Date: Tue, 05 Dec 2006 20:47:52 -0500 From: cgard 43 <cgard43@hotmail.com> Subject: Christmas at Home This is a work of mostly fiction. Hope you enjoy it and Happy Holidays to all. Comments welcome to Cgard43@hotmail.com CHRISTMAS AT HOME In my experience, things often turn out much better than you expect, but they often take some strange twists along the way. Here's the background to this story. My partner and I both have aging parents who are not in the best of health. That's why we decided that we'd each travel alone to see them for Christmas this year, celebrating ourselves when we returned home. His parents live in Georgia and mine live in Maine. The night before we were to depart, we had a wonderful time. Paul fixed a beautiful dinner (it was his turn), and we cuddled on the sofa for a long time. "Are you sure you're ready for this encounter with your parents?" he asked. "Yes, I am," I answered. "We've gotten along fine on the phone this last year or so. "Of course, I'm going to miss you," I murmured. He gathered me in his arms and we made love, as we'd done many times before. It was special, though, because we knew we'd be away from each other for a week or so. Lying in bed, afterwards, we just snuggled and let the other know how much we cared. We said good-bye at the airport early the next morning and each set off, him on a direct flight to Atlanta and me on a plane bound for Boston and connecting on to Bangor. I should have arrived at about 2 p.m. Instead, because of snow and sleet, the flight from Boston to Bangor was cancelled and the airport at Bangor was closed. Now, in most times, a smart guy like me would have settled for the comfort and action of downtown Boston, camped out at a good hotel and gone out seeking adventure. But it's two days before Christmas and I want to get to see my parents and share this holiday with them. I don't know how many more chances I'll get to do that, and so I head to the rental car desk to inquire about a car. Fifteen minutes later, in a medium-sized but quite comfortable car, I drove out of Logan Airport and headed north up route I-93. It was still snowing but the road seemed okay and I sighed and settled down for the drive. The snow sparkled like diamonds on the trees and the headlights on the other side of the highway shown through this winter wonderland. Everything seemed fine. I was going home for Christmas and it wouldn't be long before I was sitting by the Christmas tree with my parents as a family. Traffic moved fairly well and soon I was cutting off onto I-95 to pass through New Hampshire and up into Maine. Now the traffic seemed pretty light indeed, and foolishly I thought that was a good thing. Little did I know. - - - - - As I drove, I remembered very clearly the last time I'd made this drive. It was four years ago. I'd been in Boston on business and was going to spend the week- end with my parents and driving up that Spring afternoon it had seemed to me a wonderful idea. Paul and I had been together a couple of years then, and I was feeling that everything in my life had finally come together just as I'd wanted it to be. He was everything I'd ever wanted in a man and we'd worked through our personal issues and were really doing quite well together. He'd encouraged the weekend with my parents because he knew that I had always enjoyed a happy - if not totally open and honest relationship - with them. So there I was, very happy as I drove north for the weekend. What I hadn't quite expected, and what I hadn't been at all prepared for was my cousin Jerry. Jerry was the son of my Dad's brother and his wife, a spoiled only child, and, as I knew from numerous encounters, horribly homophobic. I'd just stayed clear of him once I figured out his scene. I was not glad to see him that day, but on the other hand, my visit was to be with my parents, not with bad-cousin Jerry. Mom had fixed a beautiful dinner and we sat and talked miles to the minute for the whole evening. Even Jerry being sullen didn't put me off. By 11 o'clock, I could see my parents nodding off and said I thought I'd go to bed so they wouldn't feel they needed to stay up any longer on my account. We all got ready for bed and after my folks disappeared into their room, I made the mistake of deciding to slip downstairs to sit and enjoy a quiet few minutes alone. I wasn't ready to find Jerry there. "So, faggot, what brings you up here?" he said as I hit the bottom rung of the stairs. He was sprawled across the sofa with his legs hanging out over the edge. "I thought you'd given up the real world for your world of fruits and fairies." I decided just to play it cool, so I smiled at him and walked into the kitchen and fixed myself a glass of iced tea. He followed me with a fierce look in his eyes. "So what is it, queenie?" he asked with a sneer, "You hoping to make sure Mom and Pops don't forget you in the will?" I felt the blood rising and knew better than to rise to his bait. "Look, Jerry, I don't know what the Hell's the matter with you, but I have no intention of getting into an argument with you." "Okay, but promise you'll stay the Hell out of my room, okay?" he said in this salacious tone. "I don't want to feel you touching me, you