Date: Thu, 23 Mar 2000 20:42:14 -0500 (EST)
From: David Lemmaire <lemmaire@email.com>
Subject: "Loving Andy More" (4/4) (t/b, inc)

LOVING ANDY MORE (4/4) (t/b, inc)
by Lemmaire

When the time came to finally talk to my Mom, I was surprised at how easy
it was.

For weeks, after she'd caught us together...Andy in bed with me, my arm
draped sleepily over his chest...our house had been a prison camp.  She
watched our every move. She wouldn't let us be alone together.  Even on
the couch, watching TV -- Andy on one side, me safely on the other --
she'd come into the room, sit down silently between us, pick up a
magazine, start reading without saying a word.  As if her physical
presence could separate what had happened.  Erase it.  Make it all go
away.

I didn't know who I hurt more for.  Me.  Andy. Mom.  We were all scared.
All hurting.  All confused.

Despite the confusion...despite the constant surveillance...we'd still
sneak away whenever we could...however brief and impossible...we still
managed to continue our guilty, rapid, unsatisfying couplings.

I'd kneel in front of him behind a locked bathroom door, hungrily gobbling
him -- in passion -- in anger -- begging him to cum in my throat -- faster
-- faster -- our lives became "hurry up -- you have to be faster" -- we
didn't want to get caught -- didn't dare spend more than a few urgent
minutes together -- the brief necessity of our hidden intimacy only added
to our guilt.  When it was over, we didn't feel that wonderful, familiar
comfort and love.  We only felt guilty.  Like animals, ashamed of what we
needed.

Andy was losing weight.  He dropped ten pounds in those awful weeks.  His
already small frame was becoming sickly-looking.  Dangerously thin.

Mom noticed it, too, and tried to get him to eat.  But he wouldn't.  He
just stared at his plate and pushed it away.

Sitting across from him at the dinner table -- my dad on one end,
oblivious to everything as usual -- my mom on the other, worry lines
driving deep grooves into her forehead -- we'd sit and watch each other,
our eyes dancing painful code back and forth -- the only touch we dared to
allow ourselves.  It was horrible.  You could feel it in the air.  You
could cut it with a knife.  So much pain.  So much confusion...for all of
us.

But there was no going back.  I loved him so much.
Andy...angel...brother...friend.   Why can't I have you??

Why was it so wrong?  Because somebody's rule somewhere said so??  I
couldn't comprehend how unfair it was.  How did something so good and so
right go so horribly wrong?

I knew the answer, though.  Sadly, I've always known that answer.  I
always will.  It'll follow me to my deathbed.

Something good becomes something bad because that's the way the world
works.

Forget hearts.  Forget commitments.  Forget your soul.  If the world says
it's bad, then that's the way it is.

The world doesn't change because two people dare to love each other.  It
only fights you harder.  And it never lets up.

It was anguish, for both of us.

We skipped school one day, just to have sex.

How's that for desperate?

After Mom and Dad went to work, we just couldn't take the separation
anymore.

We stayed home for a whole delicious, guilty afternoon...lying in my bed,
naked and panting...ravaging each other with passion...not knowing when
we'd have the opportunity again.  I came in Andy so hard I screamed out
loud.  When it was done, he cried and I held him.

"Let's run away," he begged me.  "Please, Mikey...let's just run away."

I cried, too.  I didn't know what to do.

Andy cried all that night.  I could hear him in his room, behind his
locked door.

I wanted to knock.  To comfort him.  To kiss his tears away.  To hold him
in my arms and promise him a million lifetimes of happiness.

But it was impossible.

To be separated physically when we'd known so much closeness...?
Sometimes it hurt so much it made the air I was breathing catch in my
throat.  It made me cry at night.  It made me throw up.

By the looks of Andy -- the dark circles under his sad young eyes -- the
shallow line of his diminishing cheekbones -- his numb, zombie-like state
as he wandered through his days on autopilot -- it was horrible for him,
too.  It should have never started.  I should have never, ever done it.

But I had.  And now I couldn't stop.  Andy was my hunger.  My constant
yearning.  My obsession and my oxygen.

The memory of all that beauty -- all those perfect touches -- faded deeper
and deeper.  I cried for them.  I longed for them.  I went to bed at night
and wept and sobbed until I was physically ill.  I prayed to God he'd let
me die in my sleep.

Do you know what it's like to go to bed at night, begging God to make your
heart stop beating?  Hoping in your soul, to some unknown
power...praying...begging for the blood to clot and turn to cement in your
veins so you could just finally, peacefully DIE and not have to think
about anything anymore?  That was what I prayed for.  Too scared to kill
myself, I simply prayed to die.

