The Old Sawmill - 1. Chapter 1

The dish that I was rinsing slipped from my hand and shattered on the kitchen linoleum floor. I expected what would come from the mouth of my drunken alcoholic father; still it sent chills through me.

 

“Joseph! What’d you break?” he yelled from his bedroom.

 

“A dish. Forget it dad!”

 

“Think we can afford it, do you?”

 

“You mean, do I think I can afford dishes or whatever, don’t you? Isn’t that the fucking truth of the matter?” I said, instantly regretting shooting off my mouth when he was in such a drunken stupor.

 

I picked up the pieces and tossed them in the waste basket at the end of the counter. Something made a clinking sound. I pulled back some trash and saw an empty whiskey bottle. I was so angry that I lost it. I walked quickly down the short hallway and turned and stood in the doorway of dad’s bedroom.

 

“Where in the hell did you get the money for that empty bottle of whiskey in the trash bucket, dad?”

 

“Non of you goddamn business!” he spat, making my blood run hot with anger.

 

“Yeah, it is! I work hard for my money while you drink it up. Look at you! Sloshed! Jeans that shine from not being washed. And that sleeveless T-shirt is stained on the front with traces of beer, coffee and tomato sauce from pizza’s. At least you could shave more often. This is hard on me, dad. My job at the hardware store doesn’t pay much money. Why can’t you pull yourself together and get a job? How long has it been since mom died? You can’t morn her death forever. Mom would hate what you’re doing to yourself, and to me too, for that matter. Now…where did you get the whiskey money?”

 

“A kid answers to his dad, not the other way around,” was his response.

 

I glared at him for a moment, then said…

 

“You disgust me!”

 

It was a gutsy remark, but I didn’t really care. Dad looked at me oddly as if he wasn’t sure of how much I would take off of him, and after all, I was supporting both of us. I don’t believe he had ever expected me to stand up to him like that. Hell, I too wondered where I got the guts. I felt weird, as if something in my psyche had been broken free; morphed into something unfamiliar. Anyway, I heaved a sigh of disgust and went back to the kitchen without further confrontation. There were still dishes to wash, but I dried my hands and stormed out of the kitchen door in a rage. At the front yard gate, I paused. I didn’t know what I wanted to do other than put distance between my dad and myself. As I had done countless times in the past, I turned toward the pine laden mountains that loomed over our tiny stop-in-the-road town like the rock of Gibraltar overlooks the sea. As a kid, I wondered if they were protecting us or keeping us hemmed in. You know how kids think. The narrow strip of flat sandy land upon which the tiny town‘s twelve houses were built was sandwiched between the towering mountains and the highway on one side, and a rushing stream on the other side that ran more or less parallel to the mountains. By August each year after the snow had melted on the mountains, the stream was no more that a tiny babbling ribbon of crystal clear water that I could easily leap across. The mountains were my sanctuary from my dad when he was drunk, and from human beings in general. Basically, I had no worthwhile life except for my old faithful German Shepherd, but he was getting too old to climb the steep deer trial up the side of the mountain. So I now had to do that alone too. Now the old fleabag was nearly gone from cancer in his testicles. Until he got it, I didn’t know dogs got human diseases. Behind me I heard the screen door creak open. My heart jumped and I turned around and saw dad’s eyes ablaze with hatred and he was coming after me. I instantly lurched down the street toward the mountains in a dead run. Dad yelled something, but I kept going. It was only two blocks to the highway and the foothills, and I was soon there and barely panting. In another hour it would be dark, after which there would be a full moon. Being in the forest at night didn’t bother me. I knew those steep hills as well as my face in the mirror and my cock in my hand, and I had traversed them many times in total darkness. I crossed the highway and began ascending the mountain face and soon found the deer path. As usual, when I climbed the mountain at night, I stayed strictly to the path. About one and a half thousand feet up, I stopped to catch my breath, smoke a cigarette and listen to the sounds of the night which I get a great deal of pleasure from. But I couldn’t quiet shake the odd felling of inner power I experienced when I stood up to dad. I wondered what he might be doing now. I had climbed the mountain many times to put distance between us, but this was the first time I’d done it when he was in a rage like I’d never before witnessed and chasing me with pure hatred glistening in his squinted eyes. I quaked at the thought of how much he must hate me for running away from him like that. I hoped the ditch between the highway and the steep base of the mountain and began ascending. A great Horned Owl hooted from above me and not very far away, and I listened to the moaning symphony of wind lacing though boughs of pines. The sounds of nature usually sooth me, but not this evening. Even the sounds of the breeze weaving through the boughs of pines seemed not quiet familiar. Something other than my fight with my dad seemed distorted and very strange. Never before had I gotten such a creepy feeling when I climbed the mountain. I paused to catch my breath. Although the last vestiges of pink sky were fading, the trees were too high and dense to see the actual sunset. In fifteen minutes the forest would be cloaked in total darkness. And later the three-quarter moon would sprinkle it’s beams through the boughs of pines. In my frustration, my anger and I suppose fear too, I wondered what I was living for: A father who never had been loving? And now, a few months after my mother’s untimely death, he had become an alcoholic and increasingly abusive. As for my social life, it didn’t exist. And how could it for a gay man in a tiny village like Donaldsonville? And there were probably four times as many elderly people as young ones because there was nothing in this town to keep them here since the Donaldson sawmill had gone out of business years ago and there was simply not much work to be had.

