me, did you?"
"Damn you kid-"
"You didn't give a shit and you know it!" Jeremy interrupted him,
taking advantage to shed some of the burden he had been holding back for
months. "I'm nothing to you but a damn burden, some shit-faced slave in
your eyes, right? Well, am I? You would rather I die than to have to take
care of me! But whoa, how is that a surprise, right? You already could
care less whether I existed or not, just like Mom - you only care about
guzzling as many six-packs away you can push to pass out, piss yourself
with and then just get up and do it all over again. We never were worth
anything to you, were we? How did it feel old man? To go bar hopping and
screw everyone woman you could grab ass with, leaving us here to rot-"
SMACK! The slap cut across Jeremy's face harder than any he had
received that day, and instantly he knew he had crossed the line. He
reeled from the blow, landing upon the bed beneath him, both ears ringing
hard. When he looked up into the face of the elder Riddle, the bloodshot
eyes did nothing to conceal the rage that was behind them. "YOU LITTLE
FUCK! YOU GOD-DAMNED LITTLE FUCKING MAGGOT!" The man came forward and
grabbed the younger boy by both shoulders, shaking him violently. "DON'T
YOU EVER TRY AND TELL ME I DIDN'T CARE ABOUT YOUR MA! YOU KNOW NOTHING
ABOUT WHAT I WENT THROUGH WHEN SHE DIED, YOU PIECE OF CRAP!!!"
"What about what I went through?" Jeremy screamed, although meekly.
"WHY SHOULD I GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WHAT YOU WENT THROUGH, HUH? IT
COULDN'T HAVE BEEN THAT BAD, COULD IT? YOU GO AND GET YOURSELF FUCKED UP
BY A BUNCH OF SCHOOL BRATS, SCREWED TIGHT AND HARD, HAVING A GOOD OLD TIME,
RIGHT? WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE TO YOU, HUH? I GOT TO LIVE 6-MONTHS
IN A DAMN WHEELCHAIR PRACTICALLY, WHILE YOU GOT YOUR DAMN ROCKS OFF TAKING
IT UP THE ASS!"
The elder man pushed Jeremy hard back onto the bed. "I GOT 6-MONTHS OF
HELL, AND THE ONLY THING TO SHOW FOR IT WAS A GOD-DAMNED FAGGOT, A
SHIT-FACED FUCKIN WHORE! YOU DON'T THINK SO? YOU DON'T THINK I KNOW IT?
LOOK AT YOU - YOU TURN INTO SOME GOD-DAMN-ASSHOLE, BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF
LITTLE KIDS HALF YOUR SIZE FOR KICKS, MAKING A FUCKING NAME FOR YOURSELF
TERRORIZING THEM I RECKON! ALL FOR WHAT - TO MAKE YOURSELF SOME KIND OF
MAN?" Leaning in close, he lowered his voice, and once again Jeremy
smelled the sour breath of the alcohol that was churning in his stomach.
"You know how big of a man you are, boy? Huh? You're nothing kid - never
have been, never will be! But you don't realize it, do you? You think
getting fucked in the ass makes you a man, don't you? Is that it? Huh? IS
THAT IT??!! YOU FUCKING KID, YOU DAMN FUCKING KID!!"
Quietly, Jeremy replied one final time. "I am not a faggot you creep -
I never have been, never will be."
With a roar the man grabbed Jeremy by the front of his coat and roughly
turned him around, shoving him headlong into the bed. Placing a knee
between his legs, he single handedly grabbed the back of Jeremy's head and
pulled backwards, whispering into his ear. "You shit head, okay, you want
to play that game with me, that is your choice, but I fucking know better!
You think it makes you a man, screwing around -"
"I don't, I don't! You're the one who keeps saying it, not me! I don't
f-" The man pulled hard, cutting Jeremy off in mid-sentence.
