319 Winesap Lane - 3. Chapter 3 - The Foster Child

Erik's POV

I went into the restroom thinking I had to puke from the MacDonald’s burger and fries Mr. Arnold bought me, but when I came out about fifteen or so minutes later and saw that the van was gone, I didn’t know what to think. I walked over to the picnic table we had used in the little park beside the Erie Canal and saw my suitcase with an enveloped lying on top of it with the word “FAGGOT” scrawled across it with a pencil. I sat down on the bench and stared at the envelope.

I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there feeling sorry for myself when I finally noticed there was someone sitting next to me. I look over and saw that it was a policeman.

“Hi, I’m Officer Reynolds; running away from home?”

“No,” I whispered.

“What’s in the bag?”

“My clothes, I guess; it looks like my suitcase.”

“What’s in the envelope? Your suicide note?”

“I don’t know what’s inside; I haven’t looked. It’s not addressed to me.”

“Do you mind if I look?”

“Sure, go ahead, maybe you can make some sense of all of this,” I said. I handed him the envelope. He didn’t even flinch at seeing the word on it. “Where am I?”

“Lyons, New York; how’d you get here?”

“In the van Mr. Arnold was driving. He and his wife Phyllis, my deceased Uncle Jim’s wife, and their two kids are going to Illinois where Mr. Arnold has a job lined up with the Army at the Rock Island Arsenal. We stopped here for lunch and I think that the burger I ate had something wrong with it; and, well, I got sick to my stomach and went to the restroom to puke, but nothing came up except a big, sour burp and when I came out they were gone and my bag and that envelope was all that was left.”

“This is from Phyllis and she says that she’s sorry, but you’re not her responsibility anymore and are old enough to find your own way in life. That’s kind of cold if you ask me. Then she goes on to say she’s left you some money to hold you over until you can find someone who can take care of you. There’s also a birth certificate. Is your name Erik Benedict Robertson?”

“Yes.”

“There’s also some sort of legal document about a trust fund, a bank statement, and some money, which is let’s see, one, two, three, four, fifty, five, and three twenties makes five hundred sixty dollars. Wow, that’s pretty generous for someone who no longer feels responsible for you.”

“Yeah, usually she just uses that money to buy crack.”

“You think they might be carrying?”

“They always had that or heroin around the house. I know they don’t use needles so they must be doing something else with the heroin.”

“Probably smoking it; so, you’re pretty sure if the police somewhere between here and Illinois would happen to pull them over they’d find drugs?”

“Yeah, which is really sketchy because their two kids are only three and one.”

“Okay, what kind of van is it and do you know the license plate number?”

“It’s a dark blue Ford Aerostar, but I don’t know what year; it’s kind of dirty looking. It has Maine veteran plates on it. They’re white with red letters and numbers. There’s a big, red “V” next to the number. I don’t remember the number. There’s a big, blue tarped collection of boxes on top. Mr. Arnold is usually driving and he has a .45 pistol in the glove box. That’s where they keep their stash. Little Arnie and Molly are in the backseat. I was in the seat behind them. We were on the Thruway.”

He was talking on the radio all the time I was talking to him calling in the description of the van and the details about the gun and the drugs. After I stopped talking he continued on for a bit saying that he was taking in a kid to CPS. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.

He told me to pick up my suitcase, but I just pulled the handle and let the wheels do their thing. He kept the envelope. I put the bag into the trunk and he had me sit in the back seat. I thought about asking to ride up front with him, but saw there wouldn’t have been room, even for scrawny, little ol’ me. The drive was across the canal and down a side street where he parked across from a brick building. He got out, but since I didn’t have a door handle, I had to wait for him to open my door, which took a moment because he retrieved my bag from the trunk first. I followed him into the building and into an office. He told me to sit in a chair and wait.

