Life in a Northern Town - 5. Chapter 5

Murmuring from upstairs can be heard as I make my way back inside, still feeling Nick's kiss and Randy's protective hug. John is in the kitchen washing a few orphan glasses that have accumulated in the sink. I stop short for a moment, not quite daring to look at him lest he take my next words as a sign of weakness or that I have given up.

"Thanks, John," I say before heading out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Joe is coming out of the bathroom as I crest the stairs, only now he looks at me differently, and I can't say whether or not I like the look he fixes me with. It is one of familiarity, but one he hasn't earned the right to use. I know, before he speaks, he is about to cross a line.

"So, ah, I guess you're family, huh?" he asks with a crooked grin. I look back with what must be a puzzled looking expression.

"Family," he repeats, "We're on the same team, gay, queer, poofter, fag, bent," he says with a ridiculous twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face like it is the best news he's had all day.

"Firstly," I begin as I mount the stairs, "I told you at dinner your sexuality is your business, not mine, so that goes both ways. Second, spying on people from your window is despicable, not to mention showing contemptible character." Joe’s face sags in surprise as I move into the doorway of my room. "Thirdly, if this is some attempt at making friends, you may want to reconsider your approach. It sucks," I say as I duck into my room. I am tempted to add that there was no pun intended, but that would have knocked the credibility out of my dressing him down.

It isn't that I don't want to know other gay kids like me. But I also don't want to be “out” everywhere, nor do I want anyone to out Nick. I don't want Joe to think he can just say shit like that, and if I let him start that here, it won't take long for him to slip and do it somewhere else – like Scott did tonight.

I sit on the unfamiliar bed and chew my lower lip, once again drawn back to Nick and Randy. I am right in the middle of reliving my kiss, my first real kiss, when Joe clears his throat from my still-open doorway. I look at him, my face flushing with embarrassment and anger when he speaks.

"Before you go all queen bitch on me again, just ask yourself how many other gays you know, and do you want to be at war with them?" He approaches me, stops well short of the bed, but still close enough to lower his voice.

"Granted, it isn't any of my business, but I'd rather have a gay friend than another enemy. If you're going to continue to be an asshole, then we can part here and not speak about it anymore."

I try to bite down on my anger. I feel totally justified in having exploded, but there is a ring of truth in his words no matter how bitter a pill that may be at the moment.

"Look, I don't want the world to know..." I begin.

Joe interrupts me. "I don't care if they do find out about me. I don't advertise, but I don't hide it either. If someone asks, I won't deny it. If you want the truth, no one outside this house knows. But I keep thinking about this shirt I have. The one you heard about at dinner. And I keep wondering what it might feel like to just not hide at all. To be entirely open.

"I'm not ashamed of who I am, or who I love or even what gets me off. But I do resent people who just make a snap judgment about me. If you're worried about yourself, don't be. I guess we all come out in our own time, in our own way."

My jaw is open at this point, both in amazement and outright shock. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would ever have such a conversation, let alone be running in fear from another individual who might understand what I feel.

"I'm sorry, Joe," I begin, "but you have to accept that I am not you. I am not ready to do things the way you are thinking about doing them. I just don't think I can handle it right now." I frown at him.

"Hey, that's cool," he says with a grin and takes a seat next to me on the bed, "So, listen, though, let's at least talk a little, huh?"

“Yeah, how about we talk about you sending Scott to spy on me. What the fuck was that?”

“He's just trying to make up for slipping at dinner – I swear I didn't put him up to it. I do confess that he ran right to me and told me what he saw.” He holds his hands out in a gesture of innocence that I don't really buy. “So, talk?”

"Um, about what?" I ask, squirming in spite of myself.

"Like, how long have you and Nick been dating for one?" he asks with a lascivious grin.

"Oh," I reply, cheeks going red. "Uh, well, we aren't officially, I don't think. That was my first kiss. Our first kiss."

"But you knew he liked you before tonight, right?"

"Well, sort of. I mean, we just found out about each other last night. See, my mom is a little off, she has a real problem with..." I fall silent as he sits next to me.

"Fags? Queers? You should say these things, then maybe you wouldn't be afraid of what the words mean. Homosexual is not a four letter word, you know."

"Hey, you know what? Fuck you, Joe. It's all a little new to me,” I snarl. After giving him a good glare to be sure he'll shut up, I continue.

“I have been in love with Nick for about six months. I couldn't take being around him ‘cause I was sure he'd hate me for wanting him, for being so totally in love." I hesitate and draw in a deep breath then continue with, "But last night I found out he has the same feelings. He thought I didn't like him, which was why he thought I was avoiding him. Truth was, it hurt too much to be so close to him and not be able to hold him, to touch him in any way except incidentally. It was like being teased, having water in a glass but being unable to drink it, or be starving, with the cupboards full of food but locked."

"If you're hungry, you should have tried the fridge," Joe remarks.

"What?"

"I know that sounds like I am just being a smartass, which I usually am, but in fact it's like the old axiom of a door closing means another opens, or a window opens or some such shit. Point is, you thought one thing and so that door was closed to you, from your point of view, when in fact all you had to do was see that the door was, in fact, open to you all along," Joe falls silent and I brood on his words.