He was angry now, angrier than he had been in years. "If you really
think it makes you a man, then maybe it is about time you did some growing
up for a change! If you really think that fucking or getting fucked by
some kid is what makes you a man, maybe let's get you going on a REAL dick!
Something big enough and powerful enough to give you and idea of what you
have in store for you, because I don't fucking care anymore! Want to dick
around with me, boy? Huh? Then lets me and you go, I'll teach you what
it's all about, that life isn't all about playing with your cock!" The man
reached around and yanked at the front of Jeremy's pants, pulling the
unbelted pair loose from the top, ripping the clasp that held them
together. Jeremy started to yell, but panicked as the man let go of his
hair and placed a steel clamp over his mouth with his hand, again jerking
his head back. With surprising strength, Jeremy's father had the boys
pants pulled down to his knees, boxers and all, exposing his ass to the man
behind him.
What happened next was a blur, but the pain was all too evident. Even
now, already weeks later it made Jeremy wince as, behind closed eyes, he
recalled every detail. The man had let go of him for an instant, and
behind him he heard the unbuckling of a belt. Sensing the beating that was
forthcoming, he had attempted to steel himself, feeling his naked backside
exposed beyond reprieve. It wasn't until he heard other sounds that had
made him open his eyes in alarm: a zipper being pulled down, and sounds of
clothes being pushed below their waistline. In horror he started to turn,
but felt a rough hand suddenly grab one of his arms and twist it behind
him, effectively shoving him back down onto the bed. It was at that moment,
when he could feel the bare skin of the man behind him he realized what was
going to happen. It wasn't the beating that was coming, but something much
worse - something that had not happened but twice in all the years they had
been together alone. His eyes widened in fear, and his body went rigid and
numb to what was happening. Tears began to form around his eyes and he
started sobbing into the unmade bed covers. "No dad... no...." he tried to
scream, but was ignored.
He felt the man lay on top of him, and within seconds a pair of lips
was next to his left ear speaking quietly. "No? Hell kid, you're about to
get knocked up by a REAL DICK, aren't you excited? Yeah, you see it isn't
so great now, don't you - you little prick... You see you're not so big in
the world now, don't you? You see that someone can still beat the living
shit out of you, just like you let those kids do to you so many years
ago... You let them fuck you, you let them turn you into a god-damned
faggot, and you let them bully you around like some kind of friggin slave.
Is that why you beat the snot out of these little kids around here, huh?
So you can fuck with them, or is it because maybe you can't fuck them, is
that it? So you can make their lives miserable because someone took your
cherry already, huh? Is that it, huh?? Shit kid, maybe you do need a
lesson then, something different - " Jeremy felt the poke at the back of
his leg, something hot and iron stiff, moving upward as if finding a way
toward its mark; " - from someone only big enough - " The hardened member
seemed to glide to the center, ramming forward; " - that can tear another
hole - ". He winced as he felt his father find his spot, tensing himself
and trying with sheer might to prevent the inevitable; " - in your fucking
teenage ass!"
Jeremy cried out as he felt it drive hard up inside him, not once, not
twice, but repeatedly. Little by little he felt the rod sink all the way
inward. There was an incredible stench that arose, one that mixed with the
breath of the man behind him, one filled with sweat and dirtiness that
could only come from one area. Each time he felt the thrust drive homeward
inside, Jeremy cried out before taking a gulp of the air drenched with
unwashed sex and alcohol. The pain was immeasurable, as he felt like his
whole ass was being split apart.
Even now, as they neared the school, he shifted uncomfortably in his
seat where there were still faint surges of pain that he could feel inside.
The old man had exhibited surprising strength, holding Jeremy in place
while he usurped his insides. Jeremy had tried to fight it, squeezing and
trying to block first the penetration and then the reckless action that
followed. He submitted however, powerless as the tears flowed freely. He
had suddenly recalled the night from so long ago, remembering how he had
been so helpless then at the hands of his captives. He recalled the
revulsion he felt, the compulsion to get out of there, to get free of it
all. Although the abuse had taken its toll then, he did finally escape and
coming home, free of the abuse he had endured. Had it not been the dreams,
he might have recovered, but in the way they haunted him he found little
peace or rest. He became a backward, sullen kid, angry at the world. He
took a whole different perspective on life treating everyone around him,
including the man now charged with his care, as vermin.