I watched him go over and talk to a woman who looked old enough to be someone’s grandmother, not mine because they’re both older. There were some magazines on a table across from me and when I got up to go over to see if any of them might interest me, the woman noticed that I had gotten up and said something to the officer. He suddenly stood up and turned toward me; he looked like he was coming over to where I was. I picked up a magazine; I don’t know what it was and went back to the chair. I sat down, but he kept coming toward me.

“Erik, get your bag and come over here to talk to Ms. Smytheson,” he said.

I audibly exhaled and did as he said. I sat where he had been, he said goodbye, and left.

“Your name is Erik Benedict Robertson?” she asked. I saw that she had taken everything out of the envelope and it wasn’t on her desk. She must have thrown the envelope away.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Can you explain this trust fund?”

“When my parents died in the car accident on the interstate I was an only child so I was the sole heir to their estate. They’d drawn up a will giving everything to me and both of them had double indemnity accident insurance in case both died in the same accident so I ended up with a million dollars, plus what came from the sale of the house, boat, vacation cabin, and Daddy’s Ferrari. So, it ended up being nearly two and a half million dollars.

“It was put in a bank account with me and Uncle Jim on the account and then when Uncle Jim died of cancer his wife Phyllis took over as the other account holder, which meant when the quarterly disbursement came down from the trust, she took all of it and bought drugs. She even tried to get money directly out of the trust, but the way it’s structured only I can access it and then only after I’m twenty-five, have a college degree, and am gainfully employed.”

“Since you’re fourteen there are two ways we can go with this. Although you’re a little old to try for an adoption, there is that option. The other is life skills where you’ll live in the system and learn how to be an independent adult. What do you think, which one sounds good to you?”

“Well, you know I am kind of small so maybe trying for an adoption, if that would be possible, might be something I’d prefer doing. You know, I am gay. I just want to say that in case there is a problem down the road with a family that might be interested in adopting me. I wouldn’t be interested in living with some religious freaks. Mr. Arnold was freaky enough with all of his talk about Leviticus and Saint Paul.”

“Okay, I’m going to put the paperwork through to get you started, but first I’ll take you over to the local group home where you can stay until I find you a family. Okay?”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“Good.”

I sat there while she went over and made copies of my records. When she got back to her desk she put all of the originals and all the money in a new envelope on which she wrote: Property of Erik B. Robertson. She gave me the envelope and I slipped it in my suitcase. We got up and I followed her out to her car.

* * * *

At the group home they put me in a room they said a resident was usually placed in a room with two beds, but for some reason I was given a room with a single bed, a small chest of drawers, a small table I assumed was meant to be used as a desk because it had a chair beside it, a window with frilly, white curtains. I set my suitcase down beside the dresser and went over and sat down on the bed. Unexpectedly, my door opened and three boys walked into the room.

“Okay, what’s the deal?” one of the boys—who appeared a bit older than the other two—asked as he walked toward me. “What are you in for? If you’re gay we all want free fucks. Right guys?”

“Sure Mike whatever you say,” one of the boys said.

“What’s wrong Benny afraid someone might see your little dick?” Mike asked.

“No Mike I’ll fucked him if you say.”

“That’s my boy; well numb-nuts what’s your story?”

“None of your business,” I said.

“Yeah, well it is my business.” The fist came out fast, but nothing that I couldn’t handle. I deflected the strike with one hand and came up off the bed in one fluid motion. I assumed a relaxed pose, but was ready for the older boy’s next attack.

“What are you some kind of kung fu dude?” Mike asked.

“No, but I can protect myself.”

“Yeah, well there’s three of us.”

“I’ve handled more and bigger guys than you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I must inform you I know jujutsu and will use it if you try to attack me.”

“Hey guys, kung fu dude is threatening us. Come on let’s take him down; he’s just a little kid.”

Mike made his move, but the other two hung back unsure of what might happen. Mike fist came out and I rolled with the arm compounding the momentum and sending Mike sprawling onto the floor.

“Hey! What the fuck did you do?” Mike cried as he rolled over.

“I warned you.”

