Nemesis - 4. Chapter 4: Partnership

Chapter 4: Partnership

Garreth

Before I could ask what Nemesis and Bobby wanted, the doorbell rang.

“Guys? How about making yourselves scarce? In the bedroom. Please keep quiet.” The boys nodded.

There were two policemen at the door. That they were policemen wasn’t obvious at first. They were in civilian clothes, but their gold detective badges were pretty convincing. I invited them into the living room.

“Sir, your vehicle was seen in the vicinity of a homicide earlier today. Can you tell us anything about that?”

A leading question, I thought. But, they didn’t Mirandize me. “Behind the abandoned shopping center on ________ Street,” I said.

“How … ?” The first cop was genuinely puzzled.

“Because that was the only place I was, other than home, and because I saw a car parked there, and a second car drive up. The second car was wrong, bad. Matte black mustang. Dark windows. No chrome, not even the emblem on the grill. I had a bad feeling, and left immediately. I came straight home.”

“What do you mean, bad feeling,” the second cop asked.

“It was a feeling like one that had saved my life before … in Afghanistan. You see a car that’s a little out of the ordinary, and wonder if it’s a suicide bomber; you get a feeling for things like that—or you die,” I said.

“Afghanistan?”

“Yeah, Army. Special Forces. Two tours,” I said. “Took a couple of bullets in my hip that shattered my femur. It’s partly titanium, now. Discharged.”

The cops quizzed me about the two cars. I answered as factually as possible up to the point that I’d seen a kid pulling some guy’s head through the window. The pressed me on why I left; I said the same thing, that there was something wrong about the Mustang.

“Anyone see you when you got back here?”

“No,” I said. “I live alone.”

They gave me their business cards, and I escorted them to the door. “Guys, I know you can’t talk about an ongoing investigation, especially with a witness or a person of interest. I am a person of interest, aren’t I?”

I got a chagrined look from one cop. “Not really. We know who you are. You don’t have a reputation for having anything to do with drugs. We figure it was a drug deal gone bad.”

He’d told me more than I was entitled to know. I thanked them, shook their hands, and watched their car pull away.

Cops

“What the fuck! You let him off … just because he said he was in Afghanistan—” the first cop began, only to be interrupted.

“Don’t you know who he is?” The other asked. When the first cop shook his head, the second continued. “Gary Walters … played two years for the Cubs before he was called up? Army Reserve. Took a four million dollar cut in salary from baseball star to Army first lieutenant. Got shot up…

“He works with some charity, now. Helping kids. There’s no fucking way he would be involved in a drug deal.”

Gary

The boys were sitting, side-by-side, on the bed. Their hips and shoulders touched. I think Bobby wanted a hug, but was afraid to ask. I think Nemesis wanted to hug Bobby, but was afraid to do it. I thought about how I could break down that barrier.

“Guys? Come on back to the living room, please. We still have things to talk about.”

“Bobby, I’d like you to go first. What do you want to happen, next? What would you like your life to be like?”

The boy looked askance: he tilted his head and raised his eyebrow. I had asked that question many times. Bobby’s answer was typical. So was his cynicism.

“I want a real mommy and daddy. I want to live in a nice house and have friends. I want to go to a school where I won’t get picked on. I want to wear clean clothes every day and eat something besides cereal. There’s a lot more, but since none of it’s going to happen, there’s no sense in telling you.” He pressed his lips together. His nose flared. His eyes widened. He was challenging me.

“You’re right, Bobby. It’s not going to happen. At least, not right away. It will take some time to find a mommy and a daddy for a boy your age … and we can’t even start looking until Family Services assigns you to me. When they do, I will make sure you go to a good school, and have clean clothes and good food. I think I can find you some friends, too. If you want. If you’ll agree to a few rules.”

I told him about Erewhon. It had been a private, boarding school, north of the city, on the lake. It went bankrupt when the Obama Depression hit hard. The foundation bought it, and turned it into a shelter for boys … boys that had been abandoned, abused, and thrown away.

“You’ll share a room with one or two other boys, sometimes three. At first, you’ll be assigned to a room; later, you and other boys will get to decide who to room with.

“You’ll eat in a dining hall and go to school, play sports, and go on field trips.

“There are only four rules: treat others as you want to be treated; take care of your own space and your own mess; a kindness is always repaid; and, make me proud.

“Do you think you can agree to those rules?”

