Remembering Tim - 10. Chapter 10 - Sam and Tim

Mother is not happy.

When Dad died a few months ago, she suddenly became the boss around here. Well, actually, she’d been boss for a long time, what with Dad out on the road all the time selling pipe, but now she was really the boss. I’m a problem. She loves me. She has to, comes with the mother job, but she’s disappointed. I can tell by the look in her eyes.

I’m home. I get beat up at school and I get sent home. Somehow she doesn’t think that’s right. Of course, the bad guy went out with the police. He won’t be back. I have to go back. I’m not bad, just pathetic. She puts up a good front, but a kid can tell when a bit of love has been subtracted out of the equation. I wanted to cry. She left my room. I was alone.

The plate of food she brought up because I didn’t come down for dinner was on my desk next to an old volume of the Iliad. I’d been reading Virgil, again. I get sad and I read Latin or Greek. If I’m really sad, I read Russian. I’m teaching myself to read Sanskrit, too, but I’m not that sad, haven’t been in months.

I opened my closet door, squatted down to the footlocker, unlocked the latch, and opened it. Mr. Crowley was on top tucked under a little baby blue cotton blanket. Mr. Crowley was my teddy bear. I carefully picked him up and took him back to my bed. Sitting down, I held him close and started to weep. I wasn’t sad enough to blubber like a baby. I was only a little sad.

There was a knock at my door. Mother opened it and looked at me. She smiled and stood out of the way. Sam came in. Mother closed the door.

"Hi," Sam said. He walked over and sat beside me. He was wearing blue jeans and a brown, short-sleeved sweatshirt. He still had the penny loafers on. He’d shaved. There was a wad of shaving cream behind his ear. "Nice teddy bear. Does he have a name?"

"Mr. Crowley, meet Sam, uh, I don’t know your last name," I said holding Mr. Crowley out so Sam could hold him.

"She’s going to call the hospital, isn’t she?" Sam asked, taking Mr. Crowley away from me. I was too sad to smile.

"Yeah, she’s a mother. They have to do that. It comes with the job."

I felt his hand take mine and softly hold it. He leaned his head against my shoulder. I heard him sigh.

"I liked sleeping with you in the hospital," Sam said.

"I only remember you doing it once."

"I did it almost every night. It made me feel good having your warm body against mine."

"Did you, you know?" I asked. I liked that memory of him behind me with his arm over me, holding me.

"No, what?"

"I must have been dreaming, then," I said. I thought back to that night and was certain we were naked and he was trying to fuck me. Or, was he? Was it only a dream? "I liked you holding me."

"You went to sleep."

"I felt good, for once," I said. Nearly killing yourself went a long way toward messing up your confidence in yourself and other people. Sam held me like he loved me and we didn’t even know each other. A guy who is willing to love you like that couldn’t be bad.

"Can we be friends?" Sam asked.

"Will you go back?" I asked.

"If you want," Sam whispered.

"I don’t want you to," I said. I wanted him to stay with me. I was very sad, almost too sad, but Sam was making me feel good. "I think you should if you have to."

"Will you hold me?" Sam asked.

"If you will hold me," I said.

We lay down facing each other. Our arms threaded themselves between our bodies drawing us closer. He was weeping. I was crying. I fell asleep.

**********

When I awoke the next morning, Sam was gone. It was early, an hour before the alarm was to go off. I heard a car in our driveway. From the streetlight, I could see Doctor Randall talking to Mother. Sam was sitting in the front seat. He looked sad. He was holding Mr. Crowley. I went to take a shower.

Later, sitting at breakfast—a bowl of puffed wheat with a sliced banana mixed in, a glass of orange juice, two slices of buttered cinnamon toast—I worked through my math problems from yesterday. It took about three mouthfuls of cereal to finish. It was too easy. I did the pre-test for the next chapter while working on one piece of toast. I looked ahead in the book, trying to find something difficult, something I hadn’t done on my own in the months, weeks, days, years ago when I was bored with learning languages. There wasn’t anything new. I could probably do all the chapter tests on one rainy weekend if my hand didn’t get tired from writing.

"Good morning, honey," Mother said walking into the kitchen. She was wearing a blue gingham dress with a white blouse. She was wearing her pearl necklace. I noticed the wedding ring was gone. I hadn’t noticed it before. I wondered if she’d taken it off today or last week when I was in the hospital. I hated it when things happened and I didn’t notice them.

