Date: Tue, 22 Mar 2005 15:29:51 -0800
From: Cole Parker <colepark@gmail.com>
Subject: 8th Grade, Chapter 6

The following is a work of fiction, a product of my imagination.
Though I wish I'd known these characters, I have only in my head.
This story will contain some sex between consenting partners.  Both
partners will be boys.  Please read no further if that offends you,
or if it is illegal to do so.  Following the rules is safer in the
long run.

This story will not contain a lot of sex, but what is consistent with
the thrust of the story and the personalities of the characters.  I
sincerely hope you are not disappointed.

I would like to thank Chris for his good suggestions and support and
keeping me grounded.

Any remarks can be addressed to: Cole Parker colepark@gmail.com


				 8th Grade

				 Chapter 6


As it was heading towards dinnertime, I asked Brad if he wanted to
stay.  He looked at me a second, then responded, "You said something
about you doing all the cooking.  Is it safe to eat here?"  A grin
slowly grew on his face.  To me, his really amazing face.  All at once,
the whole mood in the room lightened.

"You dumbass," I said, punching him in the arm.  "First you tell me I'm
smart.  Now you don't think I'm smart enough to figure out how to cook.
Which is it?  Besides, even the village idiot can figure out how to
cook hot dogs.  I only burned them the first three times I cooked them,
and this'll be the fourth, so I'm just sure I'll get it right."

"Well, actually, I'd love to stay, but only if I can help."   His voice
lost its bantering tone and became serious.  "If I'm your friend, I
help you.  You might have to tell me how to do things because I don't
know how to boil water, but if I can help, then I'll stay."

"Great." I said with enthusiasm.  I really felt good, and I smiled
happily.  I was going to get to hang around him a little longer, and
this time, it finally felt like he wasn't with me because we were being
punished or he had to be.  I certainly liked him.  My little casual
crush on him had become a big, specific, life-altering crush.  Did he
have any feelings for me?  That was crazy thinking.  But, he was with
me because he wanted to be.  Maybe he did like me. It seemed so strange
to think that, after all he was Brad Decker and had a hundred friends
and maybe even more admirers, but he seemed to really like ME.

" Actually, we're having meat loaf," I said.  "I don't do hot dogs.  Do
you need to call your folks?"


                               ---()---


While he was calling, I told my dad he was going to stay.  My dad was
really happy about that.  He keeps telling me I need friends.  Usually,
I just sort of ignore that, blow it off, although I guess I do know
he's right.  And from the feeling in my chest right now, what both of
us know is right is maybe happening and my body, even my soul, is
loving it.  What I wasn't sure of was, how much of this happiness was
just from having a friend I really liked, and how much was from it
being a boy I had stronger feelings for?  And in the back of my mind
there was this little niggling feeling I didn't even want to
acknowledge but that kept nudging me when I wasn't looking.  That
thought was: what if he shared some of those special feelings?  Whoa!
I was getting way, way ahead of myself.  Still. . . .

When he'd hugged me after my pathetic, soul-baring speech, I'd finally
looked up at him, and the look in his eyes, while not totally readable,
seemed to be compassionate, empathetic, and maybe even something more.
I'd looked at him for a moment, and finally I'd reached up and sort of
lightly, awkwardly, briefly returned the hug.  Then we'd both dropped
our arms and were silent for a moment.  That was when I invited him to
dinner.

As Brad was hanging up, Mom walked in the back door.  As usual, she
came over and hugged both Dad and I, looking very tired.  I hated her
looking that way, I hated it, which was one reason I tried so hard to
leave nothing for her to do around the house.  Brad walked over and I
introduced him to my mother, and told her he was eating with us.  She
started questioning him, as parents have to do, embarrassing their kids
is part of their official handbook, I'm sure, and I slipped briefly
into the kitchen.  I popped the meatloaf I'd mixed together while I was
waiting for Brad to finish practice into the oven along with some
baking potatoes I'd washed and pricked (I'd learned the hard way about
pricking the skins before baking them; the hard way means cleaning
exploded potato guts off the sides of a hot oven where they've cemented
themselves after exploding.)  Then I went back and rescued Brad and
took him into the kitchen.

"We have a little over an hour while the meat and potatoes cook.  We
still have to throw together a salad, make the dressing and do the
veggies.  What do you want to do?"

"I've never even thought about doing any of those things, let alone
actually trying to do them.  You'll have to show me how."

"OK," I said, laughing.  "We can both work together and do all of them,
and then next time," I paused, wondering if there would actually be a
next time but feeling much more confident than I probably should have
that there would be--I think he did that to me just with his presence-
"if you don't kill my parents with your feeble attempts at cooking THIS
time, you'll be able to do it on your own."

So I showed him how to make salad dressing.  I had him mix together
about twice the amount of oil as vinegar and then showed him which
dried spices, like garlic, fennel seed, thyme, basil, onion powder and
of course salt and pepper, went well in Italian dressing and about how
much to use, and told him by varying the amounts of each and omitting
one or two of his choice it would be HIS dressing, uniquely his, which
he seemed to really like.   His enthusiasm was funny and catching; I
could easily picture his as an 8-year old, a very cute 8-year-old.  I
let him do the dressing while I washed my hands and then broke up
lettuce into the salad bowls.  Then I had him watch as I very roughly
chopped up some broccoli after finding out he preferred that to green
beans, added it to a covered bowl with a couple tablespoons of water
and a sprinkling of salt and told him that, when everything else was
ready, we'd microwave it for four minutes.

When everything was about ready, we both set the table and called the
parents.  My mom had fallen asleep, as she frequently did, but got
herself up and we all sat down.  The conversation was about school, the
news dad had listened to throughout the day, mom's work, and as
everyone held up his end, it went very well.  I was impressed with Brad
as he wasn't shy and spoke up and answered all questions pointed in his
direction very easily and comfortably.  I know if I'm with strange
adults and get asked questions, I'm very uncomfortable and end up
giving two or three word answers, giving the overall impression that
I'm a dork.  Brad didn't seem to suffer from that ailment.  The
conversation was bright and spirited and fun.  The dinner went really
well.  And everyone complimented Brad on his dressing!

After dinner, he helped me clear the table and wash the dishes.  I was
sort of hoping he wouldn't as I was afraid he'd very quickly see how
boring all this was, but I didn't get the impression from him that he
felt that way at all.  In fact, he made games out of what we were
doing, and with the kidding, the insulting and bumping and general
goofing, it was really fun and we were done in almost no time, or it
seemed that way.

"Danny, I've got to go," he said as we were finishing.  "I told my dad
to pick me up at 8:30 and he should be in the driveway now."  Then he
looked me in the eyes and said,  "This was really, really great, and I
want to keep doing things like this.  With you.  I want you for my
friend, and not just any old casual friend."  He paused while he
thought briefly.  "You know, with this test we're having next Monday,
we should review everything we've done.  If I get a good grade, my
father will see how great it is we're working together and it'll be
much easier to spend time together.  If I get another D, he'll want to
lock me in my room for the next four years.  So, why don't you plan on
coming over Friday night after you've done all you have to do here,
staying the night, and we'll both do a little studying and a lot of
just hanging out and goofing on Saturday until you have to go.  I know
they need you here, but, Danny, I want some of you, too."  And after
saying that, he surprised me by hugging me again, so quickly I couldn't
respond, and then went out, thanked my parents for their hospitality,
sounding like he really meant it and wasn't doing so from necessity,
grabbed his book bag and was gone.