But the relief from God never came.  Like all the other answers, His was
invisible.  So, I'd lay in bed at night and cry.   I'd just cry harder.
I'd cry until I was vomiting.
___________________________________________________

It was one of those nights of sickness and pain that Mom finally came down
to my bedroom to talk to me.  She tapped lightly on my door, and hearing
no response, she entered, only to find me hunched over my toilet, dry
heaving, trying to rid myself of the poison my life had become.

When I looked up to meet her gaze, I expected to be nervous and scared.
Instead, a strange serenity washed over me.  There was nothing more she
could do.  No more pain she could make me feel.

I was at my limit.  I was dead calm.  Ready.  I wasn't going to spend any
more nights making myself sick for her.  If I had to take Andy and run
away -- somewhere -- anywhere away from her -- I'd do it.  I'd run forever
with him.  I just couldn't let it go on like this anymore.  Like unspoken
evil, it was killing us all.  And no one would kill Andy. Not his life,
not his soul, not his spirit...not anything.  I wouldn't allow that.  I'd
die myself first.

She reached out and stroked my hair.  Felt the cold sweat on my forehead.
I looked up at her and saw she was already crying.

"Michael...sweetheart..." she whispered through sobs, drawing me to her
chest.  "Help me, honey.  I just don't know what to do.  You both look so
sick -- so hurt..."

I nodded.  I wasn't going to let her scare me anymore.  She looked at me
-- desperately -- for answers.

"I'm gay, Mom."  I had to say that first.  Lying time was over.  "I'm gay,
and that's just the way it is."

"I know that," she whispered.  "I've always known that.  Do you think I
haven't seen your books?  The way you are?  The way you watch people --
other boys -- "

I shrugged.

"Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean I don't know."

"So is Andy,"  I told her.  "He's gay, too."

She laughed.  A bitter half-laugh, half-cry.

"Oh God, Michael...do you know how ridiculous all of this sounds?  You're
CHILDREN!  Do you understand that?  CHILDREN!   How in the world can you
possibly know what you ARE?  You haven't even grown up yet!"

"I've known since I was nine years old," I answered calmly.  "You can
believe me, or you can reject me.  But that's what I am.  That's who I'm
always going to be."

She measured this. Swallowed hard.

"But Andy..." she cried.  "He's so young...he's so..."

"He's gay," I finished.  "You have gay children, Mom.  I'm sorry.  I wish
we weren't.  For your sake...I wish we could be everything you want us to
be!  Do you think we WANT to hurt you?"

She sobbed.  Continued to hug me.

"Just leave us alone so we can find out who we are!" I pleaded softly. I
didn't know how else to say it.  How do you express thousand-year-old
feelings in a 16-year-old's vocabulary?  "Let me love him, Mom.  I begged
her with my touch.  I pleaded to her soul.   "Please...?  I love him so
much.  I would never, ever hurt him.  You know that."

"He's twelve, Michael!" she sobbed.  "He's just a baby!"

"He knows who he is!  Just like me, Mom!  He's a person...he knows!  Like
me.  Like you.  Like anybody!   Why are you so scared of this?  God, would
you rather have him go out and find some stranger in the mall?"

I let my rage rise to the surface as she continued to sob.

"Is that what you want? Some 40-year-old man bending him over a toilet
seat, raping him?"

She put her hands over her ears.  Shook her head.  Clenched her teeth.

"Because if it's not me, it'll just be somebody else!  Somebody who
doesn't have a clue how to love him!"

"I don't know how to deal with this!" she screamed.  "Christ,
Michael...he's your brother!  YOUR BROTHER!  Are you old enough to know
what incest is?"

I clenched my fists together.  Tried to keep my voice steady.

"Are you young enough to remember what LOVE is?"

She buried her head in her arms and cried.

"Do you think I'm fucking him?" I cried out fiercely.  "Are you like the
whole stuipd rest of the world?  You think 'gay' means fucking, and that's
IT?  Jesus Christ, Mom, sometimes gay means LOVE!  All right??  LOVE!"

She sobbed softly.  I felt so bad for hurting her like that, but there was
nothing else to say.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered, hugging her.  "And I love Andy.  And I
don't know what else to do."

She tried to smile at me, but it fell apart in tears.

"Just leave us alone," I begged...my eyes shooting like arrows into her
heart.  "I swear nobody is going to get hurt.  Just leave us alone and let
us love each other.  That's all we want to do."

She got up, wiped her face bravely, and walked out of my room.

