Date: Fri, 17 Jun 2016 15:35:29 +0000
From: Joel <joelyoung120@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Messenger - Chapter 1

			       The Messenger
			       By Joel Young

	 Chapter 1 - I'm Not Going to Let You Suck My Dick Again!

Being sixteen is hard enough.  But finding true love at such a young age,
only to have it ripped away from you, is devastating.  And, feeling
devastated can pave the way for making some very bad decisions.  That's
what happened to me in my junior year at Joliet High School in suburban
Detroit.  After a fabulous and successful first semester, I did something
in the second semester that I shouldn't have done.  And, it wound up
sending my life in a totally unexpected direction.

Back in October, my debate partner and I fell in love.  It didn't matter to
us that we were both guys.  The attraction was just too strong to resist.
Sex with David was indescribably exciting and satisfying.  And, when we won
the State of Michigan debate championship together that December, I thought
life couldn't be more wonderful.

Then, David moved away right after Christmas.  I was devastated, and I felt
hopeless.  So, with the sound reasoning of a broken heart, I decided that
the only thing I could do was just get through high school as best I could.
Then, maybe, I could start my life all over at a college far away from
Michigan.

The previous summer, I had spent some time with my cousin, Mike.  He was a
doctoral student in Mathematics at Princeton.  Mike was genius-level smart,
handsome, and very sexy.  Despite the fact that he was in his twenties, a
guy, and a relative, I was very attracted to him.  Naturally, I hid my
feelings, but I listened closely to everything he said.  Mike told me that
I should consider applying to Princeton.  He thought that I might have a
good chance of getting in, even though the school accepted fewer than ten
percent of all freshman applicants.  So, Princeton went to the top of my
list of potential colleges.

Over Christmas break of my junior year, my parents and I went Acapulco,
Mexico.  It was supposed to be a grand, family vacation.  But, even the
warm weather, sandy beaches, and beautiful ocean views couldn't cheer me
up.  I knew I might never see David again, and I was miserable.

After Christmas break, I returned to Joliet on a cold, snowy Michigan
morning.  I had always liked school, but that day, I really didn't want to
be there.  I wanted to be alone.  But, of course, I had to go to school.

Before classes started that day, I saw several of my friends.  I tried to
be social, but I didn't want to talk to them.  I couldn't pretend that I
was my normal, happy self.  And, I didn't want to answer their inevitable
questions.  "Joel, what's wrong?"  "Joel, are you okay?"  "Hey Joel, you
look like shit!  What gives?"

There were only two friends I wanted to see - Jim and Sara.  They were my
closest friends, and they had also been on the varsity debate team.  Jim
and Sara were 'going steady.'  They knew about David and me, and both of
them were accepting and supportive.  But, Jim wasn't at Joliet this
semester.  He had accepted an opportunity to be a foreign exchange student
in Japan.  And, he wouldn't be back until July.

Other than Jim and Sara, the only person I wanted to see was our debate
coach, Mrs. Weber.  She was there when David told me he was leaving, and
she had helped me when I fell apart.  But, she was on a leave-of-absence to
take care of her mother who was ill.

After morning classes, I went to the cafeteria to look for Sara.  I found
her in the food line.  After buying our lunches, we found a table off by
itself in a corner.  As we sat down, I realized that Sara and I were not
only long-time friends, but we also shared a new bond.  We both missed our
boyfriends.

Sara expressed concern about how lost I seemed since David left.  "Joel,"
she said.  "We've both got to find something to do other than studying.
Debate is over for the year.  Jim is in Japan, and David moved to
California.  I think we should both try out for the play."

"What play?" I asked.

"It's called The Messenger," Sara answered.  "There's a poster at the front
entrance.  Auditions are coming up soon.  There's a new Director since
Mrs. Weber isn't here.  Let's try out.  It could be fun!"

"I don't know," I said.  "I'm really not interested in acting.  And, I
definitely don't want to be up in front of a bunch of people - with a
spotlight shining on me!  I just want to keep a low profile.

I'm going to focus on keeping my grades up and preparing for the college
entrance exams.  After graduation, I'm getting the Hell out of Michigan."

"Fine, you can keep a low profile.  But, you could still be part of the
play," Sara argued.  "I'm sure there are plenty of things you could do
backstage.  Come on!  Don't make me go to auditions all by myself."

Sara was a great friend.  And, she wasn't one to ask for favors.  So, I
agreed.  "Okay," I said.

"But I'm not acting on stage!"

"Great!" Sara said.  "Then, it's settled."

The next weekend, I went to the public library and checked out a copy of
The Messenger.  It was good.  I liked it.

