Life in a Northern Town - 4. Chapter 4

The day has been a mess as far as I am concerned, and now sunlight is bleeding off into darkness. I'm not in the mood to talk to this yo-yo who I have to live with. I look at him out of the corner of my eye as he drives, swaying a bit to the music and pretty much ignoring me and my attitude. At least he isn't going to force me to explain my life to him; I guess that's something.

"Hope you're hungry, I know Joe and Scott will be," he chuckles. "Like Chinese food?"

"It's okay, I guess. I need to call Randy when we get ho…I mean, when we get to your house," I say sulkily.

"Well, I don't usually hand out phone privileges right away, but if you can improve your attitude just a little I'll think about it," he replies.

"You try having the day I had and see how your attitude is," I mutter.

"True, you had a bad day, but that's not my fault, nor is it the fault of Scott and Joe. I'm here to help, and I haven't done anything to you," John says patiently, although it is clear he's getting a little pissy with me.

"Well, if you're going to put it like that, it's not Randy's fault either, but he'll be worried, and so will Nick. How fair is that?" I know I am pushing his limit, but I can't seem to stop the flow of words as all the stress sloughs off me in my tirade. "You try having your mother scream and throw things at you, call you all kinds of names and then throw you out of the house and then to top it off, call the police and tell them you kid attacked her!" By this time I am screaming and kicking the back of his seat.

"Well, it's still not my damn fault, so check your attitude!" John yells back. He looks at me, snaps his head forward to steer, then fixes me with a look of pure anger again before turning forward again in silence.

The sport utility trundles onward through the busy streets laden with people trying to make their way home from work. Yellow lights blinking ahead signal construction, and the traffic tightens into a knot as the flagmen ahead stop our side of the road. A large tractor-trailer pulling a flatbed with some earth-moving equipment is trying to back across the road and having very little success. I watch as it stops and pulls forward for another shot at backing to the desired area for unloading the large piece of equipment it is hauling.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," John sighs as he relaxes his grip on the wheel. He is apologizing to me? Who is he trying to fool?

"Yeah, sure," I reply.

"Look, you have a lousy attitude and I realize kids that need love the most make themselves pretty hard to love. You're not in that situation anymore. I don't know you; you don't know me, and we need some time to get to know each other a bit. I like to think I'm pretty fair, but you have to give some too," John says making an obvious attempt to control his exasperation.

"I don't trust anyone except Nick and Randy and Randy's folks," I reply defiantly.

"I didn't ask you to trust me, that's something that is earned. I am asking that you treat me with some respect so I can do the same with you."

"Well, why is the phone a privilege?" I ask, somewhat warily.

"First because the county gets to say who you can and can't talk to and under what circumstances. For instance you cannot have contact with your mother.”

I snort, “Like I'd want to?”

“Also because I have to pay for it, so I have rules. Yes I agree that you're friends will be worried, but at the same time you're not being too cool. So maybe if you lighten up a little I'll let you use my phone and we have a small step taken between us, huh? It kills two birds with one stone and shows we can cooperate," John says, being reasonable.

Okay, I hate to admit it even to myself, but he is making sense. I feel like I'd be giving in to what he wants because he suggested it, though. It really bothers me on principle, even if I am giving up something to get something. The flagman waves us through when the huge truck succeeds in backing into the cordoned off area, and John slowly accelerates through the intersection. He goes back to humming and shifting in his seat to the music, his temper quickly forgotten as we head back towards the suburban end of town. We stop short of the street that my mother lives on by a good twelve blocks and turn towards the river. He heads all the way down to River Street, which gets its name from the fact that it runs right next to the river - big surprise.

We stop in front of a large two-story structure, dull red brick with a large garage behind the house; I think they call these carriage houses. They look like there could be an apartment on the top of them, which is kind of cool. The driveway is accessed by the side of the property and we park in back between the house and the garage. John switches off the truck and swivels in his seat to get a look at me, and I study my hands. Hey, it's better than glaring defiantly and I want my phone call.