know!" He did one of those wrenching gestures to show his distaste. I thought about asking why in the Hell he was there, but instead I just shook my head, finished my drink and returned the glass to the kitchen. Jerry was sprawled out on the living room sofa again as I climbed the stairs. I settled into bed with the rather exciting, fun book I had been reading and finished it at about one thirty in the morning. I shut off the light and went to sleep, thinking of the exciting mystery I'd been reading and missing Paul tremendously. I think I probably went to sleep with a smile on my face and my hand on myself. What did surprise me was that it was seven thirty when I awoke the next morning. I'd slept wonderfully well and pulled on my robe and slippers and walked down the stairs feeling very content and happy. What I met there were blank faces on my mother and father and an iciness in the air I couldn't possibly explain. My sweet, darling Mother was short and curt; my Dad even more taciturn than usual. We had breakfast. Well, they had some more coffee while I ate scrambled eggs and my Mother's superb coffee cake. When breakfast was done, my Dad finally spoke. "I think we need to talk, son," he said stone-faced. My Mother kind of wrung her hands and almost ran from the room. "Sure, Dad," I answered, "What the heck's going on with you and Mom." "It's about you and Jerry," he said, turning and twisting in his seat uncomfortably. I felt dumb as a stump and probably looked that way too, but Dad didn't see it; he was looking into the bottom of his coffee cup. "What are you talking about?" I asked. "Jerry and I talked for about two minutes after you and Mom went to bed." "No, not that," Dad said, "It's about what you did early this morning." "What are you talking about?" I repeated, "And where is Jerry by the way." "Oh, he was too upset," Dad said, "He left for home a half hour ago." Well, let me spare you this strange dialog I had with my father. Jerry had told them that in the very early hours of the morning, I'd gone into his room and attempted to force him to have sex with me. He'd gotten graphic enough to make my Mom sick and my Dad ready to skin a polecat; well, that is, if the polecat was me. As turned off as I felt about Jerry, it made me pretty sick as well. "You've got to believe me, Dad," I said finally, "None of this happened at all. I went to sleep about one thirty and I slept right through the night. I never heard a thing until I woke up just now, and I certainly never got up, and I definitely never ever went near Jerry's room." "Then how do you explain these?" he said, his voice sounding like God. From the chair next to him he picked up what were clearly a pair of my under shorts. Okay, so I wear bikini briefs and there aren't a lot of them in Maine. Paul likes them and I'm not about to start apologizing for my underwear choices now. "Where did those come from?" I asked, and yes, I'm pretty sure my voice now sounded strangled, but I was so at a loss I didn't know what the heck was going on. "According to Jerry," Dad said, barely above a murmur, "You left these in his room. He says you're a queer, Greg. He said you did awful things to him. Your mother and I are very upset here." I felt myself drawing in a deep breath and in that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do. I stood up and walked to the doorway from the kitchen into the dining room. "Mom, please come in here. I want to talk to you and Dad together. Please." I watched my mother get up from her chair with some obvious discomfort and start toward the kitchen. As she did, our eyes met and I saw in them what I'd always known as her innate honesty, and I knew what I had to do. A few minutes later, all of us seated around the kitchen table, I came out to my parents. I told them I was gay, not queer. I told them about Paul and me, and then I started in on Jerry. "Yes, Mom and Dad, I am gay. I admit that. But, I would never, ever force myself on another person, and even more than that, you have got to believe me, I would never, ever, if he were the last man on earth, ever have anything to do with Jerry." "But son," Dad started.... "Jerry is a sniper, Dad," I said, "He may have guessed that I'm gay, but he doesn't know that because of anything I've ever done, and you just have to believe me." Silence. I mean the kind of silence you hope never to hear. Silence, when you cannot only hear someone breathing, but you can hear them digesting last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast as well. Trust me, it's a silence you don't want to hear. Neither of them said a word, so after a few more minutes, I made my own move. "I've got to get dressed," I said, and walked up stairs, showered, dressed, packed and came down the stairs ready to go. "What are you doing?" Mom asked, walking into the living room. "I'm going," I said. "I don't want to cause you and Dad any more distress." She made that whimpering noise that mothers make and scurried off to the kitchen. I carried my bag to the car quickly and left. I wasn't going back to Boston. I drove to Bangor, from which I was scheduled to fly out on Sunday. Mom and Dad stood at the door, arm in arm as they watched me drive away in