“Come on guys we can get kung fu dude another time when he isn’t looking,” Mike said as he got to his feet. The other two boys walked out the door followed by Mike.

I stood there not knowing quite what to do. Then decided to go down to the reception desk and report what happen just so I wouldn’t get in trouble for putting a jujutsu move on Mike. He hadn’t even known what hit him, but it was three against one and if they said something first, I could be in for it. I looked around the room, with my eyes pausing on the suitcase. All of my stuff was inside it, but I certainly couldn’t take it with me wherever I went. I walked out into the hall and bumped into a younger boy.

“Hey! Watch out,” the boy said. “You’re new.”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“Down to the front desk. Mike and two other boys came into my room and tried to start some shit with me.”

“Oh, shit, you’re in for it now. Just be careful of Mike, he’ll hit you for no reason at all. I’ll go with you in case you need backup. Oh, by the way, I’m Erick, with a ‘ck’.”

“Erik with just a ‘k’.”

“Cool; come on.”

I followed Erick downstairs to reception where I stood until the man who was supposed to man the desk turned around from talking to another worker. He came over and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I was threatened and someone tried to attack me,” I said. “I had to defend myself.”

“Uh, huh, look, you’re new, you have to expect current residents to figure out where you fit in the hierarchy. Did you hit him?”

“No, I know jujutsu so I just put a move on him and he defeated himself. He said his name is Mike.”

“Oh, Mike, yeah, well he has issues; you’ll just have to watch your back around him. Why don’t you go down to the dayroom and watch TV until dinner time.”

“Okay, where is it?”

“Down that hall behind you; there’ll be a door with a sign on it. And, watch out for Mike. Did you lock your door?”

“No; should I?”

“Always.”

I went back up to my room and found the door open. Scared that someone had come in and taken my stuff I hurried in and saw my open suitcase. Everything was strewn across the floor. I found my envelope and looked for my papers; they were all there, including my birth certificate. But, all of the money was gone. I rummaged through my clothes, but couldn’t find my iPod, cell, or tablet.

I ran out of the room and down the stairs. Another resident was standing at the window talking to the receptionist, but I waited impatiently.

“Are you alright?” the receptionist asked.

“No, I’ve been robbed.”

“See, I told you to lock your door. Now, what is missing?”

“Five hundred and sixty dollars, my iPod and buds, my cell, and tablet.”

“Oh, shit! I’ll put a call into the sheriff right now. Is your room locked?”

“Uh, no.”

“Go back and lock it and come back down here to wait for a deputy sheriff to get here.”

It took nearly an hour for the police to come the group home. An officer called in to have a forensics guy to come down to get prints off my suitcase and the envelope. Then she called in to give a description to the few patrol officers in Lyons to be on the lookout for the three boys. While she took my statement another officer came in to say that there were three teens walking toward the group home. They walked in the door and I saw Benny with my iPod and buds in his ears.

“He’s got my iPod,” I said.

“It’s mine, I bought it,” he said.

“I can prove it’s mine.”

“How?” an officer asked.

“On the back, my birthdate and initials are engraved on the back,” I said.

“Let’s see that,” the officer said to Benny.

“It’s mine, I bought it,” Benny said unconvincingly.

“One more chance to save yourself; give me the iPod,” the officer said.

Benny must have seen there was no way he was going to get out of this, so he pulled out the earbuds and handed over the iPod. The officer looked at it and asked, “Do you have ID?”

“Yes, here,” I said and I pulled out my wallet. I took out my ID card and gave it to him.

“I’d like to give this to you, but it’s evidence of a crime,” he said. He took out a baggy from a pocket on his belt and put the iPod in it. He told Benny to turn around and put the cuffs on him. He told him he was being arrested for possession of stolen property and read him his rights. Benny started whimpering like a little kid. Obviously, he’d listened to Mike too much and now realized he was definitely in for it. Another officer had come in and took Benny outside.