"Look, Adam, I know this isn't your idea of a good time, but give it a chance. Joe and Scott are good kids, my husband and I are really not that bad, and once you get on your feet a bit, I think you'll feel better about things," he says with a soft smile. "Come on, let's get you settled and then you can make a phone call, let your friends know you'll be out of school tomorrow to get some clothes," he says as he opens his door. I scramble out of my seat.

"Where are my clothes?"

"Well, Bernard said your clothes were small on you, said you might be going through a growth spurt and now would be a good time as any to get you some new stuff," John explains as we walk. This sounds suspiciously diplomatic to me.

"Is that a nice way of saying my clothes make me look like a homeless protitute?" I ask, a bit pleased I have figured it out, and also that I'd get some new clothes to wear. John starts a bit and looks at me. A grin spreads across his face.

"Well, let's leave it diplomatically said, all right?"

"Okay," I agree.

The house is a squarish thing, with large rectangular windows running along the upper and lower floors and a wrought iron fence runs into the gloom, wrapping the large front yard before disappearing into smothering in shadows. John leads the way to the front door, which is really at the back of the house, and directs me to remove my shoes on the enclosed porch. I deposit my worn sneakers next to his shoes and follow him in the back door which opens into the kitchen.

“Hi,” a man says as he turns from washing dishes and begins wiping his hands on a towel. He plants a kiss on John's cheek and extends a hand to me. “I'm Ken, nice to meet you.”

“Uh huh,” I say. I take his hand, listlessly.

“Do you have a name?” he asks, his voice betraying a little peevishness at my not offering it. I think he's under the assumption I'm going to be polite. You know what they say about assuming.

“Yes,” is all I say, though.

“Do you mind sharing it with me?”

“Depends.”

“Adam...” John says in a warning tone of voice.

“Well, now you've gone and cocked up the game, John,” I say sourly. I don't know why I'm acting this way – after all, I wanted that phone call.

The kitchen is done in a cream colored tile and a dark reddish wood that accents the counters and made up the bulk of the cupboards. A tall refrigerator looms next to the door, a two-door model with a built-in ice maker. A small breakfast nook is recessed into the far wall opposite the sink. A small archway leads out of the kitchen and into a short hallway.

“It's okay,” Ken's voice dials back on the queen bitch and is more sympathetic. I was starting to hate him. “He's probably had a tough time lately.”

“Come on, Adam,” John says instead of replying to Ken. I follow him out the kitchen and into the hallway. Two doorways open off the right hand side and one off the left, and at the end is the base of the beginning of the stairs to the second floor. We walk along the hallway and John opens the left hand door, which is under the stairs, and reveals a closet.

"Coats go in here," he explains while shedding his own. I tug mine off as well and place it on a hanger.

"Are you going to cook, John?" comes a voice from the front of the house.

"I was thinking Chinese, I don't much feel like cooking," John replies as he closes the closet door and strides past the first doorway on the right and enters the second one, French doors opening into a spacious living room. Two kids are lying in the living room, one on a recliner with his back curved into the back of the chair and his legs hanging over the arm while he watches television. The second boy is sitting on the couch Indian style, busily typing away on a laptop that is balanced on his legs.

"Chinese sounds good to me," the one in the recliner replies.

"Works here too," chimes in computer boy.

"Good. Guys, this is Adam, he'll be here with us for a bit. Adam that lump on the chair is Scott..."

"Hey!"

"And the geek on the couch is Joe," John finishes.

"Funny, John; remind me when your computer stops working again," Joe mutters.

"Hey, Adam, I've seen you. Don't you have Needham for math? Third period?" Scott asks.

"Yeah, I do," I reply quietly, my attitude softening quite a bit.

"She is such a bitch; she was handing out detentions today like they were nothing, man," Scott grumbles.

"Did you do your homework? It's why she was handing 'em out," Joe mutters from behind his computer.