 

But there had been someone in my life for a brief time whom I dearly loved. His name was Nate Jackson. Actually, we were classmates through grade school and high school. But it wasn’t until our Senior year that we finally confessed our love for each other and expressed it physically. But looking back, I think we were in love spiritually for several years. But due to lack of work here, Nate joined the Army, and a bullet ended his life. When they handed his mother the folded flag, they told her that the Vietcong had ambushed his platoon and that he had been a brave soldier. The poor lady’s spirit was crushed. And I was beyond devastated although I had to not let that show. So at age twenty-three, I once again had no love or sex in my life. God, I was lonely!

 

Now rested enough to continue, I stood and carefully crushed the cigarette under the heel of my shoe. In doing so, a small rock under my other foot rolled, and I lost my balance and fell sideways. I protected my eyes as I rolled down a sharp decline and finally came to a stop against a tree, knocking the breath from me. And my vision was distorted from hitting my head on something. Fortunately, nothing was broken and my vision quickly began to recover. It would have been extremely difficult to climb back up to the deer path, so I decided to strike out in a different direction neither gaining elevation nor loosing it. I felt light headed and my vision was still not quiet right. There was a sudden and very strong gust of wind that blew large low branches in my path, making me change direction a bit. And then all was uncannily still. I stood motionless, listening to my own breathing. I’d never experienced anything like it in nature. And then the wind picked up again and the boughs of pine began to,,, well, to whisper. Yes, I said whisper, words! Ttthhiissssway. Ttthhiissssway. A chill shot through me creating goose bumps all over. The whispered words were coming from a very specific direction. The three-quarter moon was now shinning down on me through the tops of pines. As if I had no control of my decisions, I began slowly making my way toward the whispered words. I had gone about three hundred feet when something caught my eye. It was a human structure which I could not identify at that distance, and it was positioned where the whispering had come from. Partly out of curiosity, and partly because I seemed to be involuntarily pulled in that direction, I began hiking toward it without knowing why. The hike was easy, as it was slightly downhill. ten or fifteen minutes later, I was within three hundred or so yards of the huge corrugated tin building. Rust had colored it dark brown; almost black in the moonlight. It was the old, abandoned Donaldson sawmill for which the town was named. It looked very verboten. I was about to turn back and make my way home when again I heard the eerie whispering wind. Yyooouuu aaarre nneeeedded. Eennnntterrr. My blood ran cold. God knows I wanted to run, but couldn’t. To my great alarm, I had been stripped of control of my own movements. I tried to turn to the right, but lost my footing and fell on my left side. When I go to my feet, I was about two foot closer to the doorway. That really unnerved me. I tried to turn around and get away from there, but suddenly all of my strength had dissipated. It was as if I were caught in an invisible ratchet; I could move toward the big shed, but not move away from it. I wondered if hitting my head when I fell off of the trail had done something strange to me. I finally decided that I was a victim of my own fears, and decided to go ahead and enter the huge old sawmill shed.