that cab. I was sorry, of course, but right then all I wanted was to go home to Paul and life as I known it. I wanted the happiness of my life restored to me. - - - - - - - A lot has happened since then, of course. Paul and I are still together and still very happy. My folks and I have returned to our former friendly relations, but there's an edge there and nothing I can ever do is going to change it. Oh sure, my Mom asks about Paul and sometimes, while I can hear Mom elbowing him painfully, Dad does too. I've invited them regularly to visit but they always decline. The one time I called to say that Paul and I were going to be in Boston and that they might drive down there for an overnight visit if not the whole week-end, they rather quickly found they had a big bridge tournament going on that week-end. I know it's wrong to say I didn't believe them, but I was suspicious. Don't get me wrong. I hate this. I love my parents and I know deep in my heart that they love me too, but somehow I just can't get past this idea that when it really mattered, they believed a moron, even a relative who was a moron, instead of me. And maybe that's why I'm glad that I'm going home again this year...from what Mom tells me, Dad's really not doing very well and I want another chance to be with them and share my love for them before it's too late. So that's why I'm driving like a careful crazy man along this snow-coated highway. I admit it's beautiful. I've always loved New England at Christmas time. It's the glitter of the snow, the crunch of it beneath your feet, the lights on everything, well, you know what I mean...well, you do if you've ever had the pleasure of seeing it. So I was feeling a bit euphoric, thinking about Mom and Dad, thinking about the tree, the decorations, heck, even the food. And that's when I heard that noise...the noise that tells you the car is going to stall, going to die. It happened once before and though I've dutifully never learned more about car engines than I needed to know, I think it's the sound of the alternator thing just plain dying. It's a sickening sound, because somehow there doesn't seem to be anything you can do about it. But it's decision time here....there's an exit right there....to a place called Hampton. Should I get off there and see what I can find before the car conks out completely or should I press on northward on this highway, trusting that someone will come along after the motor dies who'll give me a lift somewhere. I opt for the former, and zip off that highway on a small road labeled to point me to Hampton. God, I hope I've made the right decision. - - - - - - - - Well, I don't know if I made the right decision or not. I mean, what a mess this turned out to be! Here I am, sitting in a coffee shop in a tiny town in southern New Hampshire and it's the day before Christmas Eve. I'm all alone and well, frankly, feeling very sorry for myself. It wasn't supposed to work out this way. Here I was coming home for Christmas after not visiting my parents for four years and everything was turning out wrong. I shook my head, as I sat here in this rather barren little coffee shop waiting for God knows what.... and all I can think of is what a terrible Christmas this is turning out to be. I'd called my father who'd offered to drive down and pick me up, but I couldn't let him go out in this weather when I'd already had problems myself with the snowy roads. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty sullen when suddenly the door opened and in walked one of those guys that dreams are made of. He was probably 6 foot 2, dressed in a great looking down parka with good fake fur trim and a hood pulled up over his head to keep the snow off him. He jerked the hood off to reveal a great head of coal black hair, all in ringlets and curls, either naturally curly hair or because of the dampness outside. He glanced up and smiled and his face lit up the whole dark coffee shop with a great smile and bright, shining blue eyes. He was gorgeous. Then I looked down further and my enthusiasm waned quite a lot. Clearly, that was a policeman's uniform under that great looking parka, and when he unzipped his outer coat the rest was revealed...yep, a local policeman. Why was this sexy, hot looking guy a cop, for God's sake. There really is no justice, I told myself. The new arrival greeted the owner and smiled at her nodding husband in the corner booth. He glanced at me and as if in response, the owner spoke up for me. "This poor young man had his car break down just down the road," she said with a sympathetic tone. "He's kind of stuck here." "That's a heck of a shame," said the policeman, who walked toward me with his hand outstretched. "My name's Hank Spaulding and I'm the constable around here." We shook hands and despite the weather his handshake was firm and warming. So was his smile, not to mention his sexy dimples. He sat down at the counter a few seats down from me and the owner poured him a cup of coffee. "Any chance you've got any soup left, Martha?" he asked and the owner smiled. "You know I never let the soup pot go dry, Hank," she said. "I'll fetch you some." She toddled off toward the kitchen and Hank turned to me. "I don't 