John's eyebrows go up as he looks at Scott, expecting an answer, but Scott skillfully redirects the conversation. "Well, if someone would quit changing my own password, I could get my stuff off the computer, couldn't I?"

Joe jumps at the barb and smiles over his computer.

"Oh, I know you, too, Adam. You hang out with Randy Proctor and Nick Jackson, right?" he asks. I nod my assent.

"Randy, is he a nice guy?" Joe asks, leaning out over his laptop, a hungry expression on his face.

"Sure, he's my best friend," I reply. “He's the best.”

"Joe..." John says in a warning tone of voice. Joe looks at John in surprise, almost like he'd not realized he was there, and then blushes a bit.

"Joe, why don't you get Scott his password back, and Scott get your homework out so I can check it. Adam has to use the phone, and then we can head to dinner.

"Translation, leave so Adam can use the phone with some privacy," Scott snickers as he heads for the stairs and Joe folds up his computer and follows him.

"Phone is in the corner there, Adam. Try not to make it too long, okay? We're all kind of hungry," John tells me before heading up to settle the other two, who are wrestling from the sounds that are coming though the ceiling.

I sit on the couch and place the base of the ancient phone in my lap before picking up the receiver and dialing. It's answered on the second ring.

"Hello."

"H…Hi, Mr. Proctor it's..."

"Adam, where are you! We've been worried sick! Randy called me from school, what's going on?" I can hear Randy in the background asking for the phone.

"They took me away from my mom. They put me in a foster home," I reply. I feel as though I want to cry as I hear the concern in his voice.

"Did you tell them we would have taken you?" he asks.

"Yeah, I did!” I tell him vehemently. It's important that he know that, I feel. “But they said they had my arrangements all worked out already, and since I was in the custody of the county I had to go to a state authorized place or something," I reply sullenly.

"Well, I'll go talk to Joe Lutz and see what can be done tomorrow. Don't worry, Adam, we're all here for you. Hold on, Randy is going to rip my arm off if I don't give him the phone," he says before I hear the rustle of the phone changing hands.

"Adam? Bro, where are you?" Randy's concern brings my emotional roller coaster around to wanting to cry with relief at hearing him. But I won't.

"I'm a few blocks away, a group home, Rand," I reply with a thick voice. I will not cry again, dammit.

"Are you okay? Where is it, I'll come down now, Nick's here so we can be there in a jiff," he states quickly.

"We're going somewhere to eat, Rand, we won't be here," I say while sniffing. I will not cry.

"Tell them they can stop by here at eight for about a half hour," John says as he descends the stairs and heads towards the kitchen. I wonder what else he heard? The thought serves to fuel my anger and stave off the tears.

"John, the guy who owns the house, says you guys can come here at eight for a half hour," I tell Randy and then give him directions.

"We'll be there, bro. Here's Nick," he says as the phone once again moves into new hands.

"Adam? It's me," Nick's voice is soft and gentle, his southern accent like a balm for my frayed nerves.

"Hey, it's really good to hear your voice," I reply, now struggling to maintain my illusion of holding it all together again.

"You too," I hear a door closing and then he speaks again. " I saw you yesterday, when you were…leaving. I'm so sorry they did that, Adam."

"It…it's okay, there was nothing anyone could do. I was so pissed…they said it was for my protection."

"Would you be embarrassed if I…if I give you a hug when I see you?" he asks.

"I'd love it, Nick, I think I could really use that right about now," I whisper.

Scott and Joe are trying to nudge each other away from the foods they want. Matter of fact I don't think the food matters so much to them as annoying the other, but in this Joe is a clear winner as he stands at least two inches taller than Scott, and the differences don't stop there. Joe is solid, a football kinda guy, whereas Scott is maybe a hundred forty pounds sopping wet. They have different colored eyes, though the same brown hair. Joe's face dances with freckles, but the one thing they truly share is a mischievous grin that makes it plain they are partners in crime.