"Are you going to have a good day, today?" Mother asked. She sat down across the table from me. She was wearing a different perfume; it was lighter than the cheap shit she usually put on.

"If someone doesn’t hit me, I will."

"Geoff, I want you to know we all want to help you," she said. She sounded sincere, but I was never certain if she really meant what she said.

"I know," I lied. Why start an argument so early in the morning? "It’s just hard being sixteen. I didn’t think it’d be this hard being a teenager."

"It doesn’t get any easier."

"Did you call Doctor Randall?" I asked. I knew the answer, but wanted her to admit it.

"You know I had to."

"Yes, but Sam is nice," I said. Sam was nice. He slept with me and, still, we didn’t have sex. Maybe he was just a boy who needed a friend.

"We talked a little this morning before Doctor Randall came," she said. She was looking at me like a mother looks when she’s trying to be friendly, like she was trying to be neighborly. "He’s a nice boy."

"Yes."

"Timothy, uh, Doctor Randall said he might authorize Sam to visit you now and then," she said. I looked at her, but her expression didn’t change. "You’re certainly welcome to go out there. I can take you anytime you want."

"Timothy?" I asked. I didn’t want to talk about Sam anymore.

"We’re dating."

"Oh," I mumbled. I looked at the cereal diminishing in my bowl. All the pieces of banana were gone.

"Is that okay?" Mother asked. Why should I care? Did it even matter?

"He doesn’t seem, uh, well, he seems younger than you, not that I’m saying you’re old."

"He’s only two years younger than me."

"But, that means he’s …," I started to say I thought he made a pass at me. I thought he was in his twenties. That isn’t too old, is it?

"A lot older than you thought?"

"Yeah, but it’s okay with me," I said. I was lying to my mother. I had imagined doing wonderful things with his dick. Sure, it was okay with me. I’m a pathetic loser. Why shouldn’t it be okay with me? "Are you happy?"

"He makes me laugh."

"You said that about Dad, once," I said. I thought she said that. She must have said it at one time or another. Isn’t that what people in love say to each other?

"Yes, but Timothy isn’t working and drinking himself to death."

"Do you guys, I mean, oh forget it," I said trying to get my mind around an image of Doctor Randall fucking my mother. I’d seen her naked during family swim outings organized by my father so that all of his children would have a healthy sex life not burdened by archaic ideas that the human body was sinful. It wasn’t hard for me to imagine her under him, but I couldn’t quite get him into the picture. I wanted him much more than I thought my mother needed him. "It’s none of my business."

"No, we don’t," she said. She looked at me, and I knew the truth. "And, no it is none of your business what we do. I don’t need your permission."

"Can I get a lock for my door?" I asked, changing the subject to something I wanted to talk about. I thought about Tim coming over or maybe Sam coming to spend the night. Both of them were likely prospects for needing a lock on my door. "I was thinking that something might happen in my bedroom you wouldn’t want Sally seeing, not that anything is going to happen."

"I think that is a great idea, Geoff. I’ll get one and you can put it in. It’s time you start learning some household repair skills. You’re going to be on your own, soon enough."

"I’ll have to get Tim to help, he’s more mechanically inclined."

"Does Tim know about Sam?"

"No."

"Don’t hurt him, he’ll never forgive you."

"I know," I said. Boyfriends are very delicate beings; probably a lot more delicate than girlfriends. Girlfriends know how to forgive. Boyfriends just go find another dick looking for a friend.

**********

Tim was late getting to our house. He usually came for breakfast, but he hardly had time for a glass of orange juice. He was too chipper for me, too bubbly. Our kiss was long, mellow. Our embrace lingered.

"You boys better get to school," Mother said. It was nice having a mother who doesn’t care her youngest son is a homo. I had enough problems without having that one. I was queer and my mother didn’t care. I was suicidal and my mother cared. I guess some things were worse than being queer.

"You didn’t call last night," Tim said sitting down with his orange juice.

"I had a friend over," I said. Why complicate things by saying who it was. "Someone I met at the hospital."

"Sam Black? About your height, maybe a little skinnier than you, not to say you’re skinny, but you should think about working out a little. He seems uninterested in everything."

"How do you know him?" I asked. Why would I want to work out? That would require getting physical. If I was going to kill myself, why have abs?