On the day of auditions, Sara and I went to the Choir Room after 6th hour.
The new Director was standing by the door, thanking everyone for coming out
for the play.  He immediately caught my attention.  He was younger than I
expected, and very good looking.  He had dark hair and eyes, an Ivy League
haircut, and a heavy 5 o'clock shadow.  But what really caught my attention
was his killer smile.

Sara saw me checking him out.  After we had entered the room, she leaned
over and spoke quietly.  "Joel, it is time to get back in the saddle, but
that stallion is way too much for you.

Don't get any ideas!"

"Geeze, Hinman!" I said.  "I'm not getting ideas.  But I can look, can't
I?"

Soon, the Director came into the room and introduced himself.

"I am Benito Califonte," he said.  "Why my parents saddled their first-born
son in America with a name like Benito, I will never truly understand, nor
fully forgive.  Anyway, I go by Ben Califonte, and yes, I am Italian.  So,
let's get the Italian jokes out of the way right now.  No, I was not named
after Mussolini.  My family has never been part of the Mafia, and I am not
a member of a gang.  I do eat foods other than pasta, but I don't drink
wine with every meal - I usually skip it at breakfast."  There were a few
chuckles from the students.

"Okay, anybody want to add their own Italian jokes?"  When no one spoke,
Mr. Califonte said, "Good.  Now we can proceed."  He turned to pick up some
papers on the podium, and I saw a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.

"I am a student at the Detroit College of Performing Arts," he said.  "And,
I am volunteering my time here at Joliet.  I am not being paid, nor am I
earning credits toward my degree.  I am here for two reasons.  First, The
Messenger is one of my favorite plays.  And second, I want more directing
experience on my resume.  Any questions?"

No one asked a question.

"Let me tell you about the play," Mr. Califonte continued.  "It's called,
The Messenger.  It was written by the mid-20th century American author,
James Hailey.  It is a story about the cycle of life - for all people,
across the ages.  While the play takes place in the 1930's and 1940's, in a
tiny Illinois town called Cedarville, the story is universal.  It could
have just as easily been set in ancient Rome or modern day India.  In our
production, there will be no painted flats and only limited background
scenery.  The open stage will help communicate to the audience that the
meaning of the story is not limited to one place or time.  Instead of
flats, we will use lighting and special effects.  For instance, there's a
church scene in the third act.  We will use the fly space to lower a blank
screen and project a picture of a stained glass window as part of the
background.

Again, he asked for questions, but no one spoke.  As Mr. Califonte had
started to tell us about himself and the play, he had fallen into a speech
pattern similar to a cadence.  He almost sounded like a benevolent Drill
Sargent welcoming new recruits to boot camp.  In some ways, it was
intimidating.  I wasn't surprised that no one wanted to ask questions.

"Okay, here's how today is going to work," Mr. Califonte explained.
"First, I'm passing around an interest form for each of you to fill out.
Please check the boxes for all the jobs you might be interested in -
acting, lights, sound, costumes, makeup - you know - all the jobs that a
show requires.  When everyone is done, we'll start the auditions.  Each of
you will come up to the front of the room and read - out loud - a short
selection from the play.  I'm passing out packets with the selections you
may choose.  Everyone will read.  Even if you only want a tech job, we may
need you to understudy one of the acting parts.  You never know when
something unexpected might happen.  And, you may have heard of 'the first
rule of theater.'  Who knows what I'm talking about?"

When it seemed as if no one was going to answer, Sara raised her hand.
"The first rule of theater," she said, "is that the show must go on."

"Yes!" Mr. Califonte said.  "Even if there is a catastrophe, the show goes
on.  That's why we need understudies for all the main characters.  And,
everybody in the company needs to be flexible.  If I ask you what you're
willing to do for the show, your answer should be, 'Whatever you need me to
do!'  Does everyone understand?"

A few heads nodded in agreement.

"And, before I forget, if you are interested in a tech position,"
Mr. Califonte said, "please stay after auditions for a quick one-on-one
interview.  I need to figure out what you might be able to contribute
backstage before I post the company list on Monday."

Mr. Califonte continued.  "Okay.  After you read your selection, I'll ask
you two questions.

'What have you enjoyed most about high school so far?'  And, 'What concerns
do you have about being in the show?'  By concerns, I mean possible
conflicts with other activities, forgetting your lines, stage fright -
things like that.  You might even be concerned that your friends will make
fun of you.  Anyway, all that information will help me make good decisions
about what job might be best for you.  Last call - any questions?"

Finally, someone asked a question.  "Ben," a guy in the back row said.
"When is the play?"

Mr. Califonte scowled.  "If I offer you a role, and you agree to be part of
my team, you may call me Ben - during rehearsals and production activities
only.  Otherwise, it's Mr. Califonte.  And, the answer to your question is
on the poster by the front door.  Since you seem to have overlooked that
information, I well you.  The dates for the performances are Friday,
Saturday and Sunday - March 22nd, 23rd and 24th."