The man had been distant in the beginning, still recovering from the
accident. He sank to an all-time low in self-pity and misery, finding
solace only in his drinking. As time went on, he blamed Jeremy for the
problems in his life, even for the loss of his wife, although nothing could
have been farther from the truth. He began beating on him, mere spankings
at first, but progressing to beltings that sometimes would last half an
hour or more, most of the time bare-assed. He always blamed Jeremy for the
little mistakes that either of them made. Some nights he would belt the
boy for no reason at all, telling him he needed to be reminded every once
in a while who he was and what his place was in the "family".
The worst of it all, however, came the night Jeremy had been forced to
reveal what happened in the foster house. It had been several months
afterwards, and with his change in attitude Jeremy had become distant,
almost despondent. It infuriated the old man to no end when he could get
little to no reaction from the boy to his punishment, thus making him push
and hit harder. No night ever compared, however, than the night a note
came from school. It was from the principle to the elder Riddle, informing
him his son was behind in everything, and had begun terrorizing the younger
kids in the other classes. Of all the times the man had surged with anger
at the world for every little thing, that night the surge was concentrated
on Jeremy and Jeremy alone. That night had been a long, drawn out conflict
in which Jeremy had been forced to admit what had happened, but instead of
finding pity, the elder Riddle's hatred toward him grew ten-fold. 'How
could he have let those boys take him that way, turn him into some queer,
some fucking faggot?' the man started yelling. The beating that followed
was one etched into his heart and mind forever.
The bus turned into the school parking lot as a tear slipped down
Jeremy's cheek. His heart wrenched at the memories, both distant and near,
of everything that had happened. In the end, that ordeal had caused him to
harden his heart, blaming not only his father but every other adult he came
into contact with. He started becoming obnoxious and flippant with his
teachers and other school officials, and that of course opened the doors to
those around him who cheered him on. He became surrounded by "friends",
people who took solace in the misery of others, and he became a master of
the craft himself. Before long he locked away the memories in his mind,
and taught his heart to trust no one. He began fighting, and as he
steadily grew in height and strength, he took advantage of anyone anywhere
he could. He was the leader, the natural, and his ring of friends held him
to it.
That day on the bed though, the memories had become unlocked, his heart
broken. He cried as each thrust inside reached its endpoint, forcing him
to wince and sob. Without choice he had to give in because he had no
strength left to fight. He had just wished for it to be over, crying
quietly into the mattress underneath him. The man continued each vicious
thrust with a hint of contempt. Before long Jeremy felt the older Riddle
slow and suddenly ram ever harder in one final victorious plunge. Within
seconds Jeremy could feel the subtle slickness that came forth inside him.
It was awful as huge gobs felt like they were running up and down inside of
him. Combined with the putrid smell that grafted his senses he felt sick
to his stomach. If it were not for the fact he had hardly eaten in the
past 24-hours, he probably would have emptied his stomach right then.
The elder Riddle collapsed behind him, holding them both together in a
steel vise. After a few moments, the heavy breathing subsided into
something more normal, and the man slowly pulled himself away. Getting to
his feet, he looked down at the whimpering, motionless figure before him.
Jeremy lay there waiting for what he knew was to come, wishing it were
over, but now too exhausted and traumatized to care. The unmistakable
sound of a belt being pulled from his old man's pants caused him to close
his eyes.
"That... boy... was for... you to remember... what faggots are
going... to do to you... the rest of your fucking life." He slapped the
belt across the bare buttocks before him, causing Jeremy to cry out. "This
is for back-talking me, thinking you could pull your shit on ME! Don't you
ever be that damn fucking foolish again!!" The belt whipped again and
again a dozen times or more.
