Date: Thu, 31 May 2012 10:21:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tyler Adams <tyleradamsbooks@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Paths We Chose ch 3

     The morning sun had already pried its way through the gap between my
curtains when I opened my eyes. I was watching the splinter of light slowly
work its way across the bed sheets toward my pillow before it sunk in that
the sun wasn't supposed to be shining in my window when I woke up on a
school day. That's when I realized that the static I was listening to was
coming from my radio. Crap, I must have bumped the dial off the station
again. Now I had exactly seven minutes to dress, grab something to eat, and
catch the bus. There was no way I was going to ask mom to drive me to
school because I got up late. That would mean listening to her rag the
entire trip about how I need to be more responsible.
     Mrs. Yoder must not have seen me dash out of the house because she had
just pulled the lever to close the bus door and was revving the engine when
I smacked the window with the palm of my hand. I thought for a moment she
wasn't going to let me in, but then she checked her side mirror and opened
the door.
     "Thanks," I gasped.
     "You're welcome, Alex," she replied politely. I don't think she had
any idea just how grateful I really was.
     "You don't mind if Phillip the Red sits in your seat do you, bro?" I
asked Daryl, though the words never left my mouth. I'm sure he had some
wisecrack answer for me, but just the thought of him made my face
involuntarily wrinkle. I was still biting the inside of my cheek when we
got to Phil's stop and he bounded up the steps, spotted me, and sauntered
back the aisle.
     "You okay," he asked, concern written across his face.
     "Just asked my brother if he had a problem with you sittin' in his
lap," I joked, trying to avoid admitting to Phil that I wasn't in control
of my emotions at the moment.
     "...and?"
     I grabbed my backpack and held out my fist. Having someone think
you're cool enough to bump fists with is amazing. I wonder what he'd do if
I gave him a shoulder hug and let my arm hang there when we walk into
school.
     "He must be busy `cause he didn't answer me."
     Then realizing I had just given myself an "in" for the question I
wanted to ask last night, added, "What if he would've said `bring it?"
     "Bring what?"
     "That he didn't mind you sitting on his lap," I answered.
     "How could he say that? You believe in ghosts or something?"
     That was not one of the two answers I expected to hear. "Maybe ...Do
you?"
     "I guess I believe that when you die, you either spend eternity with
God, or you spend it..." Phil, cut his answer off before saying that other
place, like he was afraid to mention it. I knew what he was gonna say but
didn't believe in that place anyway. I mean, if there even was a place like
that, and if there even was a God in heaven, there's no way he'd make Daryl
go there.
     "Did you guys ever go to church?" he asked suddenly changing the
subject.
     "Yeah," I told him confidently, "a couple of times." That was really
stretching the truth, though. Two of those times were weddings, and one was
Daryl's funeral. The other time was some kind of mistake where mom made us
go because she because she thought there was going to be some important guy
visiting her parent's church and she didn't want to miss being seen by
him. I don't think Phil was as impressed by my answer as I was.
     "I have to watch Thing One and Thing Two after school, so I can't go
to the park, but you could come over for supper. Bring your books and tell
your mom we're gonna study."
     "Dude, did you just tell me to lie?" I asked, pushing my brow up and
looking at Phil like my mom would have looked at me.
     "I'm just saying... Yeah, I guess I did. Forgive me?"
     "Why should I forgive you? I'm not the one who told me to do it. How
come you get stuck babysitting your brothers, anyway? You get paid for
doing it?"
     "Kind of," he quietly answered as we exited the bus and headed into
school. Just by the way he said it, I wondered if he was forced into doing
child labor so his parents could do other things with their money -- like
give it away to the church.

     It was unfortunate that Phil and my lunch periods didn't overlap;
because that meant that I either had to eat alone or quietly sneak a seat
at a table with someone who wouldn't object to me being there.
     I looked around, saw Taylor Williams, a huge football lineman, notice
me and made my way over to the table he was sitting at.
     "Yo, Skinny, wass'up" Taylor said as he inspected me. "Wha'chu been up
to, mah man?"
     I guess he hadn't heard about Daryl.
     "Nothin' really. Just kinda hangin'."
     "Dude," Matt White interrupted anxiously. "That's Daryl Harper's bro,
man."
     Taylor tensed, and looked away. "Alex, man, my bad. I didn't know he
was your brother. How come he had white hair and you don't? Daryl was cool,
man."
     I guess my "half-empty glass" thing kicked in just then `cause all I
could think was that he meant he couldn't believe someone like me could be
related to someone cool. Not knowing how to reply, I looked at my plate and
took a bite of my pizza.
     "So Harper... Did you and your faggoty friend enjoy watching me wash
my car yesterday?"
     I glanced up while trying to tear off a bite of the tough crusted
pie. I kind of knew Jason had seen us checking him out, but I never thought
he'd call me on it. Actually, he acted like he wanted the worship of his
loyal subjects because he had turned the hose on himself and made his board
shorts wet while we were watching. I had no idea where he was going with
this until he slapped the back of my head and drove my entire face into the
greasy pizza muck.
     Without thinking, I hurled the "F-bomb" at him.
     His swiftly moving fist stopped dead, just short of my nose.
     "You got something you wanted to say to me?"
     I nearly choked on what I had just bitten off.
     "...didn't think so faggot face. Next time I catch you and your
boyfriend grillin' me, your face is gonna get a lot closer to my fist."
     To further make his point, he wracked the side of my head with his
knuckles as he walked away. The pain where he hit me was incredible so I
wrapped my arm around my head. Actually, I wanted to hide more than soothe
my head. When I dropped my arm and looked up, he was gone. Everyone at the
table was staring at me.
     Taylor might be a big, tough, football player, but he also must have a
big heart, because he grabbed the napkins off of everyone's tray and handed
them to me to wipe my face. "Don't worry about him, dude. My mom always
says the things you say about other people is probably what you're doing
when no one's looking. I can't exactly say I see Jenkins being a homo
though."
     Not wanting to look like a total wimp, I shrugged my shoulders like I
didn't care, and tried to salvage my lunch. As soon as I finished gulping
down what was left of my pizza, I got up to make my way out of the
cafeteria to be alone. Great, I thought to myself when I noticed a guy at
the next table staring at me and wiggling his brow. At first I wanted to
punch out his lights, but when I realized he wasn't making fun of me, his
stare made my heart skip a beat.

