Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2003 18:13:42 -0400 From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com> Subject: Of Our Teenaged Years - Chapter 9 - 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 10 Added 7/6 Short Story: Home Alone Added 7/1 Stephen Miller's Journal Chapter 12 Added 6/25 Calvin: Identity Crisis Chapter 14 Added 6/17 Article: Bisexuality Added 6/12 Of Our Teenage Years Chapter 14 Added 6/05 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 Teenage Years By Tom Cup Chapter 9 The Queer and the Wimp There were two things I hated more than standing in a line in gym class, with Mr. Scott steadily approaching calling out "one, two, one two," as he placed one boy after another on opposite sides of the gym: bombardment and the sickly looking yellow gym shorts, and black and yellow T-shirts, the school made us wear of the class. The schools mascot was a panther. The official school colors where black and gold but our gym shorts were with out doubt mucus yellow. I always wound up having to dig them out of my butt crack, another reason for the boys to tease me. "Look, Gerald's digging up his butt," I could here them say, "Damn Gerald, can't you wait to get your butt plugged by your boyfriend. Queer!" But I hated the shorts most of all because, yellow definitely wasn't my color Standing next to me was Brian Cross. I had moved to the end of the line when I noticed that he was standing next to me. Even I didn't want to be seen with Brian. He wore thick black horn-rimmed glasses and was the shortest kid in the class. The only other thing that I really knew about Brian was that everybody picked on him. I shied, and rolled my eyes, when I noticed that he had also left his previous position in line and joined me in the back. As Mr. Scott approached, I glanced over at Brian. He stared into my eyes with a deer in the headlights look, as if pleading for me to protect him from being the target that both of us knew we would be. "You two to the far wall," Mr. Scott said. I couldn't believe it. He put us both on the same team. I walked across the gym, listening to the snickering boys from both teams. At first I tried to distance myself from Brian, but he steadfastly stayed by my side. Humiliation was the air I sucked through my teeth. I had prepared myself for the taunts of being called a queer but the thought that I would be tied to the wimpy, solemn, teacher's pet, Brian Cross made me want to vomit. Mr. Scott stood at the center of the gym explaining the rules of the game. Four balls would be placed at center court. The object was to hit a member of the opposing team with one of those balls; it had to be a direct hit, once the ball bounced, the other team could use it to attack its opponent. If you crossed the half court line or if you threw a ball and a member of the opposing team caught it in flight, then you were out. You could also catch the ball if it hit of your teammate or the wall and get the opposing team member out. By the way everyone on our team had distanced themselves from Brian and me, I knew there was like hope of help from any of them if either one of use as hit by a ball that someone else could catch before it hit the floor. The balls were placed on the line at half court. Mr. Scott backed away slowly towards the sideline, his whistle in the corner of his mouth. Brian groaned. "I hate this stupid game," he whispered. In that moment I reassessed Brian Cross and my attitude. The year before I had been a part of a respectable crowd, one of the "in groups", if I wasn't respected at least my friends were and by default so was I. Brian had always been a loner, ostracized by everyone. I certainly wasn't one of those that called him names, or occasionally shoved him, but I didn't do anything to show him that I thought of him as a human being. He was the school's wimp, a nobody, an annoying phantom in our midst that reminded us of how pathetic the human species could be. But it was a new school year, and I was also an outcast. As the teams went into motion, moving back and forth from the starting walls towards the half court line were the balls rested, I took a good look at Brain. His eyes meet mine; the brightest and bluest eyes I had ever seen stared back at me over those horn-rimmed glasses, his thick bowl-cut blond hair covered his ears and gave him a shaggy dog look. "Whatever happens," I said, "We can't be the first to get out." We were both surprised that I had spoken to him. I was even more surprise that the same silent communication that I had shared with Sharon passed through Brian and me. We had both thought to sacrifice ourselves as early as possible in the game, so we could sit on the sideline and allow the others to play the game without the inconvenience of the queer and the wimp. But with Brian's smile and nod, and the brightening of his eyes, we agreed, we would do everything possible to be the last men standing. The whistle blew and the game began. Brian and I stayed close to the back of the gym and each other as the others rushed the line. Jimmy Park threw the first ball at Trevor Marks. Trevor blocked the throw with the ball he had. Charles Miller hit Jimmy with the ball he had and a ball thrown by Chris Walker hit Charles. Mr. Scott's whistle blew and he yelled, "Out!" Charles and Jimmy were the first casualties of the game. Trevor picked up the ball that had hit Charles. Our team now had three of the four balls. Trevor was holding two and Mark Rudolph held one. On the other side of the line, Dewayne Kemp held his team's ball at ready. Trevor looked around our team. His eyes focused on Brian and me. His head nodded upward as