"He lives a couple houses down from us on the lake," Tim said. He looked at me with that knowing look that lovers give when they think you’ve been straying. "I knew he was at the same hospital as you. I figured you’d met."

"But, he doesn’t go to North Park."

"St. Xaviers."

"Oh. Catholic, huh?"

"Smart, too, like you. You have to be smart to get in there."

"Yeah, I know," I said. Sam smart like me, which was a revelation. I wondered what his expertise was. He certainly did a good hand-job even though it probably was only a hallucination. If I could hallucinate Kiel fucking me, why couldn’t I hallucinate Sam jerking me off?

"Did he spend the night?"

I looked at him. He was getting to know me enough to ask the right questions. I wanted to get to know him just as well, but I was having too much trouble figuring myself out to concentrate on someone else.

"You didn’t tell me about sitting at the Fairy Table," I said touching the bruise on my face. I iced it when I got home, but it was still blatantly noticeable from the broken capillaries.

"Sorry, I didn’t think. When Monica asked if you’d be there, I just assumed you’d wait for us. Dick Connor’s an SOB, but my dad knows his, so he’s never hassled me. Are you okay?"

"If I wasn’t so doped up on this drug, I’d be embarrassed, but Billy wants to get me into some sort of fighting school."

"Billy?" Tim asked. He looked at me with those eyes, again.

"Yeah, it’s on the nameplate on his desk: William A. "Billy" Washington, Boy’s Vice Principal."

"Billy? That’s funny."

"I wouldn’t make too much of it," I said. I smiled and winked. "I saw the paddle, too."

"Is it as big as they say?"

"Bigger. Like an oar. It’d knock your tiny ass to the floor."

"Geoffrey!" Mother exclaimed. She’s a stickler for bad words, swearing, and dirty thoughts.

"Sorry. Butt. Is that okay?"

"But, you’re not a fighter," Tim said. He knew me, too well.

"I told him that, but he said he’s going to call Doctor Randall. He knows about Doctor Randall."

"Tim, would you like some cinnamon toast to take with you?" Mother asked.

"No thank you, Mrs. Johnson. I’m okay. Come on Geoff, we’ll be late, again."

I got up, put my bowl in the dishwasher, took my pill, picked up my school books, and walked out the door. I stood on the back porch for a moment, and then walked back into the kitchen. Mother was waiting. I kissed her on the cheek.

"I’ll try to have a good day," I said. "I hope you have one, too."

"Thank you, honey," Mother said. "Tim, you have a good day, too."

"Thanks Mrs. Johnson. Come on Geoff let’s go find out if they missed you yesterday afternoon."

"Yeah, right."

**********

Tim pulled out of our driveway and headed straight down to Oak Park Boulevard. Traffic was still light enough for him to turn left at One Hundred Thirteenth. When he passed our turn off at One Hundred Thirtieth, I knew something was up. When he turned into War Memorial Park, I knew something was definitely up. I looked at his brown jeans. Brown jeans, that was it! And, something was definitely up and it was practically poking a hole in those jeans.

We circled around the Doughboy—the sculptor who did the statue of the WWI soldier added a personal touch to the Doughboy’s pants; anyone who noticed things like that knew that soldier was hung and probably wasn’t wearing any underwear—and turned into the Arboretum. Tim turned onto Grand Fir Lane and after a few seconds we came to the first parking area, it was full of cars. Well, only three, but there were only five parking spaces. The next one was full, too. At the next one, there was a man in a suit standing outside his car. He was short with a big middle-aged gut hanging over his belt. At the next one, there was only one other car. Tim pulled into the end space and turned off the Coupe. He turned to me and smiled.

"Your choice, in here, or in the redwood grove," Tim said. He slid across the seat and his hand was on my zipper. He had me out and in his mouth before I could answer.

"Backseat," I whispered. I opened my door and Tim followed me, closing the door behind him.

As soon as I lay down, he was on top of me, his mouth and hands working their magic. I reached up above me and unbuckled his belt. I had to hurry. Not only was I already on the edge from having Sam sleep with me last night, I knew Tim was probably fighting to keep himself in check. I pulled his jeans and briefs down all at once and put my lips over his erection. He let go in a sudden, shuddering orgasm filling my mouth with his warm cum. I shut my eyes and felt my spine tingling. My cock burned with excitement and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I gave in and released myself into Tim’s mouth. He was ravenous, taking me deep into his throat, kneading the juice from my balls with his fingers.