Apparently, our Drill Sargent wasn't always benevolent.

When we started filling out the forms, I checked everything except acting
and makeup.

Mr. Califonte started the auditions, and I thought most of the students did
well.  Some were very nervous, and it showed.  I was surprised when Sara
answered her first question.  She said the thing she had enjoyed most about
high school was making so many new friends.  I thought she'd talk about
debate.  I should have followed her lead.

I was the last one to read.  I chose the opening narrative of the play,
delivered by the main character, the Messenger.  I did okay.  Then,
Mr. Califonte asked me what I liked most about high school so far.  I
answered that being part of the debate team was what I had enjoyed the
most.

Before Mr. Califonte could ask me the second question, John - a guy I knew
from History class - hollered out.  "Duh!  That's because you won the state
championship - faggot!"

I have always been a very emotional person, and I immediately felt the
humiliation of being embarrassed publicly.  But, I have a full range of
emotions, and I quickly felt my anger taking over.  "Turn the tables on
that idiot," I thought.  "That's what you'd do in a debate."

I slowly shook my head from side to side.  "John, John, John," I said.  I
looked him square in the eyes.  "I told you last night, Man, I'm not like
you.  And no matter how much you want it, I'm not going to let you suck my
dick again!  It creeped me out."

The room was silent.  No one said anything, not John - not even
Mr. Califonte.  I could feel the tension building.

Finally, a guy sitting next to John broke the silence.  "Did you really
suck his dick, John?"

That's when people started laughing.  I looked at Mr. Califonte to see if I
were in trouble.  He had his head turned away.  He was covering his mouth,
trying to hide the fact that he was laughing along with everyone else.

John was turning red in the face.  "No!  He's lying!" he yelled.  He stood
up, glaring at me.

"You'd better take that back, Joel - and apologize - right now!"

Some people just don't know when to stop.

"Okay.  Okay," I said.  "John, I am truly sorry - that I came in your
mouth!'  Mr. Califonte was still trying to stifle his laughter, but he
attempted to take back control of the room.  Just then, John violently
pushed his chair over.  He headed toward the door.  He stopped suddenly,
turned around and yelled, "Fuck you, Joel!"

I turned away from John, and I looked at the audience in front of me.  "I
guess he's changed his mind," I said.  "Last night, he wanted me to fuck
him!"

John froze, like a deer in headlights.

Sara stood up.  "Hey John," she said.  "Don't try to insult the best
debater in the state.  You'll lose every time.  And, you probably should
know, he's got a red belt in martial arts, so I wouldn't try anything else,
either."

John stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

I shouldn't have gloated, but I did.  "And that my friends,' I said, "is
what is meant by the old adage, don't dish it out if you can't take it."

There was a smattering of applause, which Mr. Califonte hushed.  "Okay,
stop," he said.

"Everybody stop!  He paused, stifling his own laughter.

"As much as I'd like to insert that entertaining dialogue into the play,"
he said, "I think it would get us closed down.  John should not have
interrupted Joel, and homophobic slurs will not be tolerated.  I will talk
with John about his behavior.  But Joel, what you said was - inappropriate
for high school.  Listen up everybody!  Interruptions, insults and bad
language will not be tolerated!"

Mr. Califonte never asked me the second question.  "Auditions are over," he
said.  "Tech interviews will start in ten minutes."

Sara and I went into the hall, and we stood to the left of the door.  Two
freshmen boys came out directly behind us.  They turned to the right, but
Sara and I could hear what they were saying:

      "I've never heard dirty talk like that in school!"

      "I know!  That would never have gone down in middle school!"

      "I thought there was going to be a fight - right there in the
classroom!"

      "Yea!  And the teacher just stood there - laughing!"

      "Isn't high school great!!!"


As soon as they were out of earshot, Sara just shook her head.  "Freshmen!"
she sighed.

"By the way," I said.  "Thanks for having my back in there."

"John is such a jerk!" Sara said.  "But, your rebuttal was great.
Mrs. Weber would have been proud - shocked, but proud."

"Thanks," I said.  "But why did you bring up my martial arts classes.  I
haven't been to the dojo in years.  I've forgotten most of what I learned."

"Well," she said.  "I told the truth.  And, I saw no need to highlight the
footnotes.  Besides, I was afraid - and I'm still afraid - that John might
try to ambush you."

When I had started 5th grade, my father insisted that I take martial arts
classes.  He said all men should be able to defend themselves.  I didn't
want to go.  But when I objected, he said I had to take classes for three
years.  Then, I could make up my own mind about whether to continue.  At
the end of 7th grade, when my three year sentence was up, I quit.  But, I
had worked my way up to a red belt.  And, I was much more confident about
defending myself against bullies.  I had also learned not to shy away from
being aggressive - as long as I only used it to defend myself.