Mike and the other boy were standing there trying to look innocent, but it wasn’t working. The first officer had me sign my statement and the forensics guy came down and said he got some good prints. I suppose a few of them would be mine and some would be Ms. Smytheson’s, but there was, also, a good chance that at the very least Mike’s prints would be found. The other thing that turned up was my cell. When they patted down Mike they found it in the front pocket of his jeans. Of course, he claimed it was his and, yes, my birthdate and initials were engraved on it, so he was arrested, too. There was only three hundred dollars left, but it was all in Mike’s pockets. Even though the other boy didn’t have anything of mine, like the tablet, he did have some marijuana, which got him a set of cuffs, too. All three boys were hauled off to detention.

I had dinner with Erick and an older boy named Andy. Afterward, I went up to my room and repacked my suitcase. I was kind of sad, but I went down to the dayroom and watched TV until I got bored enough to go to bed. It had been a crappy start to being homeless, but at least I had a roof over my head.

* * * *

The next morning Ms. Smytheson showed up around ten and told me to pack up because she was taking me to a possible temporary placement. Since I had repacked by suitcase, there wasn’t anything to getting ready so I was soon down to the office and we left. I sat in my seat and didn’t talk. I was still pissed that I’d lost everything, including my money because some fool, so called social worker, fucked up when she checked me into the group home and failing to follow established procedures.

“The people I’m taking you to haven’t taken any children in quite a few years, but I hoping they will be willing to take you in for at least a week,” Ms. Smytheson said. “I’m sorry about what happened, but that’s one of the risks we have with putting children into group homes. I will admit children we see have been through a lot, but some are more affected than others.”

Well, at least she said she was sorry, but that doesn’t excuse her for not making certain my money wasn’t put in a secure place. She knew I had a lot of money and I knew that I probably should’ve put it in my wallet, I just wanted to be able to get on with my life and now I was going to have to be dependent on other people, maybe adults I wasn’t going to like.

I looked out the car window and noticed the number of trees alongside the highway. They all looked like some kind of fruit trees, so I asked, “What kind of trees are those?”

“Apples, a lot of apples are grown in this area,” Ms. Smytheson said. “The town where I’m taking you has a large packing shed and cold storage facility for the apple harvests of local orchardists. In the olden days, children were let out of school during apple harvest, but now all of that is handled by migrant labor from Mexico. A lot of Mex families have settled in this area and even though their children attend local schools, they’re different people and have no business being here taking work from able bodied Americans. Frankly, I can’t see why our government allows Mexicans into this country. There are blacks and Puerto Ricans down in New York City that are looking for work and there are a lot of opportunities up here, but they can’t get jobs here because all the farmers hire is Mexicans. Mark my words, one of these days our country is going to get a leader that’ll send all the immigrants back to their own countries. Do you know there are two mosques in Rochester? Two! What are those people doing here? They’re certainly not picking apples. And, gays! Don’t get me talking about what gays are doing to this country. Gay marriage, have you ever heard of such a thing? I want you to know right now that the couple I’m taking you to are very devout Christians and will help you see God’s plan for you and take you away from the gay agenda so you can see the light of Jesus and all that He can do to keep you from burning in hell forever.”

After that diatribe I didn’t have anything to offer. I’d heard it all before from Mr. Arnold and Phyllis and they didn’t even know that I really was gay. Now this so called social worker was taking me to a hellhole full of holier than thou Christians who will try their best to show me their version of belief. I already believed and didn’t need some wacko fundamentalist telling me that it was a sin to be gay.

We came to this small town and Ms. Smytheson turned left on a different highway and followed that road for a few blocks before turning right on a side street. I saw a church and then saw that it was the Warnton United Church of Christ. I sighed, but must have done it too loudly because Ms. Smytheson glared at me.

