Date: Sat, 7 Aug 2010 13:01:44 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jonas Henley <jonas_henley@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Kids of Indian Spring, Chapter 26a

Kids of Indian Spring
By Jonas Henley

Chapter 26a
Tail of Two Cities
The Morning:  Recalled to Life


`It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times'

Thursday, 22 June 1995
01:32 am
The Village of Sweetwater


"Mom!! What are you doing in here??"  Ezekiel Prosper frantically looked
around for anything to use to cover himself; all he saw was a washcloth he
and Nathan had used earlier. He grabbed it anyway and held it up in front
of him. It was an old washcloth, and small and shrunken as well, but
nevertheless, it did the job and hid his pubic hair, his plumped out, but
still hanging penis and his dangling balls from view or scrutiny. Mostly.

It didn't hide much else though, like the naked skin of the embarrassed,
12-year-old boy all around the edges of the wet cloth. It also didn't do
any good to hide everything from any view, as Mimi Prosper had already got
a good view of everything the boy had before he covered up. It was the
first she had seen her Ezekiel since he started getting hair down there.

And as far as scrutiny went, she might have looked a little longer, not
because she was sexually interested in her own son's boy equipment, as nice
and classically 12 as it was, but because she could have sworn it looked
like his filled-out , but flaccid, penis had Vaseline on it. That could
have explained why they were both naked, her son and his spend-the-night
friend, Nathan Carlin. Maybe they were jacking off together. Well, she
could wait until later to ask her husband, Jacob, about that. She wasn't a
prude. Boys probably do that together a lot. Maybe.

Even her stocky-ish, athletic and popular son might do that from time to
time with his friends. Even if it was with a shorter, slighter, cute blond
boy that was suddenly his best friend. Nothing . . . . . unusual
. . . . . there.

She would have to ask her husband

In the meantime: "I heard a noise, a loud bang or thump, and there was
running toward your bathroom."

"It's the middle of the night!"  Zeke asked, almost frantically, "What are
you even doing up?"

"I'm the mother here, young man, and I might ask you the same thing!"

"Wha--? We were just sleeping!"  Zeke protested.

His mom looked at Nathan, naked and kneeling on the floor by the toilet and
then looked back over to her own son, whose nakedness was so blatantly
obvious around the skimpy washcloth he held in front of himself, taking
care to hold it slightly out and away from him, so that his penis wouldn't
make an impression in the wet white cloth. But he didn't want to hold it
too far so his mom could see around the edges. The end result was that the
last two inches of dick were making an impression in the cloth that had
molded around the bit of shaft and its helmeted head.

Zeke caught his mom's inquisitive look of disbelief and went on the
defensive:

"What?? I always sleep naked !!"

 --- with a another boy . . . . . . also naked . . . . . . in my bed. Shit
shit shit.

Zeke just closed his eyes and felt his face flush. When he opened his eyes
again, he looked down and away. He couldn't look at his mom again; not
right now. Not tonight.

Mimi decided not to pursue the illogic, or unlikelihood, of that statement
at the moment. She let it slide and would take it up later with Jacob. For
now, she was a little more worried that Nathan may be sick. Nathan was
still on the floor and still bent over the toilet like another eruption
might come up the gullet. The nausea was fading, but it still felt like
something might come up.

"Nathan, sweetie, are you all right?"

"I, uh, I don't know . . . . . just . . . . uh . . . . .sorry I wasted your
food, Mrs. Prosper. It really was good when it was going down."

"Oh sweetheart, you really shouldn't worry about that . . . ."  While she
was talking, she took in the naked body of the beautiful boy who was only a
month younger than her Ezekiel, but they looked like there could be half a
year or more between them. She supposed that was what happened around 12
and 13 when boys started hitting puberty at different ages. Plus she knew
that Zeke was more active and therefore a stronger boy anyway. It showed in
their bodies as well.

But was that a small bump on Nathan's head?  And . . . was that some
bruising around the neck? It was in splotches more than any strangle
pattern . . . but odd. They hadn't been there earlier. She looked again
down the body and thought she saw some reddened areas at the side, like the
waist of the body had been grabbed awfully tight and held. And his bottom
cheeks, where they parted - ordinarily she would have looked away, and not
only for modest considerations. She had seen enough anuses changing Zeke's
diapers for 2 ½ years.

But there on either side of the lower cheeks, it almost looked like there
was slight bruising. And the boy's anus . . . .  it was reddened
. . . . . almost like it had been . . . . . oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no ,no . . . . except, it WAS greased around the edges,
just like her own son's penis had been.

Then she remembered the room. When she had come in, the room looked like it
had been torn apart, like there had been a fight. There was a broken
picture frame, the bedside table overturned, there had even looked to be,
on a quick glance, some dents in the wall. She stepped back in the room and
looked around until her eyes lit upon a ripped pair of underwear that did
not belong to her son. A horrified look began to creep across her
face. This couldn't be; this couldn't be.

Mimi Prosper stepped back into the bathroom and looked again at the
slightly bruised buttocks and red-rimmed anus of the boy on the floor now
puking a second time. She looked back at her son, her precious and only
son; that was when she noticed the scratches on his chest from when Nathan
had ripped off his T-shirt. But with everything else she had seen, it just
looked like the smaller boy had been struggling.

She looked truly horrified and met her son's bewildered stare. She threw
her hand up to her mouth and looked like she was about to cry. Now, SHE
felt like throwing up.

Zeke took this in, bewildered at first, but becoming alarmed, rapidly, at
the still unknown reason for his mom's sudden shift in appearance from
concerned to very much upset and disgusted. He followed with his eyes from
Nathan with his hickies and slightly roughened body from the wild sex that
they had had, to the torn up room and back to Nathan, realizing suddenly
that she must have seen the same reddening slight puffiness around the anus
that he had been worried about, although worried for an entirely different
reason. He then looked down at his chest and remembered the scratches, the
scratches that he had completely forgotten about but that she very clearly
had seen.