 

The front business door lay on the ground, barely visible through the surrounding weeds, and apparently ripped off it’s hinges by vandals. There were two huge windows on each side of the doorway. The doorway looked like a gaping black mouth, threatening to swallow an intruder, and the windows looked like jet-black eyes. I must admit that it added to my creepy feeling. But heck, I didn’t believe in ghost and such nonsense, and going inside was something to do, and I certainly wasn’t ready to go home and face the wrath of my drunken father. I slowly went up the three large steps that lead to the front door and stopped. The ebony black interior looked ominous. The only light came from a very narrow shaft of moonlight that shone through a tiny hole in the corrugated tin roof. It spattered on the floor that was dull with years of dust, and provided a slight illumination for a couple of feet around it. Being a smoker, I carried a lighter. I lit it and held it high overhead. Big mistake. Either the light or the sound of the striker scarred a lot of bats that zipped right by my head and out the front door. My pulse went off the charts. I may have scarred them, but they sure as hell scarred me more and extinguished the lighter flame in the process and caused me to loose my grip, sending the lighter slamming against the wooden floor somewhere out of sight. I strained my eyes, but could not find it. Then I noticed a sudden deeper darkness and simultaneously heard a board creak. Terror struck me. At least I was able to determine the general direction of where the dim light had been. I wanted to yell, “Who’s there?” But I was too frightened to do that. If this was just a figment of my imagination or a room lit by the moonlight shining through a window, I would only hear my echo. But if there really was someone there, he or she might be dangerous. After all, what kind of person would be holed up in such a morbid place. A convict? A murderer? A thief? I even tried to breath more quietly so as not to be heard. I could easily see the outside doorway, and what prevented me from bolting and dashing though it and out into the night is something that will always remain a mystery. After what seemed about five minutes, but was probably more like one, I saw a dim light again. It softly illuminated a rectangle of lighted interior indicating a doorway in the blackness. I had to wonder if the person who lit the candle or whatever had been spooked when he, assuming that it was a male, had heard the frightened bats flapping their wings, and fearing that someone was in the building, turned out whatever the light source was, and then, satisfied that no one else was in here, he turned on the light again. I turned and looked at the building entrance again to determine how far I would have to run if being chased, when I heard sobbing. Sobbing? Was the person scarred when he thought that he heard something? Was he in some kind of pain? For a few moments I toyed with the thought that someone might be in need of help, and maybe I could be of help. I finally decided to tiptoe towards the room and hope not to step on something that would garner attention. As I neared the doorway, I could hear the sobbing better, and I saw a small votive light of transparent yellow glass, setting on the floor and flickering. I took hold of the door facing and leaned forward. At first I saw what I recognized as the foot of a sleeping bag. I leaned in a little farther and saw a young man about my age wearing only white jockey underwear with his feet tucked into the sleeping bag. He wiped tears away and continued to sob. He was facing the votive, so his front side was lit, but his backside was not. He was totally unaware of me peeking around the door facing. I had never in my life been so indecisive as to what to do. He looked like he could be no threat to me, and maybe I could in some way help. In retrospect, I think that I was so incredible lonely that I actually hoped he would turn out to be a Gay man, or at least a frequent companion. As I watched, he turned facing away and onto his belly, and what I saw made me gasp loudly. In an instant, he raised to a sitting position, and with unbelievable swiftness, his right hand reached under the sleeping bag and withdrew a long kitchen butcher knife. I shrunk back in horror and my pulse surged. I had no weapons and a phobia about all knives, but pocket knives. I started inching backward and stumbled on something and fell on my butt with a thud. I glanced at the front door, ready to make a dash for it when he yelled out,

 

“Get away from me! Haven’t you hurt me enough! How did you find me? I won’t hesitate to slit your fucking throat if you try anything. Please, please go away and leave me alone!”

 

I gathered some courage and spoke with a trembling voice.

 

“Whomever you think I am, I’m not. And I mean you no harm, friend. Can we…maybe talk?”

 

“You’re not one of them?” he asked, his voice quivering.

 

“No, I’m not one of whomever you mean. May I please get up?”

 

As if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, his rigid body began to relax and his shoulders slumped to a normal posture. His right arm slowly sagged downward until it hung by his side, and he dropped the knife. I got the courage to rise to my feet. Still wary, his eyes locked on mine as I very slowly walked toward him.

 

“Stop were you are!” he yelled. Who the fuck are you!”

 

“Uh, hi, I’m Joseph,” I said. “Just call me Joe.”

 

“That tells me a hell of a lot!”

 

“Why are you crying, and are you living here?”

 

He didn’t answer.