“Did your parents take you to that sin filled church? Do you know they do not believe correctly?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that. I’ve always found them to be welcoming, but Phyllis wouldn’t let me attend my church after Uncle Jim died. And, when Phyllis married Mr. Arnold we had to attend his church. I learned how to hate everybody who didn’t attend his church. The pastor even told the members of the congregation not to vote in elections because all politicians were godless heathens and would burn in the fires of hell for what they were doing to the populace. I mostly read my Bible when he preached. The sermons seemed to go on for hours.”

“Did your foster parents tell the pastor you were gay?”

“Of course they did and I hadn’t told them that, either. They just assumed I was gay because I’m small. Do you know what happened? They made me pull my slacks and underwear down and the pastor beat me with a belt until I began to bleed. He did it right there in front of the whole congregation so all of them could see that he was driving the demon of vile gay sexuality from my innocent body. After church Phyllis made Mr. Arnold take me to the emergency room and the police came and I told them what happened. The police arrested that pastor and that is one of the reasons Mr. Arnold got the new job in Illinois because the police were going to arrest him, too.”

“Oh, my dear god, tell me that isn’t true.”

“Do you want to see the scars on my butt and thighs. They’re there if you want to see them.”

“Maybe, this placement isn’t such a good idea, but I don’t know what else to do with you. I had to get you out of the group home because obviously you’re not safe there. So, let’s just hope this works and I’m able to find you a more suitable place in a week or two.”

I sat there not listening anymore. First, she was all in favor of me being shown the true light of her god and now she was all apologetic that I had been beaten in the name of her god. Sometimes Christians can be such hypocrites.

She stopped in front of a big house on a side street and I got out of the car. I went back to the trunk where she was already pulling my suitcase out. I took it from her and followed her up the front walk to the steps that led up to a big covered porch. We waited for someone to come to the door and when this man answered the door Ms. Smytheson just started talking to him as if he was the man she expected, but he told her he wasn’t who she wanted. She made to leave, but he invited us in and he talked to her while I sat on the sofa.

He was older than Ms. Smytheson, but when he said he was gay I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I couldn’t imagine finally living in a house where I could be accepted for who I am and not have to worry about what I was. I certainly hoped this was going to work out because after what Ms. Smytheson said earlier, I didn’t trust her in putting me in any home where I would be comfortable.

After a while an older boy came in and the man told me to go with this boy and pick out a room I would be comfortable in. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but I went with him. There was another boy out in the hall and all of us went upstairs.

* * * *

There were six bedrooms, three bathrooms, a linen closet, and a small room that had a toilet and a sink in it. One of the bedrooms was next to the bedroom where that older boy slept and he suggested I move in there because that would mean there would only be one bathroom to clean and we could share the job. I thought that sounded okay so I agreed. It was kind of musty in there so he opened the two windows to air it out. He went downstairs to get a vacuum, broom, and a cleaning kit to put the room in order and I expected that other boy to stay with me, but he left with the first boy. I was at a loss as to what was going on, but I just started looking around the room to see what I was getting into.

The bed had to have been at least a queen size because it was a lot larger than the one I had back in Maine. I sat on the mattress and discovered it wasn’t cheap. It was downright firm, almost hard. I went out in the hall to see if there were some sheets and blankets I could use to make up the bed. As I was doing that the first boy came back up the stairs and asked what I was doing. I told him and he said for me to wait until he finished cleaning. I asked if he wanted me to help, but he said it was his job to do the cleaning in the house.

“Do you have a name?” I asked. “Mine’s Erik.”

“Jerry,” he said. “Well, it’s Jerrold and I usually shorten it to Jerry. Where you from?”

“Maine, we lived near Portland. My parents had a house with a view of the ocean, but when they died I had to move in with my Uncle Jim and his wife Phyllis; they lived nearer to the city. Are you from around here?”

“No, I’m from Michigan. I’m here going to school at Warnton College.”

“Why did you say it was your job to clean my room?”

“Because I’m Geoff’s houseboy. He hired me to work around here. Are you going to be living with us?”