He looked back up into his mother's eyes. He was alarmed and surprised, and
she was angry and disgusted.

"No, mom, no . . . . you don't understand."

"How COULD you???"

"Mom, no, it wasn't what you think, honest. . . . "

"Jacob Calloway Prosper, my only son, how could you do this??!!!"  She
practically screamed, very upset now.

"Mom, you don't understand!"

"Get OUT of my SIGHT!! GO in your room, and DON'T come OUT until I tell
YOU!!!"

Now wasn't the time to argue or debate anything. Ezekiel was scared she
might hit him or throw something at him she looked so angry. He grasped the
washcloth around his genitals and made a run for his room, trying to keep
his backside away from her.

Mimi very quickly ran over to Nathan and helped him up and wiped his
face. Nathan didn't know what the screaming was about, but it couldn't be
good. It sounded like she had figured out that they were having sex, except
that he had been so distracted by the taste of vile acrid vomit in his
mouth, by his burning throat near the back of the same mouth, and by the
fear of what might come up again, that he didn't catch that the drift she
was on was totally the wrong drift about what had happened.

"Nathan, sweetie, put this on, quickly, and come with me," she said as she
grabbed Zeke's seldom used bathrobe and put it around the boy, ushering him
from the room, yelling back to a very scared and shocked Zeke over her
shoulder, "And don't you DARE move from this room until I or your father --
or someone else! - comes and gets you!!"

His father. Oh shit. This was bad. What the hell just happened??

Ezekiel Prosper stood in the center of his partially torn up room clasping
a wet ragged washcloth about his now shriveled nuts and completely deflated
penis. He didn't know what he was supposed to do next.






"I just can't believe that Zeke would do something like that, Mimi. I mean
. . . . good grief, we're talking about Ezekiel here!"

"I know who we are talking about, Jacob. Did you think I would forget who
he was? Hmmmm? Did you somehow think I would forget this is about my own
son??"

"Maybe they were just wrestling . . . and . . . . things . . . . got out of
hand . . . but still just wrestling out of hand sort . . . ."

"Did what I described to you sound like `wrestling,' Jacob??"

"No . . . .but it doesn't sound like Zeke, either!!"

"I know.  . . . . .I know . . . . . but go in there and look at the
injuries on that boy. Look at his --"

Jacob held out his palms to stop her right there.  "I am not going turn
some boy over, that's not even my son, and look inside his most private
area."

"Are you saying I imagined it??"

He looked at Mimi with her arms crossed. No he didn't believe she imagined
it, and he too could think of only one possible answer. But he hated that
answer and didn't want to believe it, so he very much DID want to say that
she imagined it. But he was afraid of her as well; the stance she was in
signaled `don't cross me' more than it ever had before in their married
life.

"No . . . .  no, I don't think you imagined it."  He looked dejected, like
he had suddenly lost all his energy. His son could NOT do something like
this. Could he?  "Oh, why did it have to be Tamara's kid?"

He didn't realize that last part came out loud.

"Tamara?"  His wife asked, catching the very personal concern in Jacob's
voice.

"Yes, uh, that's Nathan's mom's name. Um, I . . . . . "

"You know her?"

"Uh . . . didn't I say that before? From, um, work."

"Mhmm. That wasn't a `from-work' moan of her name, Jacob."

"Um, don't we have more important things to fight about right now?"

"Yes. You're right. But don't think we won't be revisiting this later."
She turned her back on him and looked at the door into the kitchen, where
they had parked a very nervous Nathan at the breakfast table.  "Maybe there
is something else to this. I don't see how, but let's both go talk with
Nathan, and then we'll call Zeke down here."

They tried talking to Nathan, but the boy was so nervous about what they
did or didn't know and so much wanting to protect Zeke, that his rambled
assurances that he was all right and that nothing had happened and that
Zeke was the greatest person, sounded more like the ramblings of a person
in fear from further abuse, or from the fallout of it. Unfortunately, it
did nothing to help alleviate the deepest fear of Mr. and Mrs. Prosper, no
matter how natural Nathan tried to make his forced smile.

"I want you to know, Nathan, that no one is mad at you; we know what
happened," Jacob Prosper tried to say with concern in his voice.

"You aren't?"

"Oh, you poor boy, why would we be?"  Mimi asked.

"But why would you be mad at Zeke? Cause he's your son?"

"What Zeke did was wrong, Nathan. It's OK for you to say that."

"Uh . . .  Mr. and Mrs. Prosper . . . . . . what, uhm, what exactly is it
you think he, I mean, uh, we . . . .  did?"

Mimi and Jacob looked at each other, each uncertain of how to proceed

It was about this point Zeke stepped into the kitchen and answered the
question for them, "They think I raped you."

Everyone was a bit startled, both by the sudden appearance of the boy and
his casual mentioning of the shocking concern his parents had.

"You mean . . . . .? "  Nathan started, shocked even further.

Zeke sat down at the only chair left, facing his mom and dad at one end,
and with Nathan on his right, sitting, now confused, at the
out-of-time-and-place breakfast table. Zeke was dressed in pajama bottoms,
now, with a plain white T-shirt and his hair somewhat wetted and combed.

"I didn't do anything like that."  He stated simply, not looking directly
at his parents and feeling somewhere between ashamed and angry.  "We were
just . . . playin' real rough."

"You see," Jacob said happily, pleased that all that uncomfortable nonsense
was put to rest, although conveniently ignoring the obvious evidence to the
contrary.

Mimi looked at her husband hard for a moment and returned to question her
son.  "I know what I saw Ezekial Prosper. You had something greasy on your
penis and the same thing was around that poor boy's . . . . anus! I know
you were forcing your sex into him."

Nathan was a bit alarmed and had no idea how he should join in the
`discussion,' but Ezekiel just looked disgusted. He still wouldn't look at
his parents, and instead just examined his hands on the table before him,
his nose curling up at the edge to show just how revolting he found the
notion of his abusing Nathan, or anyone to be.  "Fine. We had sex. So what?
But I didn't force Nathan to do anything."

