Date: Thu, 21 Aug 2003 11:04:02 -0400 From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com> Subject: Of Our Teenaged Years - Chapter 10 - Gay Y/F Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ What's New at TomCup.com? The Innocents Part 4: Paulo and Beto By Richard Dean Chapter 11 Added 7/24 Of Our Teenage Years Chapter 16 Added 7/22 Short Story: Such a Beautiful Boy Added 12 Short Story: Home Alone Added 7/1 Stephen Miller's Journal Chapter 13 Added 6/25 Calvin: Identity Crisis Chapter 14 Added 6/17 Article: Bisexuality Added 6/12 Article: My New Swimsuit's Too Small Added 6/03 KOA Boy Chapter 7 Added 6/01 Mentoring Brandon Chapter 10 Added 5/24 Labor of Love Added 5/21 Private Lessons Chapter 6 Added 5/12 Raptors By Richard Dean Chapter 7 Added 4/13 Age Before Beauty Chapter 4 Added 4/08 ************************************************************************ Of Our Teenaged Years By Tom Cup Chapter 10 The Center of My Being Mrs. Archibald's heavy handedness as a school nurse, and sometime substitute teacher, was renown in three counties. I could have broken my arm in three places, my leg in four, all of my ribs and suffered skull fracture and still begged Mrs. Fletcher, my second period English Composition teacher, not to take me to Mrs. Archibald's office. With silver streaked hair, pulled back tightly in a painful bun, a punitive nasal tune, bird like beak of a nose, and owl like eyes, just the sight of Mrs. Archibald was enough to make the most disruptive Junior Higher cringe in fear. "And how exactly did this happen?" Mrs. Archibald asked. "I... I..." Pride is a wonderful remedy for fear. I lied. "We were playing bombardment in the gym," I said, "And I guess I got hit by a ball." "You guess," Mrs. Archibald said, pressing an ice filled towel against my aching eye, "And Mr. Scott just sent you off to your next class? Hmmm?" "I don't think he saw me get hit." "So he's blind now, is he, as well as incompetent?" she crooned and turned to Mrs. Fletcher, "I'll handle things from here." Maybe it was that the ice on my eye hurt more than the punch that had administered the blackening bruise. Maybe it was the fact that I felt Mrs. Archibald wouldn't hurt me as bad in the presents of Mrs. Fletcher. Maybe it was that I realized too late that my story wasn't going to go uninvestigated by the Nazi nurse from hell, the substitute teacher that made you stand in the trash can, while your peers sneered at your misfortune, if she disapproved of your behavior. Maybe it was that I realized that my story might get Mr. Scott into trouble. For whatever the reason, I had the pressing need to fall at Mrs. Fletcher's feet and beg her not to leave. But before I could make my objections to her leaving, she had turned and headed for the door and Mrs. Archibald was on the phone summoning Mr. Scott to her office. I hadn't lied to protect Trevor. I lied to protect myself from becoming a victim. I had learned something that I cherished. Trevor hadn't really hurt me. He had changed me but not in the way he intended. In fact, I wasn't even mad at Trevor. He had freed me to be who I was. So what if he hated me and wanted to beat the shit out of me? He had socked me with his best punch. I had taken it and not been destroyed by it. In fact, it had strengthen me, molded my resolve like the forgers hammer pounding steel. But the lie that I used to protect these thought was snowballing out of control. The lie made me feel worse about myself than everything that Trevor had said or done. I couldn't think of a way to undo what I had done. I was still contemplating the situation when Mrs. Archibald hung up the phone. She made another compress, took the old one and pressed the new on my eye. God it hurt. I wished that she would just leave me alone! Mr. Scott entered the room stoically, his eyes fixed on me. I glanced at him, sheepishly. He didn't have time to comment on the sight of me before Mr. Carson, the principal, arrived. "You care to explain this," Mrs. Archibald said folding her arms. Mr. Carson knelt to examine my eye, gently moving my hand and the compress I held. "You OK Gerald?" he asked. "Yes sir. It was an accident. I got hit by a ball while we were playing bombardment." I glanced again at Mr. Scott. There was a scowl on his face. "Mr. Scott," I said, "told me to come to the nurse's office but I didn't think I needed to. It wasn't that bad, really. But Mrs. Fletcher kinda freaked when she saw it." Mr. Carson visibly relaxed as his head swung from Mrs. Archibald to Mr. Scott and back again. Mrs. Archibald's mouth dropped open. "He never told me that!" she protested, to the gaze of the two men. "You never gave me a chance," I said, "It didn't even hurt until you slammed this stupid ice on it." Mr. Scott smiled and shook his head. I had said enough. Mrs. Archibald sneered at me. Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "Well, we should notify his parents of the accident. And maybe we should remove bombardment from the list of gym activities. Gerald, if you wish you can take the rest of the day off. Nurse that eye yourself." "I'm all right," I said, "but please don't take bombardment away. I was just starting to get good at it. Huh, Mr. Scott." "You played one of the finest games I've seen in a long time, " Mr. Scott said nodding. "Well," Mr. Carson said, "The game has been brought up at the PTA before and there is the question of liability. I'm sure that you played a fine game Gerald but that eye doesn't attest to it." "Perhaps," Mr. Scott said, kneeling to examine my eye for himself, "I can amend the rules. Stressing that no balls can to thrown to hit an opponent above the shoulders or below the waist." I nodded vigorously. "I don't want to hear of this kind of thing happening again," Mr. Carson said. "I can assure you," Mr. Scott answered, "you won't. Gerald, I do think you ought to take the rest of the day though. You need to keep this eye iced. As I said before." I nodded. Mr. Scott had become my coconspirator in the lie that I had told. "I'll call his mother," Mrs. Archibald said, "and notify her of the mishap. Is she at home?" "I'm not sure," I said. "Your