She didn't say another word.

Not for days.

Not another word.
______________________________________________________

"There's a different world that brothers share.  I wish I could say it
always made sense, or that it was always innocent, or always very pure the
way it should be...but sometimes it's not.  Sometimes it goes past
innocence and becomes things that brothers should never be to each other.
Or maybe they should.  I don't know.  Even now, I still don't know."

That's how I started this story.

All those beautiful weeks ago, that's where our story began.

And now, after all that had happened, like it or not, good or bad, I saw
it drawing to a close.

Good or bad, there had to be an ending.
_______________________________________________________

Mom sat at the kitchen table, lighting a cigarette, tapping it nervously
into an ashtray while Andy sat across from her calmly, studying her every
move.

I wasn't supposed to be there.  I was supposed to be down in my room while
she talked to him.

But of course, I wasn't.

I was sitting at the top of the basement stairs...the door cracked open,
just enough to hear and see.

Mom's back was toward me.  I didn't think she knew I was watching.  Or if
she did, she didn't let on.

She was direct.

Kind.

Not intimidating...just direct.

It was one final bridge she was desperately trying to cross.

She shifted in her chair.  Uncomfortably.

"Michael told me he's been...."

She nervously dragged on her cigarette, searching for the word....

"...Experimenting with you."

Andy swallowed.

"Is that true?"

There was a long pause.  Andy looked down at his feet.

"Yeah," he said softly...sadly.  "Sort of."

Mom snubbed out the cigarette, unsmoked.

"What do you mean 'sort of'," she prodded gently.

Andy shrugged.  Looked sheepish.

"I mean..." he stuttered.  "He's sort of experimenting with me and I'm
sort of experimenting with him."

Mom was quiet for a moment.

Andy picked up the silence.

He spoke passionately, in a voice and sincerity I didn't know he posessed.

"It's not just body experimenting," he explained simply.  "It's love
experimenting.  I know you think I don't know the difference...but..."

"Andy," she sighed gently.  "You're a little boy.  What can you possibly
know about love?"

He faced her bravely.

"I know it makes your heart hurt when you can't have it," he said softly.
"I know what it feels like to have it, and I know what it feels like to
have it taken away.  I know it's not pretend."

His voice cracked and he wiped at his eyes.  "I know Mikey gives it to
me."

Mom lowered her head again.  Tried to understand.

"He does, Mom.  I swear."

"I see," she said finally...softly...trying not to scare him.  She
struggled for the words.

"Do you think you're gay, Sweetie?"

There was a good long pause in the air.  It hung solidly.

"I don't think, Mom," Andy answered.  "I know."

He didn't lower his eyes for a second.  My brave, beautiful brother.  He
never even blinked.

"Is Mikey hurting you?" Mom asked cautiously.

No," Andy answered firmly.  "Nobody hurts anybody."

He paused for another second.

"I mean...geez, Mom...does Dad hurt you?"

Mom was so surprised, she laughed in spite of herself.  But she caught it
quickly, and stifled it.  She was in her serious mom mode.  She didn't
want laughter to enter the picture.

"No," she answered seriously.  "Dad doesn't hurt me.  I'm also not
twelve."

Andy grinned innocently.

"Your loss," he shrugged.  "It's a pretty cool age."

Mom smiled.  I only saw the smile because she got up and walked to the
sink.

"Go to your room," she told him.  "I'll talk to you both in the morning."

Andy didn't move.

"Mom?" he asked unsteadily.

"Yes, Sweetie," she answered, not looking at him.

"Mikey's not the bad one, you know." he said softly.  "I started it."

I caught the surprise in Mom's eyes.  Andy couldn't see it, but I could.

"I just wanted you to know that, okay?  Whatever happened, happened
because I asked him to."

"Okay, Sweetie.  I understand."

"Don't think bad things about him.  If you have to, think bad things about
me.  But don't think Mikey did it all, okay?"

"I..."

He struggled.

"I asked him to."

Mom's shoulders loosened.  She walked over to him and picked up his small,
soft hand. She held it and brought it to her lips.

"Okay, Andy," she said.  "I understand."

She bent down to kiss his forehead.

"I don't think bad things about either of you, all right?  I love you both
so much.  No matter what, I always will.  Do you believe me?"

"Yes," he said meekly.  "And you have to believe that Mikey loves me that
way, too.  I mean it, Mom.  I know it.  He does."

She bit her lip to hold back the tears.  She kissed him again and motioned
him out of the room.

After he left, she sat down at the table and smoked, staring at the wall,
not moving.  After the second cigarette, I walked quietly down the stairs
and went to sleep.