“I guess that is the plan. I was in a group home last night, but some boys stole all my money, iPod, cell, and tablet. My computer is in the van and doubt if I will ever get that back. Well, the police said they were going to pull them over because I told them they probably had drugs in the van and Mr. Arnold had a pistol, but on the whole my life is crap right now. What happened to that other boy?”

“Oh, Dave, he felt he was imposing because you’re new and have to get settled.”

“Is he your friend?”

“He might be my boyfriend if he has his gay way with me.”

“Your boyfriend? Are you gay?”

“I guess so. Geoff’s been talking to me about things. We almost had sex when I first got here, but he wouldn’t do anything because he’s on probation from doing something with a student last spring. He and I sleep together, but we don’t do anything.”

“But, he’s old!”

“Yeah, but he’s a lot of fun. You’ll like living here. With you not being a student at the college they shouldn’t have any problem with him doing cool things with you.”

“But, he’s old! I don’t want to do any sex things with someone who’s old as him. Maybe I should go back to the group home.”

“Oh, come on, Erik, I was just funnin’ you. Geoff isn’t going to do anything to you. You’re too young. No, he likes young men, not little boys.”

“I’m not little, I’m fourteen.”

“You look like a twelve-year-old. Now, that would be kinky. Come on, let’s get this room cleaned up. Then we can make your bed.”

After that we cleaned up the room; and, yes, I helped. I think Jerry appreciated that we talked about things. I didn’t say I was gay, but I think he was thinking that because of what I had said about the man who might be fostering me. I wondered what I was going to call him and I asked Jerry, but he said just to call him sir until he told me to say something else. I wondered if it worked out that that this would happen to turn into a permanent placement and he adopted me if I would call him Dad or Daddy. Maybe it was time for me to grow up a little. I already had a Daddy and he died. Uncle Jim was always just Uncle Jim and his wife I always called Phyllis instead of Aunt Phyllis. Maybe we’d have to talk about that. There was something going on inside my mind, though, something I couldn’t put my finger on.

When we finished we went downstairs and into a room Jerry called Geoff’s study. It was kind of like a big office with a desk and chair, but it also had a fireplace and two old overstuffed easy chairs. I sat in one and Jerry sat in the other. Geoff asked if I had got all moved in, but I said no and he told me to take my suitcase up to my room and unpack. He said he was going to talk to Jerry for a little bit. I had that feeling again, but I got up and left.

* * * *

I unpacked my bag and sorted out my clothes between shelves and hangers in the closet and drawers in the chest and dresser; and, then there wasn’t anything for me to do. I didn’t want to snoop so I got up on my bed and lay down. For all the freedom I had from not having to live in the group home with all of its rules, I couldn’t figure how things had improved. The door opened, Jerry walked in, and hopped up on the bed jostling me in the process. I looked at him and then turned on my side. He lay down facing me.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I’m bored.”

“New home, new town, no friends, that’s not surprising. It’ll get better once you go to school. When did you figure out you’re gay?”

“A number of years ago, maybe when I was eleven or twelve, I don’t know. Maybe I’ve always been attracted to guys. Do you think I’ll find a boy to be close to here in this town?”

“You might, Warnton seems to be a very tolerant place. Maybe there’s a LGBTQ group at the high school.”

“A what?”

“LGBTQ, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer or questioning.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess. What’s questioning?”

“Don’t actually know for certain, but it might be for teens who aren’t certain. You know, those who haven’t come to the realization that they’re LGB or T.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. I was getting a funny feeling from what was or wasn’t happening between us and that suddenly materialized into a realization I wasn’t ready for when Jerry put his hand on my cheek. I blinked and immediately wondered what he was going to do.

“You are an incredibly cute boy,” he said.

“Don’t, you’re too old for me,” I whispered, but wasn’t certain I meant it. I’d never even kissed another boy or so much as touched a boy in any way that could be interpreted as affection and, now, Jerry was touching me and it felt so good to have his hand on me.