John clucks at them as he goes by and they settle for a few minutes, long enough to load their plates and return to the table. It starts again as soon as they sit down. Scott takes the end of his straw wrapper off and blows into the straw, firing the paper sleeve right onto the corner of Joe's mouth. Joe, meanwhile, has been chewing with his mouth open to try to gross Scott out.

I sit down next to Scott as John upbraids them and tells them sternly to behave or go sit in the truck, and I think they are just hungry enough to take the threat seriously. Either that or one of them has been sent to the truck before.

“Better yet,” Ken says as he sits, “I'll change the Wi-Fi password.”

“No!” they both whine.

The table is quiet except for the sounds of eating, but I know it can't last.

"You been friends with Randy a long time?" Joe asks and jumps when someone, Scott I think, kicks him under the table.

"Well…yeah, since we were little kids. Our parents used to drop us off at each other's house to get babysat and stuff," I reply wondering why Randy is so interesting to Joe. "Why? Do you know Randy? I don't remember you guys hanging out before."

"That's cause he doesn't hang out with Randy," Scott says with an evil grin before Joe returns the kick savagely.

"Ok, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, cut it out!" John growls and they lapse into silence, Joe glaring at Scott and Scott smirking at Joe. Something very odd is going on between these two. I wonder if they spend too much time together. My eyes go wide - do they fool around? I look from one to the other and Scott's smile falters a bit under my curious gaze.

"Adam, do you know your waist size?" Ken asks.

"Yeah, twenty nine. Um, well, it was twenty nine last spring anyhow," I mutter. I don't like Ken, but I don't know why.

"Okay, well that's a starting point anyway. I hope you're not as difficult as these two to shop for," John added.

"If you just let me get what I want it'd be so much easier on you," Joe replies with a grin.

"Oh yeah! A shirt that says, 'Lets' get one thing straight- I'm not', sure that'd go over great," Scott crows, then sobers quickly as Joe glares malevolently at him across the table. John has this throbbing vein on his forehead that looks like it is protruding, like, two feet off his head each time it pulses. Ken seems unruffled.

"Scott, we have rules of respect in our house..." Ken begins.

"I'm so sorry, I forgot! I mean, I'm used to it just being us!" Scott holds his face in his hands and John leans back in his chair, taking a few deep breaths. Joe has his gaze pinned on me, searching me. Strangely I didn't see any fear, really, more like curiosity.

To be honest I'm not really sure how I'm handling the news. On the one hand I am thrilled that I now know someone else who is gay, but on the other hand I am scared to come out to him and ask questions, too. My emotions roil inside me and I look around the table. Scott continues to hold his head in his hands, thoroughly ashamed. John is still pissed but looks as though he is calming down, and Joe continues to watch my reaction. Ken just eats, chewing his food like a cow. In the end, Joe breaks the silence.

"So, you gonna freak?" he asks. Again I get the feeling his voice holds no fear, just a calm evaluation of me, almost as if I were being weighed and measured.

"No. You want me to?" I reply meeting his gaze.

"People's sexuality in our house is a non-issue, I'm glad you don't feel threatened by that," John says, still eyeing Scott who looks miserable.

"Uh, yeah it's okay by me," I mumble, clearly wishing the moment would pass.

"I'm not ashamed of who I am, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to anyone, unlike my buddy here," Joe says with a sharp nod at Scott who continues to wilt, "but I have to admit, for a straight guy, he's pretty fucking cool."

Scott looks up sharply, sensing an end to his discomfort.

“Language,” Ken says before resuming with his cud.

"I won't say anything, it's not my business," I state flatly, and I admit I am hoping my attitude will forestall any questions about my own sexuality.

By the time we leave, Scott may as well have not slipped and said anything as he and Joe are right back to their old selves, and John is back to being driven to distraction by them. Ken seems to block it all out, and for that I envy him. We get back to the house by seven and John tells me I should shower so my clothes can get washed for tomorrow, so I'll have something clean at least, and he'd lay out some sweats. He shows me to my room, a medium-sized room that is fairly plain - off white paint and no real decorations to speak of. A large chest of drawers and a mirror hanging from a closet door along with a bed and small desk about sum it up. John rejoins me momentarily with a set of gray sweats in hand and then steers me to the bathroom, showing me the towel cupboard and such.