father?" Mrs. Archibald asked. "He's at work. Please don't bother him. He'll think I'm really hurt bad or something." Mom was out and about, shopping and visiting. There was a lot of discussion before it was decided that Mr. Scott would drive me home and wait with me until Mom returned home. ************ "So," Mr. Scott said as we left the school parking lot, "You want to tell me what really happened." I groaned. I owed him the explanation but something inside of me still didn't want to expose Trevor as the culprit. Somehow, in my mind, that would glorify what he had done. I sighed. "I got punched," I said. "Gathered that," Mr. Scott said. I couldn't see him with the ice on my eye. I didn't want to turn to look at him anyway. I was embarrassed by my lies. "Are you afraid that if you tell that this will happen again?" Mr. Scott asked. "No sir," I said, "It really doesn't hurt that bad. But, well, if I tell then you'll call the boy in the office and he'll get paddled or suspended and then everyone will know that he hit me. He'll become a hero." "A hero?" "Yes sir. Well kind of." We drove silently the rest of the way to my house. Mom's car was in the driveway when we arrived. Mr. Scott pulled into the drive, and put the car in park. I reached for my door handle. "Wait a minute Gerald," Mr. Scott said. I turned to face him. His eyes were fixed in front of him. "You said that the boy that hit you would be thought of as a hero for hitting you." I nodded though I wasn't sure if Mr. Scott saw me. "A hero is someone that does something noble, courageous and unselfish. Whoever did this to you, certainly wasn't doing that." "I know," I said. "But you are." "What do you mean?" "Instead of running for cover, you're engaging the battle." "I don't understand." It was the first time that I heard Mr. Scott laugh. It was a hearty laugh, full of richness and favor. It made me smile at ease. "I hear a lot of rumors," he said, "A lot of boys being called nasty names. For the most part the aren't true. There's a rumor going around about you. I suppose you know." I nodded. "They say that you're a homosexual." The way he said homosexual made me look him squarely in the eyes. I had never heard the word use without disgust. "Well," he said, returning my gaze unblinking, "Is the rumor true?" "Yes sir," I said unashamed. Mr. Scott laughed again, shaking his head. "You are a brave one. Most people won't have answered so fearlessly. Most would have avoided the question, even lied to protect themselves. You lied to protect the boy that gave you that black eye, and to protect me but not to protect yourself. Why do you think that is, Gerald?" "I didn't want you to get in trouble because of my lie and, well, I told you why I told the other lie. I couldn't think of any other way." "Yes, I understand. We'll leave this here, between us. But if you need help, you come to me. OK?" "OK," I said, "Thank you." Mr. Scott held out his hand. I took it, and we shook. But before he released my hand he said, "Gerald, you're the real hero in this situation. Never forget that. Never forget." Mr. Scott explained to Mom how he hadn't seen the ball hit me. He told her how well I had played the game and how I didn't even want to go to the nurse or to come home. He apologized for the injury that I suffered several times. I was embarrassed not only by the pride in his voice when he talked about me but also by the sincerity he showed when apologizing for what had happened to me. I realized later that though Mom clearly gathered from the conversation that a ball had hit me during the game, Mr. Scott never actually used those words. He had told her the truth. I had been hit. We had played bombardment. He was sorry for my injury. ************ I lay on my bed for most of afternoon, nursing my eye. I never heard the doorbell ring and was shocked when I answered the knock at my door to find Sam standing in the hall. My smile disappeared in face of Sam's wide-eyed shock. "The bastards," he gasped. I grabbed his arm and placed my finger to my lips, pulling him into my room. "The whole school is talking," he said. "What are they saying," I asked. "That Trevor and his friends jumped you in the locker room. You told on them right?" I shook my head. "Why!" "Calm down," I said. I had sat on my bed. Sam was pacing around the room. "Calm down? Gerald if you don't tell someone they'll do it again." "First, nobody jumped me. I was trying to stop Trevor from picking on Brian." "Brian?" "Yeah, Brian Cross... you know." "Gerald what the hell are you doing trying to protect Brian Cross?" I shrugged. "It seemed like the right thing to do." Sam sighed and sat next to me shaking his head. "You're going to kill me. You know that don't you?" I laughed. A tear fell from Sam's eye. "I'm OK, Sam," I said, entwining my fingers with his, "Really, I am." Sam nodded. "God, I was worried when you didn't show up for lunch. That's when I heard. I wanted to punch Trevor out." "Don't," I said. He turned to face me. We both knew that of the two of us Sam was the strongest, the better athlete, and the better fighter. It would have been easy to allow Sam to corner Trevor and enact retribution for picking on his boyfriend but that wasn't what I wanted. Something in the center of my being was solidifying: a desire to protect who I was with integrity. Allowing Sam, or George, or Mr. Carson, or Mr. Scott or anyone else to protect me or fight my battle for me, somehow wouldn't fulfill that desire. I had to do it on my own. "Why are you protecting him?" "I'm not. I just don't think that anyone can fight this battle for me. This is something that I have to deal with myself." "It's because we're queer. That's why this happened, isn't it." I smiled. "No," I said, "It's because I'm queer." ************************************************************************ Send comments to: comments@tomcup.com To support this and other stories by the author, join at http://www.tomcup.com. If you like this story, check out Tom Cup's "Calvin: A Coming of Age Story." Available at Barnes and Nobles Bookstores, Amazon.com, your local independent bookseller, or get a signed copy from Tom Cup.com.