“Hush, I’m only four years older.”

“No, Jerry, don’t, I don’t want this.”

“Okay, maybe later after you’ve been here for a few days or maybe a week,” he said, but didn’t take his hand away from my face.

I felt myself getting hard and then Geoff knocked on the door and walked in. I jumped off the bed and tried to force myself into the wall. Geoff sat down on the bed and I started crying. He asked me to come back to the bed and I told him I didn’t want to. Jerry asked me, but I still refused and I couldn’t stop crying. Jerry got off the bed and pulled me into a hug. He was so big or was I just so small, maybe it was a combination of both, but it felt good and I didn’t want him to let go. I didn’t notice Geoff leave.

After a while, I stopped crying, but Jerry continued to hold me, which was good because I didn’t want to let go. Eventually, though, he released his grip and I stepped back from him. I went around him and into the bathroom where I rinsed my face. When I returned to the bedroom Jerry was lying on the bed as before, so I climbed up and crawled up to where I could lay down beside him.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“I don’t know; I was suddenly very scared of him. I was beaten by Mr. Arnold and at church because they thought I was gay, so maybe I had some sort of reaction because he’s an old man. Do you think that could be it?”

“Possibly; why do you call him Mr. Arnold? What was his last name?”

“Oh, his last name is Snyder, but he told me to call him Mr. Arnold right off when he moved in after marrying Phyllis. I thought that was kind of strange and asked him why I shouldn’t call him Mr. Snyder. He slapped my face and told me to call him Mr. Arnold and not to sass him anymore. The way it looks I won’t have to call him Mr. Arnold anymore if the police arrest him for transporting drugs across state lines, plus having an unregistered firearm in his possession, especially considering he’s an ex-felon.”

Geoff was at the door and asked if it was okay to come in. I made to get off the bed, again, but Jerry held my arm and wouldn’t let me. Geoff came in and sat at the desk and said that he had made an appointment for me to see a psychologist because of the fear I was showing toward him and we talked about that for a while. Then he told me we had to go get me a clarinet and we just talked about music for the longest time. He seemed honestly interested in me and not in a sexual manner, either.

Then we went for a walk down to the high school where we were able to look around for a little bit and ended up out back where the football team and band were getting on buses to go to an away game. There was this large man there who asked us who we were and what we were doing at the high school. Geoff told him who all of us were and I asked him if they had an orchestra, but he said they only had band. He seemed interested that I played clarinet, but it was like he kept staring at my zipper as if he was trying to figure out what I had under it. That really creeped me out.

As we were leaving a boy who had been playing basketball in one of the outdoor courts talked to us, but he generally ignored me, I guess because I was going to be a freshman and he was a senior. He said he remembered Geoff from the candy bars Geoff handed out at Halloween. Then he started talking to Jerry so Geoff and I left.

The rest of the day nothing much happened other than Geoff taught me how to make potato salad the way he liked, green beans with pieces of bacon, and how to mix him his martinis. We went out to the screened porch in the back of the house. I asked what I could drink and he said I could check in the refrigerator and then he said I could have a glass of wine with dinner. I thanked him and asked if there was a catch to his generosity. He said he would dilute the wine so that there wasn’t too much alcohol. I said that was okay.

Before going to bed Geoff, Jerry, and I gathered in Geoff’s study. Geoff had Jerry bring a wingchair in from the living room and set it so the chairs made sort of a triangle in the corner of the room. Geoff was in pajamas, Jerry was only wearing some boxers, and I was fully dressed. Geoff said I could get comfortable if I wanted, but I was too embarrassed to take off my pants because I had tighty whities on and felt that my cock might show. Geoff and Jerry were drinking single malt scotch in small snifters. As happened before, I asked what I could drink foolishly thinking he was going to give me some of that scotch.

“You’re too young for scotch and you’ve had your quota of alcohol for the day; how about a cup of tea?” Geoff asked.

“Okay.”