"You . . . . . . had sex?"  His father was no longer thinking about rape
concerns, but instead was just floored by the admission of his only son
that he had had sex with another boy. And that it was no big deal. It
wasn't just that Ezekiel was still only 12, but . . . . . . another boy???

"Ezekiel," his mother started back, basically ignoring her husband,
Jacob's, ineffectual lack of contribution to the fact finding needs.  "It
didn't look very consensual. It looks like Nathan was forced . . . "

Again she saw that look of repugnance roll across his facial features --
something like that couldn't be fixed.  "I told you, we BOTH just got a
little too rough. We've . . . . . had . . . . . well, done . . . . .this
stuff before. Just never this hard."

Ezekiel's voice had trailed off, and he began to even more minutely examine
his hands. He looked for all the world like any other rugged 12 year old
boy facing the regular issues of growing up, perhaps a bit indignant at the
moment, but not like a child professing to his parents his early and
somewhat forceful entry into the world of sex, especially with another boy.

Jacob Prosper's mind was blown. He was watching his son, his only
offspring, the one that was so well rounded with school, sports, friends
and everything a father wanted his only son to be. He figured that Ezekiel,
being so active, popular, and ruggedly handsome, would have an early entry
into sex, perhaps tagging his first girl at the age of 15, requiring that
father/son condom talk maybe even at 14.

But this . . . . .

This he couldn't fathom.

Ezekiel gave a quick look up at his father before returning his
concentration to something going on with his thumbnail. That brief look was
a searching one, an inquisitive one, even a worried one, but it only
appeared for all the world to be a blank look up of a stubborn boy that
seemed unwilling to admit or discuss anything. And yet he had so calmly
dropped this huge bombshell.

"Ezekiel . . . . . ."  His mom started, wanting to believe him, but just as
shocked, though she couldn't admit or even understand it at this point, as
his father was.  "From what I saw . . . . . . . and Nathan being so scared
to even talk about it . . . . . . how do you explain how worried and
nervous he is?"

Ezekiel gave the same look to Nathan that he had his father, biting the
previously examined thumbnail in the process, except that he regarded
Nathan for 6 whole seconds before he returned to examining his
fingernails. He answered his mom, but his voice was matter of fact and
devoid of any specific emotion.  "He's just scared of it being his fault if
I get in trouble."

"Nathan, sweetie, you don't have to be worried about anything,"
Mrs. Prosper said, patting the boy's nervous hands.  "You didn't do
anything wrong."

"I didn't do anything wrong, either," Ezekiel said, with an angry twisting
of his face finally more fully betraying his emotions.

"And how am I supposed to know that, Ezek-"

"BECAUSE I'M YOUR SON!!!!"  Ezekiel shouted, finally looking straight at
his mom, finally losing control of the false calm that was on his
exterior. It hadn't been through any will of his own that the calm had been
there to start with. It was more of a shock, and a confusion of how to
handle the sudden flux of anger and embarrassment that had flooded his
consciousness the moment his mom figured some things out. The moment that
she had at least figured out that they had had sex.

Everyone at the table was taken a back, but the emotion that poured out of
Zeke couldn't be stopped, at least not without some extreme effort on his
own part, and not before he loudly and angrily yelled out further: "I
wouldn't do that! Not to Nathan, not to anybody!!!"

"Ezekiel," his mom started, though now not so sure of herself.  "I
. . . . how would I . . . . I wouldn't want to believe you could
. . . . but . . . ."

"It's horrid!!"  The boy bellowed.  "For somebody to do something like
that."

Jacob Prosper furrowed his brows, forgetting for a moment that they were
talking about his only and cherished son having sex, actual sex, with
another boy. There was something else here, something behind this
emotion. Something they were missing.

"I believe you, Ezekiel, we believe you, OK? Nathan, is this true?  Did you
want to do all these things?"

Nathan just nodded his head, but unfortunately still looked frightened.

"I don't like this, Jacob, and I don't just mean the fact they are having
sex way too young. Something else is going on here that we aren't being
told."  Mimi stated, looking from one boy to the next. Nathan would look at
them, but his face was blank with . . . . fear? Concern? Bewilderment?
Something.

Ezekiel just went back to examining his clasped hands.

"I told you, I wouldn't do something like that," he muttered angrily.

"Ezekiel . . . . try to understand . . . ."

"I told you . . . ."

"Well, you'll have to do better. There's more to the story and we want to
know what it is."

"I . . . . . . wouldn't . . . . . do . . . . . that!"  The boy said, biting
off each word and clenching his hands harder in anger. Now Nathan was
looking at the same pair of hands, but no longer in his bewildered shock,
but now out of concern for Zeke. Something in the boy looked like it was
about to explode.

His father was looking at the boy with growing concern. He was now certain
that something horrible had happened, and he was just as certain that it
had nothing to do with his son's relationship to this son of his own former
love interest. It was something else much more sinister. But his wife was
still on the tack of the superficial problem at hand.

"Ezekiel, I do want to believe you, but how would I know this, besides the
fact that you're my son . . . ."

"Because I know what it feels like!!"  Zeke finally burst out again,
looking directly at his mother, "I know how much it hurts, how embarrassing
and humiliating, how . . . . . "

He stopped mid sentence. There was an absolute quiet at the table as
everyone came to the realization at the same time of what had been just
said. But it couldn't be reeled back in. It couldn't be backtracked. Not
something like that. Ezekiel's mouth dropped in disbelief that he had
actually come out and said it. He knew he couldn't unsay it, and he was
searching the expression of his parents to see if they had really caught
it, if they had grasped the import of what he had spilled.

Nathan was just as shocked, but he still no more knew what he should do or
say than he had the whole time he had been down there. He was still only in
a bathrobe, but he suddenly wanted to be fully dressed and headed out the
door and into the waiting car of his own dad and home to his refuge of
acceptance. But it was 2 in the morning and he wasn't going anywhere.