'spect there's much we can do about that car of yours till tomorrow," he said with a concerned look. "Not much chance of getting anyone out to look at it now, I'm 'fraid." I found the New England accent charming, or maybe it was that sincere look in his eyes that made me feel that he really was sorry he couldn't do anything to help. I shook my head. "What a helluva way to spend the night before Christmas Eve," I said, knowing that I wasn't hiding either my frustration or disappointment from my voice. He smiled in a friendly, sympathetic way. "I'd planned to be at my folks in Camden about 5 hours ago," I said, "You know, like home for the holiday." He smiled again. "Tough day for traveling," he said. "I know. I've been out and about since about 7 o'clock this morning and it's really bad out there." He asked what had happened with the car and I explained it all to him, meeting his sympathetic gaze that was rather quickly turning me on like crazy. "I've called my folks so at least they know I'm okay," I concluded my story. "At least they won't worry." We spent the next fifteen minutes exchanging small talk as Hank devoured an immense bowl of Martha's soup, much as I'd done just a little bit earlier. She sat on her small stool by the register and didn't say much at all. Everything was quiet...it had an almost surreal quality to it. Then, with a flurry of static and noise, the constable's walkie-talkie came to life. "Constable, do you read me?" came the voice over the walkie-talkie. "Yes, Coleen, I can hear you," Hank said, pulling the device from his belt and holding it up near his mouth. "What's goin' on and why the heck haven't you headed home to Earl and the kids?" "Oh, you know me," came back the voice. "But listen up. I just got a frantic call from Ed Behrens. His wife's goin' into labor and he's managed to get both his van and her brother's car so stuck in the snow that there's no way he can get her to the hospital. Any chance you can go out there and help him?" "Well, sure," Hank said, "What else can we do. You alert Doc and the hospital and tell them we'll be bringing her in just as soon as we can." He was shaking his head and kind of chuckling at the same time." "Always a Christmas time baby, it seems," he said as he fastened the walkie-talkie back onto his belt and stood up. "You up for a bit of a ride?" he asked me as he reached for his parka and started to pull it on. "It's only about 8 or 9 miles down the road, but after we get her to the hospital, we can double back and see if we can do anything about that car of yours?" I shrugged and figured, what the heck. Better to be with this very alive young stud doing something than just sitting here on my butt feeling angry and sorry for myself. I pulled on my coat and gloves and wound my scarf around my neck as best I could. My feet at least were warm and dry by now, though trudging out into the snow probably wasn't going to help them a lot, but doing something beat doing nothing. The constable, as I'd figured, had a big four-wheel drive vehicle that maneuvered through the snow drifts as if they weren't there. I had a quick thought about just how much this small town looked like Bedford Falls in "It's a Wonderful Life" that night....snow everywhere and everyone waiting for George Bailey to turn up after his adventure with Clarence. The snow was really deep now, but only once in the trip did the snow seem even to slow Hank up a bit, and he quickly got us out of that one and we were back on our way. He was unrelentingly cheerful which I think might have bothered me if he hadn't seemed to be such a good-hearted soul through and through. - - - - - - - I don't know quite what I'd expected, other than continuing the Bedford Falls metaphor with a place like the regular souls lived in, but it sure wasn't the way it turned out that way. The Behrens, Ed and Melody, lived in a sort of Victorian castle, abutting the Atlantic. It was huge, and there were lots of lights on all over the place. Ed himself answered when Hank rang the bell while I stayed in the big, warm vehicle. They talked agitatedly at the door for a couple of minutes before Hank turned and gave me a big wave. "Come on in," he shouted. I climbed down from the warmth and dryness and got my feet good and wet as I dashed over toward the door. "Looks like it's gonna be sooner rather than later," Hank said with a wry smile, clasping me on the shoulder and halfway pushing me inside. "Looks like we're gonna be helpin' with this one." I turned to him with what I'm sure was a look of terror on my face. "What do you mean?" I asked in a voice I recognized as startled and scared. He just gave me that big grin of his and started pulling off his parka. "Oh come on," he said, "I've done this before and besides, it's got to be done. You can help me." I'd halfway formed the sentence "I don't know anything about...." when I realized that was just a bit too Gone With the Wind even for me and way too silly in this situation. Ed Behrens was standing just inside the door and as Hank introduced us, a youngish man walked down the great long staircase. "How's she doing?" he asked. Ed looked him with a look I can only describe as distain. "She's fine," Ed said. "Just