“Come on, I’ll show you how to make it.”

And, he did. It was an herbal tea that he said might help me relax for the night. I put it in a mug that he suggested I run under hot water so that it wouldn’t cool the tea. When we got back to the study Jerry was giving himself another partial glass of scotch.

“Do you have any books I can read?” I asked.

“Sure, come on,” Geoff said. He took me across the room and showed me the shelves where he kept his fictional works. He didn’t have any non-fiction that interested me and all the other books were those that he used for his field of study. I asked if I could read any of them and he said they were all okay because he kept the pornographic novels up in his bedroom.

I looked through the shelves and found one called A Boy’s Own Story by Edmund White. I asked, “Geoff, what’s this one about?”

“Let me see.”

I took it over to him. He looked at the book, smiled, and said, “You might find this interesting. It’s about a fifteen-year-old boy coming to terms with his homosexuality. After reading that I want you to read To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what you should read. As long as you’re living here with me I’ll decide what you need to read unless it conflicts with what you are assigned by your teachers. Okay?”

“Sure, okay.”

“And, now is the reading hour. It’s a time I have established in my life and my home when the residents gather and enjoy the end of the day reading either school work, as Jerry is doing now, or pleasure reading, which you and I are going to be doing. You will do your homework reading when you get home from school and, if necessary, after dinner. Also, you need to be comfortable, so when we’re in Rochester tomorrow we will stop at a mall and get you some sleepwear or loungewear, such as a robe. Finally, there’s a bookmark in every one of those books; I expect you to use them because I do not like reading a book that has the corners of pages turned down.”

“Jeez, Geoff, don’t be so rough on Erik, it’s his first night,” Jerry said. “You know Geoff, I was wondering how is it that CPS lady allowed Erik to stay here. Doesn’t she have to do a background investigation on you?”

“Yes, but she checked on my local references before she left and found out I was an upstanding member of the community,” Geoff said. “Plus, I guess she didn’t want to take Erik back to the group home and was willing to bend a few rules and left him in my care. It sounds fishy to me, but maybe she’s in trouble for what happened to Erik at the group home.”

“What are we going to do about the sleeping arrangement now that Erik is here?” Jerry asked. “Do you mind if I continue sleeping with you?”

“What about Erik?”

“Yeah, Erik, where are you going to sleep?” Jerry asked. “Are you going to sleep in your own bed, with me in mine, or do you want to sleep with me and Geoff up in his room. He has a huge king size and you’re so scrawny we won’t even know you’re there.”

“I’ll know I’m there,” I said. I couldn’t figure Jerry out. He seemed nice, but he seemed to want to get in my pants. I didn’t know what to do. “I’ll sleep in my own bed. I don’t care where you two sleep, just stay out of my room when the door is closed and knock on the door before you come in. I haven’t had any privacy for the past four years and I look forward to having it now. Okay?”

“Sure, that sounds reasonable to me,” Geoff said. “And, Jerry, I think you should probably sleep in your room, too.”

“No way, Erik will probably jump down my throat if I walk in on him when he’s taking a shower or having a piss.”

“Maybe we should install locks on the bathroom doors,” Geoff said. “What do you think about that, Erik?”

“I don’t care if Jerry walks in on me. You know that tea was pretty good and I think I’m going to go to bed now. Goodnight Geoff, Jerry.”

“Goodnight, Erik,” they said almost at the same time.

I picked up my tea mug and took into the kitchen. Then I went upstairs took off my shoes, socks, jeans, and went into the bathroom to floss and brush my teeth. Back in the bedroom, I pulled back the covers, turned on the lamp on the nightstand, and turned out the overhead light. It had been a long day and my life had certainly been through a lot of things over the past two days, but I think I was going to like living with Geoff and Jerry, if only for the stability they offered. Now all I had to do is find a boyfriend. I picked up the book, opened to chapter one, and began reading: We’re going for a midnight ride.… (© 1982 by Edmund White)