Jacob and Mimi were equally shocked. How had something like this happened
to their son. THEIR son??? How did they miss it??

"Who . . . . . ."  his mom began, but she couldn't get the words out of her
suddenly dry mouth.  "Oh my g----; it wasn't your Uncle Matty, was it?"

Zeke just looked down at the table. He frowned and shook his head. He
wanted to pull that admission back in, but he knew he couldn't. And they
weren't going to let it go until he told them what had happened. He took a
deep breath and called up more courage than he ever had in his life, and
more than any 12 year old boy ever should have to, and decided to just tell
them.

"It was Randy."  He said flatly.

"Randy!"  Both his parents exclaimed in surprise.

"yeah."  The boy's voice was flat, and it took another deep breath to get
it out what he needed to say -- not wanted, but only needed.  "Randy was
making me . . . . . do sex stuff for him . . . . . for a few months."

His parents may have been in more shock now than they had when they were
first confronted with the now fading possibility that Ezekiel had abused
Nathan.

"Son, were you, or are you still, mixed up in all those drugs? Is this how
Randy . . . . . made you . . . . . do things?"  His dad asked, half
disgusted at the thoughts of what `things' would mean, and half outraged
that anyone had hurt his son. But if drugs were involved, then there was
still a real chance that his son could still be at risk.  "And what about
you, Nathan, are you involved in these drugs, too?"

Nathan screwed his own face up in disgust and vehemently shook his head
no. He wouldn't know where to find drugs if he wanted them, and why on
earth would he want them?

"No, dad," Zeke said, casting another brief glance at Nathan to see how he
was doing, "there was never any drugs."

"But Jackson sent Randy to a drug rehabilitation center -- a long term
center."  His mom asked, confused now on the point of drugs or no drugs.

"No, mom, Mr. West just said he was sending Randy there; just to protect
me, so everyone wouldn't guess that it was me Randy was doing stuff
to. He's really at some psych-something place, Mr. West said. It's a long
word, or words, but he cant come out til they say he's ready, and then
he'll have to go on some voluntary probation, or something like that."

"Then how did he make you do these things son? You could have easily taken
Randy out!"

"Jacob, we have never encouraged Ezekiel to use violence to solve his
problems!"

"Well, I sure as hell would, Mimi, if it meant he was going to be raped
. . . . . or . . . . . whatever it was that happened."  Somewhere deeper
inside Jacob, he was hoping this was only about forced handjobs or
something less subjugating or humiliating like his only boy bending over to
be used by another boy. The very possible thought sent a shiver of disgust
down his spine.

"I only meant," his mother said more calmly, "is that he should have come
to us first, before this escalated. I mean there had to be something that
happened before. What happened that Randy could have . . . . abused you
. . . . like this. Ezekiel?"

Zeke gave one quick glance over at Nathan and then went back to staring at
his hands, again examining the cuticle of his thumb in minute detail. He
took a while to answer, but you could tell he had heard the question and
was turning over chaotic thoughts in his mind, debating the merits of
silence and containing the humiliation versus speaking and risking the
unknown.

"Randy saw me getting . . . . .  um, . . . . . fucked," Zeke struggled with
saying that word in front of his parents, but he didn't know any other way
to say it, "and uh, he told me one day he had pictures, and if I didn't let
him do the same thing that he would show all the guys at school. I didn't
want everybody knowin' about it, so I let him."

His admission was only met by shocked silence. There were so many starting
places of confusion that his parents were still lost as to where to be
lost.

"I hated it," Zeke continued, still not looking at anyone. He wiped a big
rolling tear off his right cheek, but his anger at Randy flared back up and
prevented any more tears from forming.  "But I thought I was stuck. By the
time I figured out he never had any pictures, well by then he had made some
secret movies that made it look like I wanted him doing stuff. And then he
just kept doing more and more."

His mother was pale with the shock and disappointment of what had happened
to her baby, how she could have missed such a thing, and how his own best
friend could be so heinous and horrible to him. Her poor baby!! If she
wasn't in such shock, still, she would be crying profusely.

"Eventually, he made me . . . . ."  Zeke screwed up his face in disgust at
what his memories dredged up next, ". . . . . put it . . . . his thing
. . . . . in my mouth . . . . . and . . . . . . . ."

But he was done; he couldn't continue. In fact, shock was the only thing so
far that had allowed any of them to discuss this with such low emotion.

"That's why you were so moody and angry, recently . . . . ."  His dad said
quietly.

Zeke just nodded a couple times, but just as quickly looked somewhat
unconcerned as to that part of the whole matter and now just stared at the
table in front of his hands. All that could be seen on his face was a
slight frown and a silent, seeming affect of non-participation.

"How the hell did we miss that?"  His dad added, still quiet and in some
disbelief that he had seemingly failed so miserably as a parent. Ezekiel
had no response; he wasn't so sure that there was something that they
should have caught, or how he would have reacted and/or lied if they had at
the time.

Jacob and Mimi silently grasped hands and shared the unspoken sentiment
that each held that they had indeed failed their son.

"What about the first boy?"  His dad asked, "The one Randy said he saw you
. . . . uh . . . . with. How did he make you . . . . . . um . . . . ."

Jacob just couldn't bring himself to end the sentence. Fortunately Zeke
wasn't going to force him to end it.  Zeke still couldn't look at his dad,
but he shrugged his shoulders.  "I don't know. His name's Ian, and he's
even younger than me. He just . . . .  I don't know . . . . . .  kinda
talked me into trying stuff."

"He talked you into it?"

"I don't know what to tell you, dad. Yeah, he kinda just talked me into
it. I don't know how. I mean, later I wished I didn't, not cause of Randy,
but I really don't like that Ian kid. I don't how he did it. I guess I
always kinda wanted to know, maybe, about just foolin round with another
boy, and . . . . . and . . . it . . . . .  felt kinda . . . .good. I
guess."