stay out of the constable's way." I flinched at the inflection, but Hank seemed to take charge again. He hustled me off to the kitchen with instructions to put some water on to boil and told me to get Ed to show me where there were lots of towels. "Bring all of them you can find," he said, "While I go and check on the prospective mama." I grabbed the startled Ed by the arm and started talking. I mean that literally; I just kept talking to him as he led me to linen closets filled with towels and then took me to the kitchen. The man was beside himself, obviously filled with terror and worry that his much-rehearsed performance had turned into total disaster. "Don't worry," I tried to reassure him. "Hank said he's done this before so I'm sure everything will be fine." Over the next half hour or so, I was so busy running around that magnificent old house, getting this and getting that and stopping to reassure Ed that I never quite knew where the time went. I also didn't get to see much of Constable Hank who was sequestered upstairs with Melody and only came out of her room to shout down to Ed and me for something he needed. When he came out and asked for some coffee, I assumed it must be over. "Over???" he said with a huge grin, "Hell, the coffee's for me!" I scowled, but went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, poured out three cups and gave one to the beleaguered Ed and took two upstairs. Hank gave me a thankful smile. "She's doing fine," he said, sipping the coffee and making appreciative noises. "Say, how'd you like to stay here and make the coffee at the station. This is great. Not like that stuff we usually get down there." I demurred, trying to make myself forget that Paul had criticized my coffee just the preceding week, and asked if there was anything more I could do to help. "You're doing fine, deputy," he said with another one of those sexy grins. "Heck, you're doing a great job of keeping Ed out of our hair." I had to laugh, as I took the cups back downstairs with me, promising to return in a few minutes with a second helping. It was almost another half an hour before things got really tense and Hank called downstairs again. "Hey, Ed, I think you ought to come up here now. Melody wants you." I helped Ed get up and walked with him toward the bottom of the stairs. He walked upstairs fairly steadily so I relaxed and went back to the kitchen. A minute or so later, the young man I'd seen earlier entered the kitchen. "I'm Brian," he said as he walked toward me. "Greg," I answered and we shook hands. He was an extremely handsome young man. I guessed his age at about twenty-five or maybe a little older. My gaydar went into overdrive in an instant. "Ed hates me," he said, "But since Melody and I inherited the house together there's nothing he can do about it. How's she doing, do you know?" "No," I answered, "But it sounds to me like Hank has things under control." Suddenly there was a noise in the hall. "You come up here, too, Greg," Hank called with a chuckle in his voice. "You can keep Ed upright and help me if we need you." I think I started to scowl at him, but looking at his bright, happy face I knew there wasn't any point in doing that. I glanced back over my shoulder and Brian was standing there with a smile on his face. He knew about me too, I was sure. Even I could see that things were getting close once we got into the bedroom upstairs. Hank gestured with his eyes for me to get Ed over near the head of the bed where he could give Melody some final encouragement and to keep him out of the line of sight as far as the delivery was concerned. I felt sure that somehow I'd read Ed right...he was not going to be a strong-willed, peppy father-in-waiting. It was on the fifth "one more time" that the baby actually emerged. Ed was holding Melody and I was edging back and forth between Ed and the foot of the bed all the time and when Melody grabbed Ed forcibly to hold him near her, I ventured down to where Hank was ministering to the new baby's arrival. "Oh yes," he said in a voice which was both soothing and sensual. "Oh yes, here we come." As I watched, the baby emerged from the mother in that beautiful moment when we all know that birth is truly the most natural of acts and I saw the delight in Hank's eyes as he scooped up that newborn and smiled his broadest. A quick slap, a terrific cry, and a new life was in his hands. - - - - - - - - Minutes later, although it seemed a lifetime to me, the baby was cleaned up, the umbilical cord cut and tied and the baby was wrapped in a towel and placed in his mother's arms. Maybe I'm biased by having been there, but it sure looked to me like a most beautiful newborn baby girl, and I saw a delighted and relieved mother and an exhausted and jubilant father. What a picture for Christmas Eve. "Maybe they'll call her Noelle," Hank said as he washed up and gave Ed and me instructions on how to get Melody and the Baby ready for the trip to the hospital. Brian showed up as we were leaving, kissing his sister on the cheek and shaking hands with a rather crazed looking Ed. It was another hour and a half before Melody, Ed and the baby were safely delivered to the hospital and Hank and I set off again.