     "Dude, what was all that about at lunch time?" Phil asked as soon as I
sat down beside him for the bus ride home.
     "All what," I asked, hoping that Phil hadn't actually heard what was
said.
     "I was just getting in the lunch line when I saw your neighbor take a
swing at you like he was gonna knock your head off."
     "He just likes to show off, so he picks on anyone he thinks won't
fight back."
     I waited with baited breath wondering if he heard what Jason had said.
     "Doesn't he know he can get into a lot of trouble for saying stuff
like that in school?"
     Figuring Phil was referring to Jason calling me a faggot, I mumbled
"He's just a jerk," and looked out the window.
     "Dad always says that when someone accuses someone of doing something
wrong, it's because they're trying to keep people from finding out that
they do it themselves. Maybe your neighbor's a closet case."
     "You're the second person today that said that. You think being gay's
wrong?"
     Phil just kind of looked at me with this miffed look on his face and
said "du-uh," like there was no one in the world that didn't think that.
     "You think my neighbor might be gay just because he said that?" I
asked, afraid that if I told him I didn't think being gay was wrong, he'd
figure out that I was.
     "Never know," Phil offered, "most of the gay guys I ever met were
pretty good at making people think they're normal."
     "You know some gay guys?" I asked astonished at what he had just
admitted to me.
     It was Phil's turn to look out the window. "Just sayin' what I
heard. ...He really needs the Lord," Phil tacked on as an afterthought.
     "Because he might be gay?" I ventured.
     "...Because he probably isn't a Christian. I mean if he was, he
wouldn't be gay because he wouldn't want to live in sin like that. God
expects you to stop doing stuff that's against what the bible says."
     Phil got kind of quiet. I think it just sunk in that he was talking to
me -- who also was not a Christian. "Look, I didn't mean... A person can
be tight with God and not go to church."
     I was glad we had reached his bus stop. I'm not sure what he would
have said next, but I sure wasn't looking forward to having him getting any
deeper into his religion than he already had. Telling me indirectly that he
thought being gay is wrong, and then following that up with God not liking
you if you did happen to be that way was quite enough for me.
     As I watch him walk toward his house I began thinking about what Phil
and Taylor had said. Maybe Jason really is gay. Maybe I should try dropping
subtle hints to him to let him know I might be interested. Then I
remembered his fist stopping just short of caving in my face and decided
that if he was interested, he was definitely going to have to make the
first move.

     Thursday morning Phil was back to his normal self. I guess I have to
admit I was kind confused about what he said about Jason; that if he was
gay, it somehow made him a bad person. Well, actually what was really
bothering me was that I was sure Phil had to at least suspect me of being a
little interested in guys, and therefore if I wasn't real careful, he would
figure me for being bad too. I'm sure being friends with the enemy isn't
something the people at his church would take with a grain of salt.
     "Dude, we're going to the skate park after school, right? This is
Thursday, so I don't have to watch the little pests today."
     "I guess so," I answered trying to sound excited. Inside, though, I
was wondering if we would ever be good friends. It seems like every time
someone tries to get to know me, I self-destruct over something that I'm
afraid of. I could see already that this friendship was doomed --either
he'll find out about me liking guys, and tell me to get lost, or I'll start
worrying about him finding out and start ignoring him. But no matter what,
in the end he's gonna think that I'm a jerk.
     "You never did say why that Jason guy called you gay and acted like he
was gonna punch you."
     "It was just something stupid."
     Phil sat there and looked at me like he was waiting for me to keep
talking.
     "He's just a jerk," I reiterated. "He tried to make like I was some
kind of perv, and told everyone I stare at him all the time. Then he told
everyone that he was going to rearrange my face if he ever catches me doing
it again."
     Phil seemed surprised. "Dude, he like walks around school flexing his
guns like he's in a Mr. Universe contest... And he gets ticked when someone
looks at him? Are you kidding me?"
     Phil's sudden staring at me made me nervous. "What?" I asked after a
deafening silence.
     "Nothing... I'm just trying to imagine what you'd look like with a
flattened nose."
     "So-o-o not funny," I pined thinking that if I wasn't careful, it was
a definite possibility.
     "Make sure you have the shades pulled when I come over. Having to do
mouth-to-mouth on you because your neighbor thought you were perving on him
is not something I want to do when I get to your place this afternoon."
     Phil gave the side of my head a playful shove when he saw I wasn't
laughing.
     The bus pulled up in front of school, and without saying another word
Phil turned and punched me on the upper arm, like friends do.
     "You're a dweeb, Alex," he laughed at me.
     I just punched him back -- hard enough to make him rub his shoulder,
just in case it wasn't just a friendly jab. "I guess that makes two of us,
Dipweed."
     He looked right into my eyes and said, "Well, at least I know we're
friends, right?"
     "Friends," I said and tapped his fist with mine.