 

“Can I be of help? Let‘s just talk,” I pleaded.

 

“Who needs talk? I’m hungry. Food is what I need!”

 

I could tell that he occasionally glanced at the knife on the floor beside his foot. Nervous sweat was beading on my forehead and in my armpits. I finally became conscious of how beautiful he was. Thoughts of Nate came flooding back as I assessed his nearly naked body; at least the front side where there were no hideous scars. Simply put, he was beautiful. I finally decided that the overall situation was more than I could handle.

 

“I think it’s best if I just leave.” I said.

 

“Can’t you please just give me a ten? I am so starved!”

 

“Well…I’ll see what I have. But I’m poor too,” I said. “Uh, here’s…a ten. That’s all I can afford.”

 

“Oh thank you…thank you!” he said, and held out his hand.

 

But I withdrew the bill. He looked shocked and angry.

 

“Not until you tell me your name,” I said.

 

“What fucking difference does my name make?”

 

“None. I’m sorry,” I said. “Here.”

 

For a moment, he just stared back and forth between the money and my eyes. He obviously didn’t trust me. Then he snatched the money as if it were pure gold and spun around with his back to me. The sight of his back and the fear that was obvious ripped at my sole. I wondered who could have hated him so much as to do that to him. The many scars were hideous and made me quake to think of how much pain he had suffered and possibly still was.

 

Without turning back around, he muttered, “Larry…John! My name is John!”

The fear and urgency in his voice was getting to me.

 

“Okay, Larry…John…whoever you are. Like I said, I’m Joe.”

 

“Yeah, hi…Joe.”

 

“Ease up, man. I’m not going to harm you. You can at least tell me your real name. Is it Larry or John?”

 

“Larry. I’m sorry, Joe. It’s just that…” His vice broke and he began to sob again.

 

“Okay, Larry, that’s settled. You’re obviously running from someone. I won’t ask who from or why. We all have something to run from, and I should know that very well. As long as you didn’t kill someone, I don’t care. You didn’t did you?” I asked.

 

“Hell no, although I would have liked to. People can be so damn mean. Why are you being so kind, Joe?”

 

“You obviously need help,” I said, and reached out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

 

“Food is what I need,” he said as he turned to face me again.

 

“There’s and eatery by the filling station at the foot of the mountain,” I said. “It’s certainly not gourmet, but it’s not bad and it stays open late. Put your cloths on and we’ll go.”

 

“I can’t go in there.”

 

“Why not?” I asked.

 

“I haven’t had a bath in four fucking days. I’d be too embarrassed.”

 

“You needn’t have told me that, Larry. It’s obvious. So what good is the money I gave you if you won’t go into the store?”

 

“I…, I would have had no choice. But you could go in for me.“

 

“Tell you what. Forget the store, Larry. We’ll go to my house and raid the frig. Want too?”

 

“You won’t turn me in, will you?”

 

“I don’t even know what you did. No, Larry, I won’t turn you in.”

 

“Alright, I’ll go with you.”

 

Larry didn’t know that I was starring at his body as he put on his cloths. I wanted so much to hold him, to kiss him and to have sex with this beautiful man. The still inflamed scars on his back did not detract from my desires at all; such was the pain of my loneliness. But they did summon an intense hatred for whomever it was that put them there. After Larry had finished dressing, he blew out the votive candle and we were in eerie blackness. I could only guess if he intended to come back to the sawmill after getting some food in him. I could hear the soft sound of his hand brushing against the wall. Then, not able to see him, I flinched when he brushed into me.

 

“I know this place by now, so put a hand on my shoulder and I’ll lead you out of this room,” he said, “then you’ll be able to see the main door.”

 

I easily found his arm and then his shoulder. When I grasped it, feelings of longing rushed in. But I dared not act upon them in even the slightest way. Once we were outside, we made our way down what had once been a road from the sawmill to the highway. It was badly grown over with pine saplings, tall grass and weeds, but still well defined by tall mature trees on both sides. I wondered what Larry might be thinking, but neither of us spoke until we reached the highway. My tiny town of Donaldson, named by and for Mister Andrew Donaldson who founded the sawmill, was only a few hundred yards away.

 

“Is that where we’re going?” Larry asked.

 

“Yep. You’ve been here, of course.

 

“No. I’m a long way from my home.”

