Date: Thu, 16 Oct 2003 08:22:45 -0400 From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com> Subject: Of Our Teenaged Years - Chapter 12 - Gay Y/F Copyright 2000 - 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? 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Check it out at http://www.tomcup.com! ************************************************************************ Of Our Teenage Years By Tom Cup Chapter 12 Bad Things, Good People I lay staring at the ceiling following the funeral. Downstairs there was a murmur of voices, whispered condolences, like a thickened fog that halted breath. The courteous thing would have been for me to join Mom and Sharon in "greeting" the guests. I knew the guests would make a show of being there for our benefit, they'd say, "Let me get that," when I went to get more glasses or plates, but the truth was that I'd wind up playing host and pretending to be brave. I didn't want to be brave. I didn't want to entertain. I wanted to be in my room. Sam sat in a corner of my room looking out the window. His eyes were as red and strained open as my mother's. Every so often our eyes would meet. Sam would bow and wag his head and then resume looking out the window. I would resume my staring at the ceiling. Dad's face wavered in the air between the ceiling and me. His face seemed ashen, the color gone from his cheeks, his lips were dry and chapping, and his eyes bagged and blood shot. That wasn't how he appeared at the viewing but it was how he had looked the last time we talked. I assumed that he was tired and worried about me; but as the image became focused in my mind,I began to see something else in his wanting me to stay home from school the following day. A tear fell from my eye. I swatted it away as one would a pestering gnat, got up and began undressing. "What you doing?" Sam asked. I stripped down to my Fruit of the Looms, kicking my dress clothes into the corner. I dressed in my work clothes and headed down stairs, Sam following behind me. I didn't stop for the silent stares. Mom's eyes follow me out the door. Even as I started the lawn mower, the crowd that had followed behind the wake of my journey through the house, didn't bother me. It was Saturday. It was time to mow the lawn and wash the car. That's what Dad would have wanted. ************ "Gerald," Mom's voice whispered over her light tap at my door. The door squeaked open. I had resumed my staring at the ceiling. As I began mowing the lawn, our guests stood staring on the porch. Some of them giving worried glances back into the house, some whispering to one another, and others with their mouth's agape. Sam undid his tie and dropped it on the walk leading from the porch to the driveway. He began edging the lawn. Sharon began weeding around the shrubs, Mom joined her -- both still dressed in their mourning attire. Doug and George raked behind me. Some of the other guests began working on the backyard. Some began washing the car. When I finished mowing the front lawn, the world appeared as though I was looking out a window on a rainy afternoon. I dropped to my knees. My breathing was in gasps. A horrid wail filled my ears. I missed my Dad. I fought against a mass of arms and a sea of disfigured faces. Sam screaming, "Leave him alone!" rang through me. I don't remember how I got to my room. All I remember is Sam. His body descended upon me, his arms engulfed me, his touch calmed me. "I love you," Sam said, as he kissed the saltiness from you cheek. And then I was in my room, staring at the ceiling and Mom knocking at my door. "You OK?" Her smile was misshapen, her eyes too larger, and her hair disheveled. Why would I be OK? "I'll leave you alone," she said. The door closed and I wept once more. ********** I missed the first three days of school. Sharon came to my room Monday morning and asked me if I was going. I wasn't dress and that said enough. She mussed my hair and left. Mom came to check on me at lunch. She wanted to know if I was hungry. I wasn't. George came over after his school let out. He showed up thirty minutes before Sam. There wasn't much conversation. "You boys hunger?" Mom asked, peering around Sam, who opened the door for her, at me. I shook my head but Sam and George nodded. "Well come on then." Sam and George followed Mom and returned a short time later. Sam carried two plates. It was the first time I was allowed to eat in my room. "How you doing bud?" Doug asked, mussing my hair. I was getting tired of that show of affection. "I'm all right,' I said. "Well you need anything." It was 7:30. Doug had dinner with Mom and Sharon. It was time for George and he to be getting home. When they left I got up and hugged Sam. He held me, stroking my back. "I have to go too," he whispered after our kiss. I nodded. Perception changes everything. My room seemed small and cold after Sam left. The air was too still. The lighting to faint. I walked down the hall. Sharon's door was closed. Her radio was on but I couldn't make out what she was listening to. Mom's door was cracked open. I peeked in. She had one of Dad's shirts to her face, rocking back and forward, sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes. "Oh, I miss you so much," she cried. So did I. ************ It was 8:30 when the doorbell rang. I started to go down and answer it but the music from Sharon's room grew louder and then I heard her thudding down the stairs. I was curious about who would be at our door at such a late hour but that curiosity wasn't enough to make me leave my room. "Gerald," Sharon called. I rolled my eyes and inhaled, holding my breath unnaturally. "Yeah?" "Sam's at the door." Sam had his sleeping bag tucked under his left arm. He had a change of clothes roll neatly in the bag. He promised his mother that he would go to school in the morning if she let him come and stay with me. "If it's all right with you?" Sam said looking passed me to Mom who was standing on the stairs. Mom smiled, nodded, and returned to her room. Sam followed me passed the closed doors of Mom and Sharon's rooms. He threw the sleeping bag in the corner of my room. We both knew it wasn't needed. It was the beginning of a three-day ritual. ************ The sky was an oriental blue as Mom dropped Sam and I off at school. Sam opened the front passenger door for me. I stared into Mom's eyes. She smiled at me. "Go on," she said. I nodded. Sam and I walk passed the flagpole. Sam's hand was on my back, steadying me and encouraging me not to turn and run back to the car. Emily, Kelly, Missy and Rick were the first to greet us, followed by a small crowd of kids that rarely spoke to me. "Sorry about your dad," Emily said, hugging me. "Sorry, man," Rick said, gripping my shoulder. Missy hugged me. Kelly kissed my cheek. There were more murmurs of condolence. I felt like leaving and never coming back. I didn't want to be reminded by the chorus of voices that my dad really was dead and gone. But then I saw Brian, standing at the edge to the crowd, kicking at some invisible thing on the ground. Our eyes met. Two tears fell from his eye. He turned, stomped up the concrete stairs and disappeared into the shadows of the hall. "Excuse me," I said. I got inside the building in time enough to see Brian entering the boy's lavatory. I followed him. He kicked the old, rusty trashcan in the corner. The can bounce off the wall and fell onto its side. Brian kicked it again and the contents spilled onto the floor, mangled brown paper hand towels. His face was red and his eyes still leaking when he notice me. He bowed and wagged his head. "Why do bad things happen to good people?" he whined. I didn't know then and I don't know now. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. His head fell on my chest. His arm encircled my waist. We both cried, holding each other in the boy's room, until our cries became laughter. "Maybe I am queer too," Brian said, shaking his head. "Naw," I said, "You just needed a hug." "Thanks," he whispered. "No problem. You can hang with us anytime." "Thanks." It's strange how comforting someone else comforts you, even when you are hurting more. Sam was standing in the hall, turning in slow circles, when Brian and I exited the restroom. "Where'd you go?" he asked. "I shrugged and looked toward the lavatory. "You OK?" he asked. "Yeah," I said. "Want me to walk you to class?" "That'd be cool." We took a few steps toward the gymnasium. Brian stood examining something on the floor at his feet. I turned to face him. "You coming?" I asked. "Oh, me?" "Yes, you. We do have gym together. Or did you forget." He blushed. "Oh, I thought you wanted to walk alone," Brian answered "It's cool," Sam said. "Oh, OK." We turned and headed for gym, Brian walking between Sam and I. ************************************************************************ 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." 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