he rolled the ball toward Brian. Brain moved to retrieve the ball. Dewayne smiled. His right knee and arm rose, as he prepared to throw. Brian's eyes were locked on the approaching ball. Dewayne threw his ball, a line drive straight for Brian's head. Trevor and Mark fired their balls at Dewayne, both missed but Dewayne was out. I caught the ball that was aimed at Brian. "Give us the ball," Mark and Trevor shouted, "Give us the ball!" "No," I said, though my chest ached from having caught the ball Dewayne had thrown. "Give me the fucking ball," Trevor said storming toward me. Brian threw his ball. It hit Trevor on the foot. Mr. Scott blew his whistle Trevor was out. Brian retrieved the ball. "He's on my team," Trevor yelled. "Doesn't matter," Mr. Scott said, "the ball hit you. You're out. Take a seat." "Coach!" Trevor said, objecting to the ruling. "Take a seat." Brian was called out after Rick Patterson caught his ball. He took a seat in the bleachers away from the rest of our team. I was the next to the last man out. The game ended when Rick hit Mark to win for his team. We played two more games of bombardment that day. In all the games Brian and I were neither the first man nor the last man to get out. We played with dignity. We played to prove we were human beings. We played to prove that we were more than a queer and a wimp. ************ "Brian, Gerald," Mr. Scott said, after if end of class speech on the importance of teamwork that bombardment was supposed to teach, "I'd like a moment with you two. The rest of you can hit the showers." Our team had lost all three games that day. I knew that the rest of the boys blamed the loses on the fact that Brian and I were on the team. "You both played well today," Mr. Scott said, after that last of the boys disappeared into the locker room, "I'm glad to see you two putting forth an effort. " "Thanks coach," we both said. "What do you think was going on in the first game?" "They wanted us out," I said, "They were trying to set us up." Mr. Scott nodded. "And what about the last two games. Did your team try to sacrifice you in the last two games." Brian and I shook our heads. "And why do you supposed that was?" We shrugged. "I'll tell you," Mr. Scott said, "Show pride in yourself and others will give you the respect you deserve. If you learn nothing else from today, learn this: respect is given to those that show pride in themselves. You can go." He turned and walked to where the balls were lying and began picking them up. Brian walked slowly toward the locker room, glancing back at me, as I stood reflectively watching Mr. Scott. "Coach," I said. Mr. Scott turned toward me. "Thanks." He smiled and nodded. I headed for the locker room. ************ The chatter in the locker room stopped as soon as Brian and I entered. Some of the boys had finished their showers and were at their lockers in various stages of redressing. The other boys finished their showers quickly, wrapped their towels around themselves, and headed for their lockers. I ignored them, went to my locker and began dialing the combination. The locker room had five columns of two tier lockers in the center, with another column of lockers against the west wall. On the south wall was a set of benches where the clean towels were folded. The shower area was at the north end of the room. The door was to the east. My locker was in the southwest corner of the room. I noticed that Brian's locker was on the second row column, on the eastside, closest to the door. The clanging sound of lockers being slammed closed echoed through the room as I undressed. "Ow!" I wrapped my towel around my body and peered around the corner from which the cry had come. Trevor had Brian back against his locker. "If you ever pull that shit again," Trevor sneered, pushing Brian hard against the locker, "I'll beat the shit out of you." "Leave him alone," I said. "Oooo," came a chorus of voices. "Oh, is he your little boyfriend," Trevor said, pushing Brian again and causing Brian's head to slam against the combination lock. Brian grimace and reached for the back of his head. "We got two homos in this class," Trevor said. "I ain't queer," Brian whined. "I ain't queer," Trevor mocked, "I ain't queer. You hear that Geraldine, your girlfriend says she ain't queer." Laughter bounced off of the walls of the locker room. "I said leave him alone." "Or what?" Trevor asked, "Or you'll cry, run home and tell your mommy." I had no intention of crying or running home and telling my Mom. I had no idea what I would do. He pushed Brian again into the locker. Tears sprang from Brian's eyes. "Leave him alone," I said again, stepping toward Trevor. Trevor released Brian and rushed toward me. I was stunned by the hatred I saw in his eyes. He pushed me twice. I stumbled back against the west column of lockers. "Fucking homo," Trevor sneered, "Don't let me catch you after school." "You're an asshole Trevor," I said. I saw a shadow of movement on my left side. My eyes closed. My hands covered my face, too late. It wasn't much of a fight, only three or four punches thrown. Only the first one hit me. But it was enough to blacken my eye. The locker room emptied quickly. I sat shaking on the floor, more angry than hurt. "I'm sorry." I looked up to see Brian standing over me with his head bowed. "It's not your fault," I said. "I should have helped you." I laughed. Brian smiled sheepishly, and then laughed too. He held out his hand. I accepted it and he helped me to my feet. The bell rang. We would be late for second period. ************************************************************************ 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.