 

I was about to asked him where that was when I decided not to burden him with questions in his delicate state of mind. I thought it odd and telling when he fell in behind me while I lead the way. He was even more scared than I had thought. Once we were standing on the highway, I again asked if he wanted to go into the small convenience store and pick out something he wanted. But he refused.

 

“No one is going to hurt you, Larry,” I said.

 

“I’m not gong in!”

 

“Well…, I have an idea,” I said. “You stink like hell, if you don’t mind my saying so. And we have food in the frig at my house. You can eat first and then shower. But there is one big problem. We must not wake my dad if he’s asleep in his room. He drinks heavily and is probably passed out in bed. I’ll go in ahead. If he’s up and around, I’m not sure what will happen. But if he’s in bed, I’ll motion for you to come in. Okay?”

 

“I don’t like this, Joseph.”

 

“Well, you’re just going to have to get some guts and do it!” I said.

 

Larry said no more as we walked the short distance to my home. I didn’t dare tell him that I was more afraid to enter my own home than he was. And bringing a stranger in to eat our food? A defiant mood was developing as we approached the house. The yard sidewalk forked in opposite directions. One went to the front door which we never used, and the other went to the kitchen door. My dad’s bedroom was about midway between. The light there was out, but that didn’t mean much. He could be sleeping, or not in his bedroom.

 

“Larry, hide behind that bush while I sneak in and see where dad’s at.”

 

“I’m not going in there,” he said.

 

“Oh…yes…you will!” I said feigning anger. “No one likes a coward!”

 

“Easy for you to say. This whole idea was bad, Joe.”

 

“Just do as I said or you’re on your own!”

 

Larry reluctantly did, and I walked up to the kitchen door. I turned the knob and slowly opened it a few inches, and then listened. Chuck, my German Sheppard, was lying down. He was so ill that he merely wagged his tail a couple of times and thankfully didn’t bark. I heard no stirring in the house, so I turned around and motioned for Larry to come. He hesitated, so I motioned again more forcefully. Finally he came and stood behind me. We entered the kitchen as quietly as possible. I looked in the dinning room and saw that dad wasn’t there, so I motioned for Larry to be seated at the kitchen table. A half full pint of whiskey set on the kitchen cabinet, and I hoped dad was passed out in his bedroom. Then I tiptoed into the dining room toward dad’s room. But I only got half way when I heard him snoring. I turned around and quietly returned to the kitchen to fix us both sandwiches. But to my surprise, Larry was standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open and eating something. He was so intensely interested in food that he didn’t hear me enter the kitchen. He started grabbing anything that could be eaten quickly and stacking it on the kitchen table. I wilted with pangs of deep sympathy. He tilted a carton of orange juice and kept gulping until he had drunk all of it, except what had spilled out of the sides of his mouth.

 

“Easy, Larry. You’ll make yourself sick by eating too much too fast,” I whispered over his shoulder. He paid no attention and reached for an opened package of salami. I grabbed his arm. “You need to stop that and take a shower,” I said. “We can take food to the truck after you’ve showered.”

 

I closed the refrigerator door to force the point. The sight of the half filled pint of whiskey pissed me off, and I poured the contents down the sink. Then I grabbed his hand and pulled him gently behind me. The feel of his hand in mine felt so good, so right. The bathroom was located diagonally across dinning room from the kitchen entrance and on the back side of the house, so I felt that it was safe for him to shower without being heard from my father’s room far down the hall on the front side of the house. When inside the bathroom, I stayed and closed the door and locked it while Larry began to undress. Now, for the first time, I got to take in his beauty in a brightly lit room. He was careful to undress facing me so that I couldn’t see his scars. Of course this gave me a chance to see what I was keenly curious about and interested in. When I appraised what hung below his pubic hairs, I was impressed, and I wanted to step right up to him and fondle him while I kissed him. But Larry had enough troubles without being approached for sex even if he was Gay, and I had no reason to think that he was.