“Make you proud?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the most important rule. I want to be proud of what you do and what you become, even after you leave the school, and for the rest of your life.”

Bobby nodded. “Yeah, I can do that. But I still want a mommy and a daddy.”

I held out my arms, and he came to me. I hugged him; he hugged back. He put his head on my chest. I felt him shaking. “Until we find your mommy and daddy, Bobby, I will always hug you. You’ll get hugs at Erewhon, too, from the tutors and from other boys.

“Some of the boys will want hugs from you. It’s okay to give them. Some of the boys won’t want to touch another boy, much less hug him. That’s okay, too. Remember … treat others as you want to be treated.”

Bobby nodded. I opened my arms. Bobby turned to Nemesis.

“Want a hug?” the little boy asked. Nemesis nodded. I could see from all the way across the room that it was a good hug.

Nemesis

Bobby’s hug was a good one … I felt his concern, I felt his love, and I felt a little bit of lust. He was trying to hide that part. All I could do was hug back. I wanted to kiss him; but, I’m still a coward. Besides, am I a 12-year-old boy, or am I a 48-year-old man? More and more I’m forgetting who I was, but I still know that I was once an adult. And, I remember every detail of my trip through Hell. I don’t want to do anything that would take me back there.

Bobby sat beside me, close enough that we were touching. Gary asked me what I wanted to happen next. It was a hard question.

“I don’t know,” I said, finally. “Like I said, I just found out who I was. I don’t know the rules. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I know I’m supposed to do something.

“I guess I want to know what that is.”

Gary nodded. “I want to know that, too,” he said. “I’ll help, if I can. That’s all I can promise until we find out more.”

I nodded. I liked the way he said that “we” would try to find out.

Gary

Bobby I could understand. I’d seen a hundred kids like him, a hundred kids whose story was like his. There was, however, something a little different. Something about him resonated more than most. I chalked it up to the overall weirdness of the situation. Which led me directly to Nemesis.

Nemesis I didn’t understand. He was problematic in several ways. I wasn’t quite sure of the “Nemesis, son of Nemesis” story—although I had to accept the “something more than human” part of it: I’d seen his arms heal. There was the way he talked and behaved: a mix of adult and scared kid. There was the solid ping on my gaydar, and his fear of emotional attachment to either Bobby or me. And, there was the chiton that didn’t always adequately cover a really cute bottom … and that was not a problem I needed.

The most normal thing about both of them was their appetite. There, they were just a couple of boys. They’d finished half a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a package of bologna earlier. (You really don’t want to know the details.) I thought about something a little healthier for supper but had to settle for getting them to eat a couple of slices of vege pizza. I promised myself I’d get something better in them, tomorrow.

Nemesis

Gary showed Bobby and me separate bedrooms. It was Bobby who had the courage to ask if we could sleep in the same bedroom: the one with a single large bed. I didn’t have the courage to ask that question; I didn’t even have the courage to say no—or yes—when Gary looked at me. I just nodded.

That night, after Bobby and I climbed into the bed, I turned off the lamp and lay, quietly. Then, Bobby whispered. “Nemesis, would you hug me? I’m so alone. I’m so afraid.”

Divine retribution, I thought. And justice. I guess it’s justice to hug a little boy who probably didn’t get many hugs from his parents … stepparents.

“Sure,” I said. And I did. I rolled toward him, and hugged him. We cuddled. Just cuddled. And then fell asleep. After that, every night for a month, we cuddled. Every morning for a month I woke with a little boy in my arms. I know he wanted more; I think he knew I wanted more. We were both afraid. I knew why I was afraid; I couldn’t figure out why he was afraid.

Gary

Bobby was eager to share a bedroom—and a bed—with Nemesis. Nemesis simply nodded when I asked. That reminded me that I had promised to talk to Nemesis about friendship … and about boyfriends. I resolved to do it the next morning.

Bobby

Gary made pancakes—blueberry pancakes—and bacon, but made me eat a banana, first, and drink some milk. I guess he thought it was good for me. He seemed like somebody who’d think like that. After, he asked if I’d go watch TV for a while. He wanted to talk with Nemesis and he didn’t want me to hear. I guess that was okay. Like I said, he seemed like he cared.

I didn’t watch TV, though. I thought about things. Things I hadn’t thought about in a long time. Things that hurt.