Learning to channel my aggressions had even helped me in debate.

Sara wasn't interested in a tech position, so she wasn't staying for the
one-on-one interviews.

She wished me luck, and she headed out to the student parking lot.

I waited in the hallway by the Choir Room for almost an hour for my tech
interview with Mr.

Califonte.  I was glad I'd brought homework with me.  Of course, there were
no chairs in the hallway, so I sat on the floor preparing for my Chemistry
test on Friday.

I was the last person called in for an interview.  I entered the room, and
Mr. Califonte said, "Joel, have a seat."

As I sat down, I noticed the fragrance of his aftershave.  It was clean,
refreshing and manly.  It reminded me of the smell of sandalwood.  I liked
it - a lot.

Mr. Califonte looked at me intently, and I started to feel uncomfortable.
I wondered if maybe I was in more trouble than I thought.  I even
considered that maybe he was going to call my parents!  "Calm down," I told
myself.  "Don't make assumptions.  Just listen carefully, and don't look
intimidated.  Speak to him as if you are an equal, but be very polite.
Then, surprise him.  That works in persuasive speaking, and it will work
here."

"I'm going to start my interview with you a little differently than I did
with the others," Mr.

Califonte said.  "With you, I am concerned about teamwork and leadership.
I'm wondering if you would help or hinder me in building the cohesive team
I want to put together.  I really don't care about your technical skills
right now.  Those, I can teach you.  What I do need to know is - what the
Hell just happened between you and John?"

It would have been easy to answer by simply saying that John is a jerk, and
I wasn't going to take his bullshit.  But, that wouldn't help Mr. Califonte
decide that I could be an asset backstage.

"Would it be all right," I asked, 'if I answer your question in the same
style in which The Messenger is written?"

Mr. Califonte looked amused.  "I'm all for creativity and self-expression.
Let's hear what you've got."

"John and I are very different," I said.  "But, we are both teenage boys.
And, just as young stags have fought to establish dominance over each other
for years and decades, centuries and millenniums - in towns and states,
across countries and continents; so it continues today and will continue
into the future.  And what you saw this afternoon, Mr. Califonte, was one
obnoxious bully pick on the wrong guy and get his proverbial ass kicked."

For a moment, Mr. Califonte seemed startled by my answer.  Then, his look
of surprise turned into a questioning expression.

"Who are you?" he asked.  "What high school kid talks like that?"

I had gotten the reaction I wanted.  "Might as well continue down the same
path," I thought.

"Who am I?" I'm not sure how to answer that question," I said.  "Maybe it
would help if I tell you a little about myself."  I paused and looked him
in the eye as I got another whiff of his intoxicating aftershave.

"My father says that I am an 'old soul.'  He and I get along great," I
said.  "And, we love to go running together.  But, my father really wishes
I had more interest in team sports.  My mother has shared her love of
literature with me since I was a child.  We both love to read, and I like
to write poetry.  So, I guess you could say that I'm just a regular
teenager who is maybe a little mature for his age.  And, contrary to John's
insulting allegations, I like playing with words - more than I like playing
with balls."

When I was done, Mr. Califonte just stared at me.  I had no idea what he
was thinking.

"Am I the only one here with a dirty mind?" he asked.  "Or, did you just
weave an intricate back story in order to set up a suggestive double
entendre?"

I tried to look shocked.  "Mr. Califonte!" I said.  "I meant the kind of
balls used in team sports!  You know - footballs, basketballs, baseballs."

"Yea, right," he said.  "I should have known that would be your story - and
I bet you're sticking to it."

I grinned, trying to communicate that I was guilty as charged, but still
denying everything.

"I think we should move on," Mr. Califonte said.  "If I find a role for you
in the company, do you think you could stand up for yourself without
getting the entire production shut down?"

I was done playing with words.  "Of course," I answered.  "As long as I'm
backstage, and I don't have to act."

"No foul language?" he asked.

I tried to look hurt.  "You think my language is foul?" I asked.

"Well, Joel," he said.  "No offense intended, but what would you call
phrases like, 'suck my dick,' 'cum in your mouth," and 'playing with
balls?'  You and I might find them funny, in certain contexts, but I think
the school board might have a different opinion."

"I understand, Mr. Califonte," I said.  "But, could I still say what I want
- if I use more refined language?"

Mr. Califonte lowered his head into his hands.  "Joel, Joel, Joel," he said
as he looked up.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"I guess, anything you want, Mr. Califonte," I answered.  "I'll do whatever
you need me to do."

"Is that a promise?" he asked.

"Sure.  Why not?" I replied.

"Call me Ben," he said.


Comments can be sent to joelyoung120@hotmail.com