"It felt . . . . . good?"

"Yeah, dad, I liked it, all right?"  Now some emotion and anger was being
heard coming out of Ezekiel again and he actually looked up at his dad.  "I
mean, I didn't like it was Ian, and I certainly hated it was Randy, but it
partly felt . . . . . I mean . . . . . . I . . . . like it."

His father looked at his own son in disbelief. It wasn't disgust. Even
though he found the idea of two guys having sex to be repulsive, he loved
his son too much to ever actually look at him with disgust. But it was
certainly disbelief. It couldn't be his son saying this. This certainly
could not be right.

"Ezekiel . . . . . son . . . . . are you . . . . .telling us . . . . . that
you think you're gay?"

Both his parents stared at him, unable to breathe, waiting for his answer.

"What??"  Ezekiel's expression screwed up into the typical adolescent look
of are-you-even-on-planet-earth that is often cast toward parents.  "No!"

"But . . . . "  His dad was a little lost. He was very thankful to hear his
son say, more or less, that he wasn't gay, but something didn't fully add
up.  "You said . . . . . .  that you like it. This, um, interaction with
other boys."

"Sex, Jacob, it's called sex," Mimi said, getting frustrated at not getting
down to brass tacks.  "For goodness sake, we aren't in a high level meeting
with the mayor."

"Well, I'm sorry, Mimi," Jacob responded to his wife with in a slightly
sarcastic tone, "if this is a little bit difficult for me to understand,
especially so soon after the bombshell of an admission we just got, and on
top of that someone was hurting my son."

"He's my son, too. You aren't the only one trying to grapple with all of
this."

"Well I guess you have more experience in dealing with this situation,
then?"

"Like you do? Don't tell me anything like this has ever come up in any of
your power meetings."

The arguing went on between them, with Nathan looking on in a very tired
amazement. Zeke looked over at Nate with a shrug of his shoulders and a
slight movement of his hands, to suggest that he too was bewildered some by
this reaction.

"Can we go, now?"  Ezekiel asked his parents, who seemed to have quite
forgotten the boys were there.

They broke off their argument to say "No!" at the same time, the only thing
they had agreed upon since first holding hands in concern of their failure
as parents.

"I want to know how Jackson West found out about this and we didn't," his
mom suddenly asked him, and somewhat angrily, too.

So Ezekiel went into the whole story about Randy telling him to come over
that night and then forcing him to do things with him and telling his
cousin Todd that Zeke did this stuff cause he wanted to. Then Randy made
him pretend to want to do stuff with Todd, and also he ended up doing stuff
with Todd's little brother Chad, who had figured out what was going on.

"Todd West, Andrew's boy?"  Jacob asked.

"That's why you were rude to him when he came over!"  His mom suddenly
said.  "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry I got on to you!"

Ezekiel just shrugged and said it was OK.  "Anyways, Todd didn't know what
Randy was doing. I think he was really sorry about it, and not just cause
his uncle beat his butt later."

"Where were Jackson and Sheila during all of this?"

"They went out and left Todd's dad in charge. Only he got drunk and just
let everything happen. Randy's little brother, Mark, found out about it all
and got real mad. The next day he called his dad at work and told him to
come home and then showed him all the pictures and movies Randy made. When
I went over there later, I was trying to tell Randy no more, at least,
that's what I wanted to do. But that's when I found out Mr. West knew. He
sent his brother, Todd's dad, to rehab and said if he didn't completely
clean up he would tell the police that he knew what was going on but didn't
stop it; and then later he sent Randy away. And I got whipped for not
telling anybody anything to start with."

He took a deep breath and told his parents that that was about all. They
still had a few clarification questions before Mimi Prosper looked over and
finally remembered Nathan, who at some point in Ezekiel's story had gone to
sleep.

"So where does Nathan come into all this, Ezekiel?"

"He knows Ian's bother, well one of his brothers. The cool brother, at
least. I, um, . . . . ."  he almost said that he walked in on Nathan and
Duncan having fun of their own together, but there was such a thing as too
much truth.  "Um, anyway, I figured out that Nathan was gay, so I tried
some stuff with him."

"And?" his mom asked. It certainly wasn't going to be his dad asking. A
very large part of Jacob still didn't want to admit this was happening, and
most of him certainly didn't want the details.

"And," Ezekiel shrugged, though still not looking at his parents, "and we
did some sex stuff, and . . . . . I . . . . liked it. A lot."

"Of course you did, Ezekiel, sex can be very physically gratifying, almost
with anybody, but that doesn't mean you should be doing it!"

"Yes . . . .," his dad said dumbly, feeling so far out of his element.
"What she said."

"Why not?"  he asked.

"Well, it's, uh, complicated, Ezekiel, and , um . . . . maybe we should
have that part of the discussion later, when we are all more awake and a
little less in shock."

"Yes." Again, it was all his dad could say at the moment.

"Don't worry;" Ezekiel said, rolling his eyes.  "I'm not gay. Nate is, and
I really like him, but I think I like girls more. In fact, I'm pretty sure
I like them whole lot more -- just maybe later."

"Ezekiel, it doesn't matter whether or not you are gay!"

"Well," his dad began, seeming to wake up a little from his information
overload., "I don't know if I would . . . . .uh . . . go THAT far."

"We just want you to be safe, And while you may think that that means no
sex with anyone more than a year or so older or younger than you, what it
means to us is no sex at all right now. It doesn't matter if it's with a
boy or girl."

"What??"

"No arguing," his mother said.  "I think we all need some sleep before we
discuss this anymore."

"No, wait . . ."

"Your mother's right, Ezekiel," his dad put in.  "You are too young for
this. And we will discuss it more tomorrow. I'll also be talking with
Jackson some tomorrow after work."

"I think that's a good idea, except WE will BOTH be talking to Jackson AND
Sheila later today, and we aren't waiting for you to get off work."