After showering I feel better and bring my clothes downstairs where Ken leads me to the basement where the washer and dryer are. I place Randy's clothes in the washer on cold and head upstairs, and out onto the porch to wait for Randy and Nick.

I shiver a bit, lost in my thoughts of the last 48, at heart unhappy at the way things are, uncomfortable in a new place, even though my friends are coming. It is just to visit and then we will be separated again. One friend and one boyfriend, I correct myself, allowing a small smile to reach my face. Thinking of Nick warms my heart, makes me think that there may someday be a way out of this mess. He cools the fire of my anger. Randy also warms me, but in a different way. Randy is my constant, the one never changing bulwark against all that goes wrong for me. While I teasingly think of him sometimes as Saint Randy, he is more like my white knight, always there to defend me.

Nick makes me feel joyful, like I could dance on the light of day if I wanted to. Is that ambiguous enough for you? I can't explain it any better, and that is the thought I have as the street is washed with light from the headlamps of a car. Nick's car pulls to the curb and Randy is out of it before the engine is dead. I step off the porch, barefoot, and go to meet him. Randy wraps me so tightly in his arms that I am surprised at the strength of it, but I recover fast and hold him. I can feel him shaking and that scares me because I am always the weak one of us.

"It's okay Rand, I'm okay, bro," I say softly. He starts to laugh, a small mirthless sound as he pulls away.

"Look at me, here to cheer you up and you're comforting me? How fucked up is that?" he asks with tears standing in his eyes and his hands unable to completely break contact with me.

"You being here is the best, man," I say, barely above a whisper.

"Excuse me, can I hug my boyfriend?" Nick asks, louder than he intends I think, and I'm not sure if he's reddening in the gloom. He called me his boyfriend, though, and that is the part that matters.

Nick steps up to me and his hug is worlds different from Randy's. It is gentle and full of softer emotions, a tenderness that is…loving. I relax into his grip and sigh deeply.

The porch door opens and I jump as John's voice invites us to come inside. I lead them into the house, Joe and Scott manning the living room again. Joe looks up and freezes at the sight of Randy, eyes flashing to see if I have told his secret.

“Um, Rand, Nick, this is Scott, Joe, Ken and John," I announce. Everyone murmurs a greeting and John clears his throat and indicates the stairs. Joe and Scott say their good-nights as they retreat up the stairs. John smiles and excuses himself and Ken to the kitchen, leaving us in the living room.

The next half hour is a mass of questions, handholding and more than one tearful hug. At eight forty-five John comes in and said we have to wrap it up, so I walk them out to the porch where Randy engulfs me again.

"I love you, Bro," he says into my ear. "Dad'll get you home where you belong," he promises. I nod dumbly, hoping he is right. Randy leaves for the car to give Nick and me some space. We walk out onto the asphalt, just past the glare of the porch light, and Nick takes my hand and brings the back of it to his lips and holds my hand there. I shiver a bit, partly from the emotion and partly from my bare feet on the cold blacktop. The most amazing thing happens then, and I'll never forget it.

He places his free arm behind my back and tugs me forward so that I am flat against him from chest to toe. He releases the hand he has been holding, which I place on his shoulder, and he runs his fingers down my cheek, moving his hand to the back of my neck and pulling me gently forward.

It is like nothing I have ever felt before, my heart racing and my mind alternately trying to go blank to concentrate on the act, and at the same time swirling with the excitement of that first kiss, and then the moment comes and seems to swallow me whole. I am on fire, yet cool as ice, panicky and jittery, yet still and calm. I am everything and nothing all in one, and then the moment passes. He looks deeply into my eyes, and I return his look unflinchingly. I know then - I am his.