I heard a car door slam and I froze. Tim wasn’t moving, either. I looked up as Tim raised himself toward the rear window to look out. Then I saw the dribbles of cum on the side window. I nudged Tim. He looked over toward the other car. I heard it start up.

"Dirty old fucker," Tim said. "The bastard was watching."

"He had a good show."

"Yeah, but he needs a better hobby. Come here, I didn’t get enough."

He lowered his still erect dick into my mouth and began to slowly thrust, fucking my mouth. It didn’t take long. It never takes Tim long. He was off almost before I was ready, but stayed in my mouth long afterward allowing me to caress his soft white ass.

"We’d better go," Tim said, pulling out of me. "I’d like to stay here all day, but you have classes to make up."

"I’d like to make up with you," I said, pulling him back down on top of me and reaching for his softening cock with my mouth. "It’s been too long."

"Did you do it with Sam?" Tim asked. He got to his knees and pulled up his briefs and brown jeans.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I’m asking," Tim said, putting my dick back where it belonged and zipping up my pants. He leaned down and kissed me hard and deep.

"No, not last night," I said. "Never, I think."

"In the hospital?"

"I don’t know," I said, following him to the front seat. He started the Coupe and backed out into the lane. "I remember something happening, but it might have been a dream. You know I was hallucinating a lot, then. I guess he slept with me every night, but the one night I noticed, I fell asleep before either of us did anything, if we did anything."

"You fell asleep?"

"Yeah, they keep you pretty drugged up out there. I was pretty out of it that night."

"He’s queer?" Tim asked. He sounded like he was actually surprised.

"I don’t know, but he likes sleeping with me."

"God, Sam Black queer. Are all you smart guys queer?"

"Don’t know," I said. I thought of all the smart guys I knew and none of them were queer as far as I knew. "Haven’t met too many."

"What about your honors class?"

"Hardly any of them are as smart as me, just good studiers. If you studied as hard as some of them, you could be in honors, too."

"Yeah, but I don’t want to go to some smart-ass university," Tim said. He sounded like he didn’t care about doing well in school. I couldn’t imagine being like that. "I’m going Navy ROTC. I can get that at North Park College."

"You don’t want to go to New York with me?"

"New York? Why would I want to go New York, I mean, besides to be with you? Too bad you can’t go to one of the universities here or to North Park. You could sail through North Park in a couple years. What’s in New York anyway?"

"Your Uncle Jerry wants me to go to Warnton."

"Yeah, I think he went there after the war. He’s got a couple certificates on the wall of his office from there, but I think he went to medical school someplace in New York City, or was it California? He went to some school in California for something. You haven’t called him yet."

"Are you checking up on me?" I asked. I don’t know, but Tim seemed to be taking a little too much interest in me. I wasn’t certain what his motivations were, but he seemed controlling; or, maybe, I was being paranoid, again. Psycho Geoff Johnson can’t trust anyone, even his best, well, almost best friend becoming boyfriend. Yeah, Tim was my boyfriend and almost my best friend, if those can be different.

"No, I’m just concerned about you. I care. Okay?"

"Okay."

Yeah, okay, if that’s the way you want it, I thought. I wondered if Sam did anything besides just wanting to sleep with a guy like me. I wondered if he sucked cock. There was that time I saw Peter sucking him, but was that real or a dream? Maybe he was a virgin and didn’t do anything at all, other than accepting a blow-job from Peter.

How was I going to see Sam with Tim wanting to be with me so much? I wondered if Sam kissed. Some guys didn’t. Tim was never kissed until I did it to him. All those years with Stevie fucking him and they never kissed. Kind of made one think about what kind of weirdo Stevie really was. But Stevie did kiss me, just not a lot. My lips were around his dick more than on his lips. Maybe Stevie didn’t like to kiss guys. Oh, well, he was dead and I had Tim, and now, maybe, Sam too, if Sam was queer. There was the possibility he just wanted to be friends, but friends don’t usually sleep with you unless they want something in addition to sleeping. Unless it was some facet of Sam’s craziness that he needed someone to sleep with him. Maybe that’s why he stole Mr. Crowley.