"Wait, you can't . . . . ."

"Ezekiel, we're your parents. This is something the parents very much need
to discuss. And maybe it would be best if you slept in different rooms for
the rest of the night, or . . . . . morning."

"Ah, mom . . . . . don't start doing that . . . . ."

"I, um, am not so keen on separating him out from his friends. He doesn't
have the plague after all," his father said uneasily. It sounded
magnanimous, but in truth he was more worried that keeping his son separate
from other boys or even watching him suspiciously after this, would only be
proof that they thought he COULD be gay, which wasn't something his dad
could quite come to terms with yet, if ever.  "But I do think it would be
best if you can promise that everyone will keep their clothes on for the
rest of the day?"

"Dad-"

"I mean it, Ezekiel. Fully clothed, as appropriate. That means tops and
bottoms to the pajamas, with underwear."

"Yes, sir," came the surprisingly sulky response.

"And no touching each other's genitals. Can you promise me that?"

Zeke turned a bright shade of red. It wasn't a request he had ever imagined
hearing from his dad concerning one of his friends sleeping over.

"Yes, sir; I promise."




After rousing a now sleepy Nathan and assuring him that everything was fine
for now, Zeke got the both of them back up to his room. He thought he would
spend about half an hour trying to straighten up the mess of his room,
simply because his mind was too buzzed to go back to sleep. Nathan started
to help, but he was too tired. It was better that way, Zeke thought - once
he got the boy dressed in pajamas and off to sleep - because Zeke needed
time to think.

It wasn't just the long late night conversation and confession that had
taken the sleep out of him, or even the delayed shock -- which he was
definitely feeling some of it now, as his heart would intermittently race,
worries increased, and some light-headedness at the fear of it would appear
and disappear quickly -- of just knowing that his parents had not only
caught him naked with a boy, but actually knew that had been having
sex. Those things were worrisome and troublesome enough. But now he had to
think, did he really mean what he said downstairs?

How much did he like Nathan? Where, honestly, could this really go? And
could he handle the downstream effects of these decisions? The only thing
clear in his head right now were the only answers to those questions: 1) he
wasn't sure, 2) maybe somewhere for a while, but probably nowhere
eventually, and 3) no.

It left him with a lot to think about. You would think the first and last
question would occupy the mind of a 12 year old the most, but there you
would be wrong, because the second question depended on where `somewhere'
went and where `nowhere' let out, and of course, what the ride was like. It
was a troublesome chasm of questions that kept him up another 2 hours. In
the morning, he was saved from having to deal with the fallout with a now
awake Nathan by his parents. His mother, especially, did not leave the two
of them alone after waking them separately to get dressed for the day.

Zeke never thought he would be so thankful for being pestered and watched
over. Even if it was going to grow old rather quickly, at least he could
postpone any discussion with Nathan. By the afternoon, Nathan was gone, and
Ezekiel was restless to get out of the house.




`It was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness'

10:15 am
the unincorporated area of Indian Spring


Kelley got out the basketball and they went around to the small dirt court
his dad had made for them on the side of the house, under the shadow of a
massive oak. Kelley asked Malcolm if he had had fun with Duncan when they
left yesterday.

Malcolm said he had enjoyed going back to the Cormacks, but was nervous
when Duncan, Ian, and Joey Vargas were talking about going swimming. He
hadn't been sure of himself yet to go down to the main spot where all the
other boys usually went. Instead they took him in an opposite direction,
almost like they were going toward the back of Sweetwater. The Cormacks
took him to another swimming hole, somewhere between the Mackey sections of
the creek and the Near sections.

It was just the four of them, and after some initial awkward sorting out of
where Malcolm's real interests lay and where he was just drowning in the
newness of social togetherness, they played in the Crazy Indian. Wholesome
guilt-free play. Maybe it should all be guilt-free, maybe there was a
problem with the label of `wholesome'. All Malcolm knew was that he was
starting to feel whole.

And Kelley could sense the change. Kelley smiled. He himself felt good
about what Malcolm was experiencing. It felt good to have at least one good
decision for the week in his stead.

"What's the smile about?"  Malcolm asked, shooting a basket.

"Nothing. Just . . . . sometimes it's good to know you have something good
in your pocket."

"Oh? You got some surprise move up your sleeve, Tucker?"  Malcolm smiled
back, thinking Kelley was referring to the one-on-one basketball and having
fun talking some smack. "Because so far I haven't seen anything to justify
that awe they have of you on the court."

"Oh it's not me. It's never me. It's the team. Always the team."

"The teams you pick? Have you ever been Team Captain of a game and lost?"

Kelley just shrugged and shot the ball. It missed.

"Well, one of them must have lost if you were playing on it," Malcolm said
as he rebounded the ball, and both boys laughed.

The carefree banter continued as the boys played basketball one on one, but
really more of a taking turns shooting with an occasional one-on-one
hustle. And Kelley continued feeling Malcolm out slowly, seeing where he
was mentally and emotionally, how comfortable he was with the recent change
in his life. And what he decided was that he was a good enough spot for
Kelley to push their friendship further.

As Kelley lined up a shot and launched the ball, he asked the lanky boy,
"What really happened to your mother?"

"I told you," came a stiff reply. He had told Kelley that his mom died in a
car wreck.  "I told you the last time I came over here."

"I know what you told me," Kelley launched the ball to the goal, "But you
lied."

The ball hit the backboard and bounced toward Malcolm who deftly plucked it
from the air. He was about to send a rebound jump shot in when his whole
demeanor became more grounded. He was quiet and studied the grooves in the
ball for a while before he said anything.

"She left."  He said quietly. He continued to examine the ball, though for
what, didn't matter.  "She just left us. That's what happened. She aban-
. . . . . . .  just . . . . . just abandoned us. My dad started drinking,
and . . . . .and she never came back. My dad never really did either."

At this point the tears were flowing from him, but he was still holding
incredible pain inside.