As the bus pulled up to let the kids disembark before the school doors,
Jeremy shuddered and visibly jumped ever so slightly, as he recalled each
strike that struck. Jeremy could no longer hold it in that day, succumbing
to the pain and humility, finally breaking down and wailing, begging and
pleading for the old man to stop. There was eventually a pause as the man
heard his son break down, and a pleased expression crossed his face.
Knowing he had broken him, the man silently put his belt back into his
pants. Grabbing his overcoat, he walked out the door, closing it behind
him.
Jeremy had been too traumatized to move. He lay in a fetal position on
the bed for what seemed hours, whimpering as the tears continued falling
across his cheek. Pure hatred raged in him at the old man and at his life.
When it finally subsided, it gave way to shame, shame because he could not
understand what was wrong, what was so out of place. Why did his father
treat him so bad? He had never, even once, exhibited any trace of being
gay, and he knew it. Yet the old man insisted...
The movement and noise of everyone getting off the bus woke him from
his trance, and Jeremy sighed deeply. The rest of the holidays had found
him pretty much ignored by the older Riddle. As far as he was, it was over
now; maybe... just maybe... he could find some peace returning to his
regular routine again...
- + - + - + -
When Monday morning finally arrived, Michael was not at his best. The
last few days had taxed his nerves and anxiety over the absence of his
friend considerable. Heightened by the fact the moment was finally close
at hand, he nervously pulled on his clothes as he got dressed and headed
for the kitchen. He avoided his usual breakfast of cereal and toast
altogether, eating nothing. After drinking a small glass of juice, he sat
watching the clock slowly tick until it was time to head out and meet the
bus. The walk over the hill was slow, each step seemingly harder than the
last. In one sense he was anxious, wanting to hurry and willing the
minutes to fly by so he could get some answers; in another sense though, he
was afraid of what he would find out. As he topped the hill he began
moving down to the mailbox. Steadying his nerves he spoke to himself
softly, "I guess this is it."
When the bus arrived, he took his usual seat after greeting Stan and
exchanging small talk about how the holidays had went. He liked this bus
driver compared to some they had had before - Stan always made an attempt
to not just talk to the kids, but talk *with* them, down on their level.
Most bus drivers were too wrapped up in their own little world to care
about the people they were transporting. Stan didn't do that though, and
Michael could not help but smile.
Within moments they neared Thomas's house, and turning the bend in the
road Michael saw his friend standing, waiting at the mailbox in the
distance. He felt his stomach turn itself into a knot, twisting his breath
as the bus rolled to a stop and opened its door. Thomas climbed the steps
and hesitated only briefly, exchanging a similar good morning with Stan
before walking down the aisle. As he neared Michael's seat, however, he
leaned in ever so slightly and said in a hushed voice, "Wait until we're
around the curve." Instead of joining his friend in their usual fashion,
he continued farther back and sat down two rows behind.
Michael was surprised at the request, and hurriedly glanced out the
window as the bus rolled away. There in the doorway to the house he saw
two figures outlined, watching them as they continued. When they rounded
the bend, he turned back just in time to see Thomas already making his way
back to join him. His mouth agape, he could think of nothing to say as his
friend placed his book bag beneath and settled himself in. They both sat
looking at each other in silence for a moment, neither sure of where to
begin. All the while the exchange had been monitored by Stan, his eyebrow
arched in curiosity. He thought it was odd, but said nothing for the time
being.
Thomas was the first to break the silence, an almost whisper as he
finally spoke. "Hi."
Michael, surprised, returned the greeting softly. "Umm, Hi."
Again there was an awkward silence between them before Thomas sighed.
"Say something, say anything, please... just say something..."
Michael was taken aback. "Huh? I mean... well... yeah, okay... How
about, what the `you-know-what' is going on?" He smiled meekly as he said
it, but voice and expression betrayed the tenseness of the moment.