The night after mommy’s funeral, I put on my Builder Buddy pajamas, brushed my teeth, and got in my bed. Daddy came in and pulled up the covers, and then turned off the light. Mommy used to tuck me in, and she used to kiss me, every night.

“Daddy, will you kiss me like Mommy used to?” I asked.

He turned on the light and looked at me. “Your mommy’s dead, and you’ve got to grow up. Kisses are for little boys, and kisses from men are for sissy boys.” He turned off the light, again, and closed the door behind him.

The next morning, Daddy poured cereal for me. It was Sunday. We always had bacon and eggs and raisin toast on Sunday. I would come downstairs in my pajamas, and Mommy would have juice ready for me. She would kiss me good morning, and start frying the bacon. I looked at the cereal, watched it get soggy in the milk, and started crying.

“What are you sniffling about, boy?” Daddy asked.

“I miss Mommy,” I said. “Can we have bacon and eggs?”

“Look at me, boy!” my daddy said. I turned my head up. He slapped me, hard.

“I’ll give you something to cry about!” he said. “Eat your cereal.” He left the kitchen. I’m glad he did, ’cause I was crying even harder, and I didn’t want him to hit me again.

The next morning, I woke up when I heard the door slam. I got dressed and ran downstairs. My father had left for work. I fixed a bowl of cereal and made a peanut butter sandwich. There wasn’t any jelly. I almost missed the school bus.

That’s the way it was for the rest of the school year. I got so I’d wake up when I heard my father moving around, but I didn’t go downstairs until I heard him leave. We’d eat supper together … Chef Boyardee or beanie-weenie or something else from a can. Weekends he’d sit in front of the TV. I’d fix a sandwich when I was hungry. We didn’t talk, much, and he never told me he was sorry he hit me.

I lost most of my friends at school. Some of them tried to “reach out,” like the counselor said they should, but I rejected them. I was afraid if I got close, they’d stop liking what I was—a crybaby, a sissy—like my father had.

When Gary promised to help me find a new mommy and daddy, that’s when I stopped being afraid. It was the way he said it; and when he held out his arms, I was happy to get a hug from him.

Gary

It was Saturday, and the TV was full of kids’ cartoons. After breakfast—no more cereal for Bobby, ever—, but a banana and blueberry pancakes for both boys—I put Bobby in front of the television, and beckoned Nemesis to come back to the kitchen. I poured coffee for myself, and asked Nemesis what he wanted. He said, coffee, so I poured him a cup. He made a face when he sipped it.

“Nemesis, can we talk about friendship … and about boyfriends?” I asked.

He simply nodded, and put a large spoonful of sugar in his coffee.

“You heard me say I was gay,” I said. “I think you need to know the whole truth. I also think you’re old enough to understand.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m also a pedophile. I like little boys. I want to love little boys; I want to have sex with little boys, but I know that’s usually wrong. So, instead of sex, I try to help boys.

“We can be friends, but we can’t be boyfriends.” I watched Nemesis put another dollop of cream in his coffee.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Can I go watch cartoons?”

Damn! I thought. Is he really that thoughtless?

He looked at me. His eyes got big. Did he hear that? I wondered.

“I’m sorry,” Nemesis said. “I know you’re trying to help. I know you’re trying to help me and Bobby. I know that you are a good person. Yes, I can hear what you think when you think really hard. Knowing you’re a good person? Yeah, that too. It’s part of what I am … what I can do.

“Um, I just figured that out … ” He paused. I knew there was more, so I waited.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Nemesis said. “Really, I do. Please trust me on that. I’m not that thoughtless … I’m just …confused.

“I … know you’re good … and you do want to help me … it’s just that … ” He started crying, again.

I held out my arms and thought hard. Want a hug? It worked. He scampered around the table and into my arms. I pulled him into my lap. He put his head on my chest. I rocked back and forth. I whispered stupid things like, Shhh and It will be okay. I tried unsuccessfully to keep from getting an erection that I knew he must feel.

Nemesis stopped crying after a while; I kissed the top of his head, and then his forehead.

“It’s a start,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Neither you nor I nor Rome was made in a day. I think it’s going to take a lot longer than a day to figure us out.”

I looked into his young-old eyes. “Nemesis? You and I both need help understanding the what and the why. I can’t do it by myself. I don’t think you can, either.

“Partners?” I asked.

The boy nodded. “Partners,” he said.