"Happy?" Malcolm sobbed, challenging Kelley with a raised voice.  "Am I
telling the truth now?"

"Yeah," Kelley said quietly, "Now you are."

Malcolm hurled the ball in anger into the side of the house, about 15 feet
farther off the makeshift court and left.

Kelley called out to him, "I'm not going anywhere. Just remember, I'm still
here!"

He waited for the ball to roll back to him and continued shooting baskets
on his own. He continued on for another 20 minutes without letting anything
else build up in his head. He need to clear some space in the clutter of
questions that his actions had created over the last couple of
weeks. Eliminate some things, change some things, solve some things, and
just plain move beyond some things.

But first, he decided to concentrate on his shooting.







As Kelley played on his own, he watched himself as he jumped and moved; he
never realized before just how many baskets he missed.

"Geez, I'm terrible."

"Yeah, you are."

Kelley spun around startled. He had been so focused in his zone that he
didn't hear the boy approach.

"Hey. You're back."

"Yeah. I figured if I didn't come back then you would never get the ball in
that basket. Probably be out here all week just trying to do it."

"Ha ha, real funny."

Kelley passed the ball back to Malcolm who jumped and sunk it with nothing
but net. Nothing was said about his reddened eyes.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Malcolm said.  "I wouldn't think anybody
could sneak up on you. Thought maybe your Spidey sense would be tingling or
something."

Kelley laughed, and missed another basket, and then frowned.  "No, I was
just wondering when I became so bad. I usually do pretty good in a game."

"I've got an idea."

"What?"

"Maybe you're good in a game because you're surrounded by people. You know,
you can sense their energy, whether they're gonna fake or not, doubts,
confidences, who's weak and who's strong, and even what they think of you,
what you can do and what you can't. And maybe you use all this stuff in
your head without thinking about it. Maybe you just go on thinking that
it's instinct that helps you move around the court and support your
team. Maybe all that helps compensate for the fact you shoot like crap."

"I don't shoot like crap! And anyway, why would you even think all that?'

"I overheard you talking to your mom about your gift."

Kelley froze in mid shot when he heard this, but he still sank the shot.

"Uh, you know, you shouldn't eavesdrop."

"I know, sorry. Kind of an old habit. I'm pretty good at it."

"Well, funny thing about eavesdropping, you hear just bits and pieces that
you can put together into all kinds of crazy things."

"Yeah, well, funny thing about always being ignored, you hear and see lots
more than bits and pieces and crazy things. Just sometimes you don't always
put it together."

"Like what?"

"Like how you've never lost a single game if you got to pick the team. In
any sport."

"That's just something crazy you overheard at the basketball game earlier
this week, I'm sure."

"No, I've seen it. I also know how you cleaned up at a poker game in Deep
Mackey last month and no one could bluff you. And you was playing against
guys five years or more older than you, at least after the guys near our
age dropped out. Or how you never fall for pranks. And how Carl and Steve,
the eighth grade bullies last spring at that school we gotta go to now,
failed three times playing keepaway from a kid every time you walked
up. You seemed to be able to guess any fake they were going to make."

Kelley didn't comment, but made another shot that sank right in where he
wanted it.

"Or when you were in Jamison's Dry Goods with your dad two months ago and
that kid tried to leave and you asked him if he was gonna pay for the stuff
he had in his pockets."

"I remember that. Mr. Jamison is a friend of my dad's. My dad had told me
he was barely making it on the mortgage for the store and the employees'
salaries. He was almost gonna lose his store. So it made me angry that that
kid was stealing from him. But how did you know about that?"

Malcolm blushed and answered.  "I, uh, I was there too, doing the same
thing as Derrick."

"You knew him?"

"Sort of, we were starting to hang out, nobody here would, but after he got
pinched his parents put him in this military reform place, and I didn't see
him again."

"Oh. Well, that was probably good for you."

"Yeah, now I see it was. Oh, and I never ended up taking nothing from the
store. But, uh, only cause I was afraid you'd say something. I don't think
I even been back there after that."

"Well, I'm glad, because Mr. Jamison is really nice. But Malcolm, all those
things you think you've seen, none of it really means anything."

"All right, well I believe it, even if you and your mom don't. I've noticed
things about the Cormacks, too. I got some theories about some of them. But
I think I probably shouldn't say."

"No, I guess not."

"I would never say anything about you to anybody, Kelley."

"I know you wouldn't."

"You can look and see it's true?"  It was really more of a statement than a
question, but the red-haired boy was looking for confirmation.

Kelley paused before answering. Should he give credence to Malcolm's fairly
accurate assessment or shrug it off? His dad said gifts sometimes work best
when the fruits are shared but not the methods. He believed he could trust
this Malcolm . . . . . . . But he still didn't know if he should let him in
that far.

Kelley bounced the ball for a little while, before looking up at his new
friend. He still didn't look inside the boy's heart and soul to see if
there was truth there. He already knew the answer to that. Screw it.

"I don't always look inside, Malcolm," Kelley said, going with the lending
of credence, "sometimes you should just rely on faith."

With that Kelley popped the ball over his back toward the goal without even
looking, and Malcolm watched it arc downward.

"Whoosh."

No rim, no backboard.

"Wow, that was amazing." Malcolm said, stunned.

"Really?"  Kelley asked, turning around.

"Yeah, I mean, you weren't even remotely close. That ball never got closer
than 20 feet to the rim. You really do suck. You know, no pun intended."
Malcolm smiled slyly at the last statement.

Kelley couldn't help but smile -- and flip the boy off -- as he went after
the wild ball and yelled over his shoulder.  "Yeah, well it would have made
a really nice effect if it had gone in."

He threw the ball back in, and Malcolm laughed and caught the ball and sank
a three pointer.  "What do you see inside me, Kelley?"

"Malcolm, it really doesn't work like that, I don't so much see things as I
just sense deception, hidden reasons, diversions, uncertainty, nervousness,
things like that."