Thomas's face held a sad expression, and now that he was closer Michael
could see the boy was about as frazzled as he himself was.
The other boy cleared his throat and then spoke in a low, nervous tone.
"I'm sorry Mike, I really am, please don't be mad at me... It's Gramps."
Michael gasped, holding his breath at hearing those words, before
letting them go and replying, "Huh? What's going on man, I mean, what...?
Why didn't you call? I tried to call you, but your Grams -"
Thomas shook his head, as if trying to clear his head. "I know Mike, I
know..." He took a deep breath. Michael was sitting next to his friend
with no gap between them. Nevertheless, he nonchalantly scooted even
closer so that they could be together. "I know you called, I was there,
but Grams wouldn't let me near the phone. I was sort of grounded I guess,
I couldn't call anyone or leave or do anything after we got back." He
looked into his friends eyes and then added, "Before you start worrying, it
has nothing to do with, you know... I promise, cross my heart..."
Michael felt a little relief at that, and returned the gentle nudge
between them before. "Then what is it? You don't like, hate me or anything
do you, right?"
"No way, man! I could never hate you, we're bro's remember?" He tried
to smile then let out a long breath. "It's all fucked up man, I mean -
it's all screwy at home right now..."
"Why?" Michael prompted softly and then waited.
Thomas thought for a moment. "Remember the day my mom came and picked
me up?" When his friend nodded, Thomas continued. "I hugged your Mom,
remember? Nothing big, but I just, I don't know, I got carried away some I
guess, I wanted to say thanks and I gave her a hug, that's all. Well, Mom
saw it and... I dunno - it was weird. I mean, she must have weirded out or
something I guess. I didn't think anything of it, and she never said
anything while we were riding home, but evidently that night she was
telling Grams about it, then Grams told Gramps about it, and ..."
When he paused, Michael whispered. "Okay, I sort of get that, then
what?"
"Gramps came in my room and started laying in on me with a bazillion
questions and stuff. I mean, he started out making comments like 'you and
that kid are getting all chummy chum aren't you?' and 'You're spending a
lot of time up with that boy and his mother, what's wrong, this family not
good enough for you?' and all kinds of crap like that. Then he starts in
on me how I should be more thankful for my family there, that THEY work
hard to provide a place for me and my mother to stay and everything, and
that my mom didn't need to have a boy she had to worry about all the time
and everything. When I asked what did she worry about, he slapped me, told
me to shut up and quit back-talking him!"
There was a silence that grew between them now, as Michael reflected on
what he had just been told. He knew life for his friend was weird
sometimes, but ... this? Thomas interrupted his thoughts as he continued.
"That's not the worst of it either. He started in on how I never
appreciate anything again, how I was always just in the way around there,
never helping out nor doing anything but being lazy. And I'm like 'Huh? I
DO help out; I take out the garbage and clean house all the time and do all
kinds of stuff every day, a lot of it without even being told!' And then
guess what? He did it again - he slapped me hard and told me to shut up,
then starts laying in on me with all the old stuff again." He looked at
the quizzical expression staring back and then explained. "You know - the
stuff about how I don't get out and go camping or fishing or hunting or
shit... that I have no interest in cars and couldn't tell a horse's ass
from the ass of a sexy girl, or some such shit as that. He really used
those words too! It was like, I dunno..."
"Man..." was all Michael could say at first, finally grasping what his
friend was trying to tell him.
"The worst of it though was when he started in on you," Thomas added,
his voice breaking. Before Michael could ask, he plowed on. "He doesn't
think we should be seeing each other anymore, that hanging out with you
isn't such a good idea."
"NO WAY! NO FUCKING WAY!" Michael's response carried throughout the
entire bus, and the other kids became silent as they all stared toward the
center where Michael and Thomas sat. Stan had already been watching the
two in his mirror, and at that outburst he looked up and saw the
seriousness on the youth's face. Instead of admonishing him, however, he
drew a stern expression and called back "Watch the mouth back thar
youngin!"