 

He pushed back the shower curtain and stepped in sideways, still being careful to not let me see his disfigured back. That gave me even more opportunity to look at his genitals. He was about to close the shower curtain when he looked at me and caught me gazing at his groin. He hesitated long enough for me to see a faint smile on his lips, and I made no attempt to hide my interest. I had not known intimacy for so long that I didn’t care if he knew. “I wondered about that,“ he said, and then pulled the curtain closed. As much as I wanted to take hope that the trace of a smile and the remark were favorable, it could well have meant that he was amused to think that I was a fagot and wanted to take advantage of him. Still, I held out hopes. The shower curtain was a see-through type, but hazy with soap scum. But I could make out the basics of what he was doing. When he turned his back to the showerhead, he winced and quickly jerked away from it. Then he adjusted the temperature and slowly backed into the spray. Furry surged in me when I again thought of someone doing that to him. After soaping and rinsing, he reached down and shut off the water, then he pulled back the curtain and stepped out facing me. I saw angst in his face, and I felt angst too about not knowing how to find out if he was Gay. I wondered if his angst was for the same reason. I handed him a clean towel.

 

“Thanks, Joe. Unfortunately, I’ll have to put the same cloths back on.”

 

“But I’m sure you must feel better,” I said, smiling.

 

“Yeah, a lot. Why would your dad be so mad if he found out I used the shower?”

 

“Please whisper, Larry. We can’t get caught. You don‘t know him like I do. I‘ll explain later if our plan doesn‘t fall through and all hell breaks loose.”

 

The answer to his question is one I had been avoiding talking about in detail. But now I had to tell him that it wasn’t just about eating our food. My dad always hated anyone I took up with and his attitude quickly drove them away. Living with him was like being a captive whose only purpose was to serve him. I was determined that this time I would make sure that Larry and I became good friends if he too wanted that, and to hell with what my dad wanted.

 

“Dress quickly, Larry. I want to get out of here before he wakes up and catches you in here. And please be quiet.”

 

When Larry was nearly finished dressing, I opened the door a crack and peeked out. Dad was no longer snoring, and neither was he to be seen. I assumed that he was still asleep. I opened the door wider, and that’s when I heard a noise coming from the kitchen and knew dad had gone in there. My heart went to my throat. I ducked back in and closed the door.

 

“You look pale,” Larry whispered. “What’s wrong, Joe?”

 

“He’s in the fucking kitchen. I have to think this out. Okay. I’ll go to the kitchen and keep his attention. You cross the dinning room and then turn left…quietly. You’ll see the front door near the end of the hall. That blue pickup is mine. Get in the passenger seat, lock your door and duck down out of sight and wait for me. Got that?”

 

“Sure, Joe. Go ahead. I’ll wait till I hear you talking to him, then go.”

 

Larry had no idea of the tight rope I had to walk with my dad. Nor did I, as I soon found out. Dad was sitting at the far end of the kitchen table in his usual place. Total hatred disfigured his face. I had never seen such contempt in his hideous stare. He looked positively explosive. I instantly knew that I had made a serious mistake by not sneaking out with Larry. Adrenaline shot through me as I watched him slowly rise from his chair in a movement that resembled a panther ready to spring upon it’s prey.

 

“You fucking ungrateful asshole! You drank the rest of my booze!”

 

I sure didn’t want to tell him that I poured it down the drain.

 

“You need to get contr…” He cut me off.

 

“Shut up! What’s all this food doing out of the frig? What’s been going on while I slept?”

 

“I… I was just… I took it out to clean the frig. I’ll put it all back in.”

 

“I can tell when you are lying,” he hissed like a viper, and started inching around the corner of the table.

 

I knew that he was preparing to grab me and give me a good thrashing, and I was fed up with taking it off of him. I inched back so I could get a clear sprint into the dinning room. He figured that out and lunged for me, grabbing my shirt with a fisted hand. What happened after that became a blur. I leaped sideways, tearing off the shoulder and left sleeve of my shirt. I lunged forward and circled the heavy oak dinning room table. Surprised at my speed and my defiance, he paused straight across the table, staring at me loathsomely. At that moment, I instinctively knew that if I could get away this time, I would never see him again. And what would happen to him, I didn’t care at all. I just wanted to get a life somewhere else. He took one fast step to his right, feigning a sprint around the table. My mind was working faster than I thought possible. I guessed that he was faking it, and I took one step to my right and stopped cold. In the middle of the table was a heavy, fancy antique glass centerpiece that mom loved. I saw him eyeing it. I knew that if he threw it at me and scored a hit, it might actually kill me. I guessed right. His hand lunged and grabbed the centerpiece. I instinctually reached under the edge of the table with both hands, and with all the strength I could muster, I heaved it up and over. It hit him squarely, knocking him to the floor. The heavy table fell on him, pinning him down, but not before he managed to throw the glass centerpiece. It hit the edge of the dinning table and shattered, sending glistening shards of glass zinging toward me. I felt sudden pains in an array of places. My left cheek; both sides of my chest and the front of my hairline. He was groaning loudly and trying to push the table off. So my own wounds had to be put on the back burner, as they say. Survival was the most important…for Larry as well as me. My dad is strong, and I knew he would get it off in a matter of seconds. No time to loose. I sprinted into the kitchen, lurched to the left and flung the screen door open. I ran with all the strength in me.