For the first night in many weeks, I didn't cry.
___________________________________________________

Three days passed.

Three long, waiting, walking-on-eggshell days.

Then she talked to us again.

"All right," she said firmly, all business.

Andy and I were sitting with her at the table.  There was a grocery bag in
front of her.

"Number one," she said, looking at both of us, opening the bag.  "Safety."

She pulled a box of condoms from the bag.  Trojan.  Small.  Oh my God.
Andy and I looked at each other...horrified...blushing...feeling ten
inches tall.

"I assume you boys are clean," she said.  "God, I hope so."

"Mom..." I started, objecting...

"Quiet, Michael," she said.  "I already feel like a horrible parent.  If
you don't let me do this the way I planned it out, I'm just going to feel
worse.  So, quiet."

She faltered for a moment, then recovered.

"If you decide to have... sex...with other boys...then I want you to use
these."

I didn't know what else to say, so I shut up.

"Do NOT get sick.  Do NOT get hurt.  And for God's sake...do NOT do
anything in front of me."

Andy giggled.  A nervous laugh.

"Do I approve?" she asked, looking at each of us deeply.  "No, I do NOT
approve.  Michael, I think you are too young.  Andrew...I think you are
WAY too young.  I don't approve at all."

My heart sank.  I looked down.

She pulled my head up with a soft hand.  Looked me in the eyes.

"But do I want you to make yourselves sick?" she whispered...tears
brimming in her eyes..."no...I do not.  Do I want you two to be miserable
living in this house together?  No.  I don't."

Under the table, Andy nudged me with his foot.  He was excited.  I could
see his face.  He was fighting back the broadest smile.  So was I.

"This is all I'm going to say," Mom said softly.  "I don't understand it.
I don't want to know about it.  But you're not my prisoners, and I'm not
your jailor.  None of us can live like that.  So...maybe someday I'll be
better about this, but for right now...just..."

She struggled to complete her thought.

"Just keep it private," she said.

We both nodded.

"I'm sorry, boys..." she said sincerely.  "I wish I were a better mom.  I
wish I could let this go on unconditionally without being scared by it.
But for now...don't ask, don't tell is the best I can do, all right?"

She looked at us piercingly.

"I understand," I said.

She stood up.

"Sleep where you want to sleep," she said.  "If you feel the need to tell
your father...I would very much appreciate it if you'd warn me
first...because if you don't, he's going to have me committed and then
nobody will be around to cook for you anymore.  Your father burns water,
okay?"

Andy giggled again.  More in relief this time.

She quieted him with the strongest glance.

"I love you two with all my heart," she said.  "I really do.  I would die
before I would cause you any pain...do you know that?"

We nodded solemnly.

"Just don't get hurt, okay?"

She nudged the condoms on the table to illustrate.

"Not this kind of hurt," she said, glancing down at the box, embarrassed,
not wanting to imagine what we might use them for.

She put her hand to her heart.

"THIS kind of hurt is what I'm talking about.  The kind in your hearts.
Don't you ever hurt each other there.  Ever."

And that was it.  Lecture over.

She picked up the empty grocery bag, wadded it up and tossed it on the
counter.

"I love you boys," she said as she got up and left the room.  "I will
always be here for you, no matter who you are.  Remember that."

"We will," Andy said shyly.  "If we live to be a million, we will."
____________________________________________________

"Mikey?" Andy whispered to me in the darkness.

"Hmmm?" I rolled over, half asleep, feeling his peaceful
heartbeat...enjoying the warmth of his small legs, intertwined in mine.

"Is all of this wrong?"

He smiled at me.  His face was lit in blue moonlight.  His eyes sparkled.

We'd made gentle love that night.  Gentle and tender, the way we knew it
should always be.

I stroked his face in my hand.

Brushed the hair out of his eyes.

I kissed him softly on the lips and he closed his eyes and snuggled
against my chest.

"I don't think so, Squirt," I whispered softly.

"Me neither," he yawned, before he slipped softly back into his dreams.

I looked at the clock and closed my eyes.  I felt his warm body snuggle
against me.  I'd never felt so good, so peaceful, so relieved, so full.

Right and wrong would have to wait until tomorrow.  We'd have lifetimes of
that, I was sure.

I watched him sleep, only half worried about what tomorrow would bring.

Tonight, thank God, there was only us.

New possibilities. Gentle, summer brotherhood.

A world where dreams start over again.

Being young.  Being brothers.

And always....always...

Loving Andy.
_______________________________________________

END