Michael was in shock, but as he realized what he had done and heard the
driver call back, he turned, red in the face as he called back, "I'm sorry
sir... I-I'm sorry..." The man's expression changed to one of curiosity.
He could not remember ever having a student actually apologize for the use
of foul language to him, not in THAT way at least. He nodded then went
back to concentrating on his driving. Most of the other kids on the bus
also went back to their conversations, but it became evident that a few
nearby had decided to try and listen in. Both Michael and Thomas noticed
their attempts and decided to hush for the time being.
Before long Thomas leaned in really close to Michael's ear. "That's
what I said too Mike, almost word-for-word, and as soon as I did it Gramps
went into a rage because I used the F-word. I got slapped again and then
grounded. He said you were obviously rubbing off on me with your foul
mouth and everything and it would be best if I just quit talking and seeing
you. That's why I couldn't call you – that's why it's been so bad these
last few days. Then this morning, before I got on the bus, Grams pulled me
aside and said it would be best if I didn't sit with you anymore. When I
asked why, she said it might be best if we had a break from each other for
a while and before I could say anything else Gramps walked up behind us and
she pushed me out the door."
Michael saw that Thomas was as visibly upset as he was himself. His
mind was reeling, his emotions charging back and forth between anger and
fear - fear of what was happening or would happen. Thomas once again broke
into his thoughts, this time his voice a dead whisper. "Mike, h-he asked
o-other stuff, too, like, whether we were screwing and stuff - he actually
asked me that!" Seeing the alarm in his friends face, Thomas hurried to go
on. "No, I swear bro - it was just out of the blue, totally! It hit me
like, what the hell, and I was so shocked he would even say that or ask it
or... I denied it - because it wasn't true! But he acted like I was
lying, like he didn't believe me! He just got this expression on his face,
you know? And then all of a sudden, I'm like this worthless little piece
of crap that – that's always in the way and, and..."
Thomas was visibly crying now, and his voice had been rising somewhat
to a steady tone that cracked with the emotion underneath. Michael had no
pretext reaching over and grabbing the others hand firmly. He didn't care
what anyone else saw or thought as he raised his voice as well. "No
Thomas, don't give in to that shit! Don't believe for a minute you're a
nobody or some worthless piece of crap! You know it, man! You're my
friend, and you're far better off a person than your Gramps is! Shit, you
*know* it, man!" He watched as an older girl across the aisle observed the
exchange between them; she saw the tears that were flowing from Thomas's
cheeks. Michael silently pleaded with her, not sure what she would do or
say, least of all if she was going to them a hard time.
Instead of teasing, however, she scooted over next to the aisle and
reached across, taking Thomas's other hand in a similar fashion. "He's
right you know," she spoke softly. "You're never a nobody, you never have
been." She leaned across the aisle and looked between the both of them as
Thomas's eyes turned to meet hers. "Hey, I don't know what's going on
here, honest, but I know what it feels like to be told that kind of
shit... Don't ever let someone pull that crap on you, not like that, okay?
It just means they either aren't thinking right, or they're full of crap
themselves." She smiled, looking at Thomas. "Besides, how can someone
with a cute ass like yours be a nobody, right? And yes I mean it - you got
a cute one, if you were a little older..."
Thomas laughed, blushing at her words, but it broke the fall into
despair he had been tunneling into. He squeezed both their hands and she
smiled back, leaning in and whispering to them both, "That's just my
opinion of course, but hey... Nobody's perfect, right?" She winked before
withdrawing back into her seat. Thomas let go of his friend as well and
used both hands to dry his eyes. Thomas took a deep breath and looked
across the aisle, unsure who the girl even was but thankful for
everything. "Thanks guys... Both of you..." as he looked at Michael as
well. She nodded and then went back to staring out the bus window.