"I bet it's more."

"With some people."

"Like me."

Kelley made the next two shots without answering, both of them going in the
basket.  "Sounds like maybe you have something of the same gift."

"Just used to watching people. It's all I've ever done."

Kelley nodded and answered Malcolm's earlier question.  "I see a friend."

Malcolm had the ball and dribbled it in and went for a lay up, but never
saw Kelley come in and steal the ball. Malcolm tried to guard and prevent
Kelley from getting a shot; but Kelley simply twisted right through him and
angled the ball up so that the spin launched it off the backboard and onto
the rim, and it ran around once before falling into the basket.

"You're right. I am better against people."  Kelley smiled.

"I let you have that."

"You're lying," Kelley said simply.  "You didn't see it coming or
happening."

Malcolm frowned briefly, and then smiled. "I thought you didn't always
look."

"I don't. What makes you think I was?"

Malcolm dribbled the ball a little and then looked up at him, "You don't
have to look, do you?"

Kelley reached another point of debate. How much should he tell the boy?
"I'm not psychic, Malcolm; it's just . . . .well, if you believe Duncan's
grandma, then . . . . nobody can deceive me, supposedly passively or
actively. And I think, as I'm growing up, that I'm starting to believe it
too. I just . . . . get these feelings. Maybe it will be my downfall
believing that, but I do. And with some people, if I even bother to look, I
feel like I can see more. Like . . . . almost what their soul is trying to
say. And that can't deceive me either. I guess the big question really is,
can I deceive myself?"

Malcolm just held the ball and regarded his friend.  "Wow, that's a
lot. What do other people say about all that?"

"Aside from my mom and dad? Well . . .  .actually I've never discussed it
with anyone ever before. Can't see me doing it again, either."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be, Malcolm. You aren't the reason I'll never discuss it
again. You're the reason I bothered to this time."

The boys stared at each other for a while, and Malcolm slowly smiled, and
yes, he even blushed a little.

"Tell me Kelley, what did you see when you looked at me? Back up at the
picnic place, last week. You saw something. You looked at me different
then."

"Before, once I bothered to open my eyes, I . . . . Malcolm are you sure?"

The boy nodded his head.

"I saw . . . . . pain. A lot of pain. Loneliness. Hurt. Anger. And
something else that I don't really know what to call it. It was like there
was no hope, except you had this small protected ball of hope inside but
all around it was just swirling . . . . darkness . . . . . like
. . . giving up; and that ball . . . . . . . it, uh . . . . . . well, it
was, uh, fading out. Like it was going to disappear -- forever."

`Despair' was the word that Kelley didn't know, and even as he described
it, Malcolm felt the clutches of its painful raking grip on the edges of
his heart, and he suddenly gripped his chest tightly in response.

"Malcolm! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," He had never realized how much it had hurt, though he knew
how close he had been to getting rid of it forever. That was the day that
Kelley had encountered him up at the public park at the headspring of the
Crazy Indian. Something about his interaction with Kelley that day sparked
his hope to hold out a little bit longer. He didn't know for what, but
something flickered that kept the despair at bay for just a little while
longer.

And then the day he got the blow job from Kelley came, and it wasn't just
the remarkable flow of sexual euphoria and the endorphins of orgasm that
washed through him, but life itself. Something fanned the hope within, the
drying kernel of love, the withered trust to reach out, one more time and
hope without realizing that someone would see the pain and wash it away.

"Kelley, please, tell me what you see now."

"Don't you feel it?"  Kelley smiled.  "Light."

"From what," as he felt the pain numbing and receding.

"Faith, hope, love, everything my parents always told me what drove life
itself. I see an immense amount of love, but . . . . "

"But what?"

"You still have some of it . . . . it's hard to describe . . . . some of
that love is, um . . . caged."

"Oh. Can you . . . see . . . anything else?"

"Um," Kelley stared hard into the center of the boy's chest, even Malcolm
glanced down to see if there was something obvious there. Kelley's eyebrows
shout up in surprise as he seemed to look deeper.

"What?? What is it?"  Malcolm asked in a worried voice.

"Wow . . . .uh . . . Malcolm . . . you, um . . ."

"What?!"

"You're . . .  . . gay!"

"WHAT??  No I am NOT!"

Kelley bellowed out a laugh and kept going. Malcolm realized that he had
been tricked on the last part and smiled, trying not to laugh himself. He
made like he was going throw the ball right at his laughing friend.

"Fucker!"  Malcolm said laughing. But at that point, he remembered
something else he had noticed about Kelley. The boy never flinched. If you
actually threw the ball at him he would catch it or duck, but if you tried
to fake him out, he wouldn't flinch. It was one of the first things he had
ever noticed about the boy long ago, and why he had had an innate fear of
him back when he was a bully loner.

Kelley never ever flinched. Even a little.

But that lonesome life of observation was over; at least he was relishing
the thought that it definitely could be over. Malcolm was seeing Life for
the first time since he was four. True there were the glimpses of it
through the years that had kept him holding on, holding on perpetually to a
lifeboat that seemed to take no notice that he was there. But some reason,
now, after all this time, he was being pulled into the boat.

If Malcolm could have been gay, he knew that he would be in love, or at
least what little he understood as love. Instead he was just thankful for
the tough kid that had been his unspoken, unrecognized salvation, Between
Kelley and Duncan, he now had Hope. And it was almost another decade before
he told anyone just how very close he had been to walking out of life
forever when he ran into Kelley, Cole, and Ethan out at the picnic site.

He had already seen his last sunset the day before. His plans that day
hadn't included another one.

But now he could live; he was still shaky on it, but he felt sure of
it. There was just this one dark week ahead of him he had to get
through. But he had hope now. He even extended that hope to his Aunt
possibly keeping her promise this time that she would take him to her home
for the weekend, so he wouldn't have to spend it alone, with a drunk dad
who was getting worse by the day.

It wouldn't come to pass. But it was still Hope.