 

“Larry! You in there?”

 

He raised up enough that I could see his head.

 

“Seat belt! Lock your door and turn the ignition key…now!”

 

I ran around to the other side and got behind the wheel. Larry had locked his door but not started the engine. He was shaking, and I think he may have been scarred into immobilization.

 

“He’s coming, Joe!” Larry yelled, and scrunched down in the seat out of sight.

 

I turned the key. It cranked twice before dad tried to open Larry’s door.

“Start, you bastard!” I yelled at the steering wheel. .

 

“He’s coming to your side!” Larry yelled.

 

I pushed down the lock. Dad tried the door while I cranked the motor. The motor finally started. Dad raised back his fist to punch through my window. But before he could, I popped the clutch and the Ford jerked forward. I floor-boarded it till time to hit second gear and switched on the headlights. I looked in the side mirror and saw dad shaking his fist. At the corner I turned left, nearly on two wheels. Two blocks later I turned left again. It was only three blocks to the highway at the foot of my beloved mountains. I glanced at Larry. He looked straight ahead and petrified and was gripping the armrest hard. I turned left a third time, onto the highway. We were headed east. I got the truck to full speed as quickly as possible. We soon were driving one hundred and ten MPH. I knew I shouldn’t drive that fast too long for the truck’s sake, but dad had his own car, and I didn’t know if he would or wouldn’t follow us.

 

“Sit in the middle and look out the back window and watch for him,” I said to Larry.

 

There was nothing wrong with my windshield mirror, but I wanted to know Larry’s reaction if he scooted closer to me.

 

“No headlights, Joe”

 

“Good! Are you okay,” I asked.

 

“Yes, Joseph. It’s been another horrible day. I need to be close to someone. Would you mind if I moved close to you?”

 

“I would like that, Larry,” I said, smiling.

 

“You would like it? So would I, Joe. Can I put my hand on your thigh? You know, just to feel close.”

 

I felt that there was no better time than this to fess up and clear the air.

 

“You can rub my thigh if you want to, Larry. I would like that because I am a gay man. Are you?”

 

“Yes. That’s why I have the scars on my back.”

 

“Want to talk about it now?” I asked.

 

“Never! I don’t want to relive it in my mind. What is, is…, and cannot be undone. There are no limits to ignorance and hate.”

 

I felt amazingly better, knowing that the beautiful man beside me and feeling me up was certainly the act of a Gay man. And my young body was brimming with desire as evidenced by my arousal.

 

“Joe! Is that blood on your face…and your chest? Did he do that?”

 

 

“Yes. It’s just surface wounds. We need to get medication, band aids, and other stuff real soon. When we are far enough away, I think we both could use some rest, Larry. I’ve got plenty of money for a motel. How does that sound?”

 

“Wonderful, Joe! Then I can watch you take a shower. And I’ll be waiting on the bed while you dry off.”

 

“I can hardly wait. And I’ll be very careful not to hurt your back when we are making love. After sex, Larry, we’ll go to sleep. And tomorrow we’ll discuss what city we’ll head for.”

 

“I have almost no money, Joe.”

 

“I’ve save plenty hidden it in the truck so my dad wouldn’t know and steal it to buy booze. So don’t worry about money for a while. We can‘t get jobs anyway without establishing a place to live first.”

 

……………………………….................................

Several years later

 

“Honey…, have you read the paper?”

 

“Not yet, Joe. Anything interesting in it?”

 

“Interesting and sad.”

 

“Why so?”

 

“The sawmill where me met twenty-eight years ago has burned down, taking much of the forest around it too. I’ll bet Donaldson town is no longer there. What’s for dinner Larry?”

 

“Riesling wine and wild, feral sex, Babe. A pot roast later. I made a peach pie just for you. I know how much you like them.”