As they approached the school, Thomas turned to his friend. "Mike? I
hope you know bro, I promise, I even swear on a bible, I never said or did
anything to make him think that, you know, that stuff. I don't know what
happened, it was like he just went wild or something, and all I could ever
think of was the fact I hugged your mom that day because that was when it
all started and stuff." He lowered his voice even more. "I swear it to
you, on my life!"
Michael looked back and smiled. "I know, trust me, I know - I really
do! Besides, remember our promise to each other? You said it yourself -
We'll always be bro's, remember?"
"Hell yeah, always," Thomas replied softly, grinning.
It wasn't that he was concerned about their bonding that had developed
over the holiday. Instead Michael was now more worried about what this
would all mean from here on out. Throughout the morning it weighed heavily
on his mind, distracting him more than once to everything that was going on
around him. They did not meet for lunch, and although that might have
alarmed him, he knew all the lunch schedules for the week were being
shifted around for some reason, although he could not recall why.
Throughout lunch and the rest of the day he sat in his classes, alongside
his friend in those that they shared, brooding. He had convinced himself
that he was to blame, that it was his fault in some way, and that he didn't
know, nor could he figure out, a way to make it all right again.
That afternoon the ride home was in silence, with only the two sitting
once again reflecting on everything that had happened. They made small
talk here and there, but both were depressed and discouraged too deeply.
For Michael's part, he did not feel he could trust his voice given how
upset he was slowly becoming. It wasn't until they began to approach
Thomas's house that his friend turned to him. "Mike? You're not mad at me,
right? You can be anything, just don't be mad at me, please..." he
pleaded.
Michael smiled and mouthed his response to him, 'No eff-ing way', which
made Thomas smile with relief as he stood up. He mouthed the word 'Thanks'
back to his friend and then moved forward before they came into view of the
house. He exited and Michael, being the last that day, stood up to move
forward as the bus pulled away. When he reached the front, all his anxiety
was beginning to catch up to him, and he had to calm himself with a deep
breath. Stan had started to say something, but seeing the troubled
expression on the youths face he let the matter drop. He could tell
something was going on between the two youths, but he figured it would all
work out eventually.
As he stepped from the bus, Michael hurried to get clear and be on his
way. Tears had begun to sting his eyes when he started to run. Truth be
told, Michael was confused and hurt, and it was a feeling that would hang
with him for quite some time. He reached the house and, upon finding his
mother had not yet got home from work, he ran upstairs and fell onto his
bed. There he curled up and scrunched his face together as the tears began
to flow.
... ... ...
When Michael's mother came home that evening, the house was cold where
the fire had dwindled and went out. She called out for her son, but when
he did not respond, she became concerned and began climbing the stairs.
She inwardly gasped as she found him curled into a fetal position on his
bed, then hurried over to check on him. She could see the damp spots in
the comforter, and knew instantly he had been doing something that for him
was totally uncharacteristic. At least, uncharacteristic until these last
few weeks. She started to say something when she realized he was sleeping
at the moment, so gently she rose from the bed and returned downstairs.
After building another fire in the stove and getting it going, the house
was quickly warming up. She then headed into the kitchen to fix a tray of
sandwiches and soup for the both of them. Instead of calling him down,
however, she climbed the stairs again and returned to his room.
He was awake by then, but she could tell by the expression on his face
he was far from being in any shape to eat. She sat down and pulled herself
up to the headboard, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Michael
responded by falling into her, exhausted, burying his head into her
shoulder. Within seconds he started crying again, and she soothed him,
letting him get it all out. Her heart wrenched listening to his sobs,
feeling his pain and confusion, but she maintained her steady gait, waiting
for him to come to on his own terms.
Coming to terms was something he did eventually do, and after a little
coaxing, he told her of everything he had learned that day. Slowly the
details came pouring out as he told her everything he could remember. He
told her how Thomas had to begin sitting somewhere else on the bus that
morning before he could get up and join him, and why; he told her how they
had talked and what Thomas had said and how he had reacted. He told her
what he knew of their household, how Thomas had described what living with
his grandparents was like, and of the things that just didn't always add up
to what they were used to. He came near tears more than once as he poured
it all out - everything except the intimacy he and his friend had shared -
and at how it hurt him, hurt them both in more ways than seemed possible.
And in the end he told her his fear, his conclusion that somehow he must
have done something, that it was his fault.
All the while she held him and listened. She had expected there would
come a day in the future when such times might be needed, over the loss of
young love or such, but she had never expected this. The two boys had
knitted such a tight friendship she was at a loss for words to describe it.
She looked down when he finally looked up into her eyes, searching for
something, anything that would help. "Wh-what am I g-going to do, Mom?"
His voice had become timid in her arms, and as she cuddled him he turned
his back to her so they could be closer still. "I-I mean... I don't
understand... how..."
"SShhhhh... It's not your fault honey... I doubt it's Thomas's fault
either, from what you tell me." She heard him whimper as she hugged him
more firmly, leaning forward and putting her lips to his ear. "I don't
think there is anything you two can do right now honey, you know? Just try
and be the best friends you can be at school for the time being. Who
knows, maybe things will change for the better in a week or so..." She did
not tell him the growing unease she herself felt. She had noted the
strange, unresponsive reaction in Linda the day she picked up her son.
Despite her reservations, it had all started to come together in a sense.
She thought back about the dealings with their neighbors in the past, and
she recalled just how self-secluded they appeared to be.
More than anything else, however, she was really uneasy about their
reactions to the simple friendship these two boys had made. She looked
down at her son, wondering if there was anything more. "Is that everything
honey? I mean, do you know of any reason Thomas's grandparents and mother
would want to keep you two apart? Anything you haven't told me?"
Michael did not hesitate, shaking his head no. Thomas had convinced
him he had never said a word, never hinted at anything, and he believe his
friend completely. Thomas had told him that afternoon he had torn the
drawing out of the notebook and burned it before any of it had started that
night. It wasn't because of fear of discovery or anything, but because he
had wanted to redo another one sometime and this time 'get it right'. Both
of them giggled at that, and because of the exchange Michael believed him,
because even up to that magical night they both had shared a lot of
closeness. Neither had withheld anything from the other. Michael had also
thought about how his friend could have glossed over some of what he was
told that day, but in everything he heard, he knew the genuine feeling in
Thomas's voice: he knew it was the truth. Everything else that had
happened, Thomas told him, came from all the weird fallout afterwards. The
intimacy they had shared had been their own secret, both of whom were
convinced of the other's heart-felt trust. If there was anything else, any
reason at all to explain any of this, it wasn't that. They were both at a
loss of words. "No mom, honest," he whispered, not exactly lying, but not
totally forthcoming either.
Sighing, she kissed the top of her son's head. "Okay sport, I believe
you. Why don't you go take a hot bath for a change, I'll put our supper
away and we can eat in a little later, okay?"
Michael sat for a moment longer before he straightened up and turned
around to face her. He was smiling sheepishly, drying his eyes before once
again embracing her. "Mom?" he whispered.
"Hmmm?"
"I love you... I really, really love you..."
Smiling, she whispered back into his ear, "I love you too, kiddo.
It'll all work out, trust me. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not this
week... but trust me, it'll all work out." She squeezed him tight, unable
to say anything more herself, before he finally disengaged from her and
headed toward the bathroom. She looked on sighing to herself, reflecting
on what she - what they both - had learned. Her heart went out for her
son, but she was at a loss of anything to do or say. She knew that for the
meantime, they would have to wait this one out...
(To be continued...)
---------------------------------
Comments to: EKidKy@hotmail.com
Other series by me:
- Life's Road of Discoveries
(www.Nifty.org, Gay-Young Friends section, Early 2008)
- Terry and Sam - Short Story, Holiday Christmas Collaboration w/Ruwen
(www.Nifty.org, Gay-No Sex section, Late 2008)