“That almost - almost – makes sense. But I'm pretty sure it's bullshit.”

"Yeah? So listen," Joe says suddenly. "Tell me about Randy."

"What are you two up to?" John's voice floats in from the hallway.

"Who says we are up to something?" Joe replies almost reflexively.

"Boys are always up to something. It's axiomatic," John replies as he appears in the doorway with a stern look that is spoiled by the grin lurking just beneath the surface.

"Come on, lights out in ten, you guys have school in the AM."

"This conversation isn't over," Joe grins wickedly as he heads for the door.

“Oh, yes it is,” John says with a chuckle.

I lie back on my bed, reeling from the day’s events. I think hard about all that I have just discussed with Joe, someone who knows what I am, and moreover someone I know about as well. I wonder about that for a moment, trying to decide how I feel about that little piece of information. Honestly? I'm not sure; it is definitely a mixed emotion. On the one hand I am exhilarated that I have someone I can talk to now. On the other hand, there is the fact that I really don't know Joe or what he may say. I'm not really sure I even like him very much. Even if he means no harm? Have I just made a huge mistake? Or have I stumbled onto a great confidant?

My head swirls with the thoughts, and finally I decide to try and recapture that first kiss, all of its magic and, what I will later learn, the mark by which all future kisses will be judged. That kiss had been so sweet, so full of love and passion...I am getting seriously aroused, and allow my hand to drop down under the sheets and past the waistband of my underwear.

"Dude, you still awake?"

I groan.

"What? I told you this conversation wasn't over!" Joe whispers with a wicked grin as he sits on the edge of my bed in the darkness.

"What else did you want to talk about?" I ask, sighing. I know full well all he wants to talk about is Randy and how he might get into his pants.

"Well, you've been friends with Randy for such a long time, I was wondering how much you know about his, um, sex life."

"He's straight, Joe."

"He's not even a little bi?" he whines. Jesus, is he transparent.

I am a little torn here. I understand where Joe is coming from. I mentioned before things never seemed to work for more than a week with any girl Randy has ever met. But how would Randy feel about me just passing this information out? It's not concrete proof by any means, but Joe looks positively predatory when he says Randy's name, so would I be doing Randy any favors by saying anything?

"Dude, come on! Does he maybe have some bi tendencies?"

"Not that I ever saw," I reply, which is true. He never looked at another guy that way as far as I knew.

"Damn. All the gorgeous ones are straight," Joe sighs.

“You, Joseph, are supposed to be in bed," John says from the hallway. I wonder how much he's heard? Joe jumps up and exits the room and leaves me to my thoughts, which quickly return to my first kiss and that happy thought takes me off to sleep.

John makes breakfast in the morning, a huge one. Eggs, toast, bacon, sausage and pancakes. Mom never cooked like this and, when she did cook, you usually ended up wishing she hadn’t. Dad was the chef in the family, usually cooking after he returned home from work at night, and Sunday morning breakfasts were a real event. We’d get stuffed and sit around reading the Sunday paper, maybe watch a little football if it was in season.

“Can I have the syrup, please?” Scott asks Joe, who tosses the bottle to Scott, who mumbles his thanks around a mouthful of eggs. I sit next to Scott and across from Ken, where there is an empty place setting, and glance about at all the food.

“Eat up, Adam. These guys have to go to school, then we get to go shopping for your new clothes and pick up some groceries,” John says to me offhandedly as he sits down at the head of the table with his plate.

I spoon some eggs onto my plate and add a few strips of bacon. John pours orange juice from a jug, then offers it to me, which I accept.

“So, you guys bond last night?” Ken asks absently. I redden but Joe rises to the challenge.

“Yeah, if John hadn’t bugged us I might’ve gotten laid too,” he grins impudently.

I choke on my eggs.

“You two! No staring at my ass!” Scott laughs while I glower at Joe. The guy is a fucking pervert.

“Joe, I am trying to eat here. Your non-existent sex life can wait to be discussed until later,” John replies pointedly. Scott tries to cover his mouth as he laughs, but he was soon braying at Joe’s now-red face.

“At least I am young enough to think about getting laid,” Joe finally shoots back.

“Joe, don’t be so uptight. Besides, I might have to hurt you if you try and knock my age,” John says with a smile.

“Whatever,” Joe replies as he turns to the scraps remaining on his plate. I quietly resume eating, hoping to avoid anymore conversation. Scott and Joe head out the door for school with Ken a few minutes later, and then John and I climb into his little SUV. We head up north into the ‘Burgh and then turn up to head back into the town of Brunswick and Target.

The store is pretty new, and even if the clothes aren’t fashionable name brands, they are new and they will fit. John forbids me from getting pants that are bigger than my proper waist size, and I disagree with him on general principle, but I don’t want any of those pants anyway. After some shopping at a few more clothing stores and then stopping for a few groceries we head back to the house where the items purchased are put away.

“I hope Joe isn’t too in your face,” John throws out as an opening.

“He’s okay - a little high strung maybe,” I reply. Probably not wise to say I think he's a pushy pervert.

“Well, his folks didn’t take to his coming out too well. He and his dad fought some, made it tough. Of course, coming out is hard for a lot of people,” John says in a speculative tone. He is trying to draw me out, maybe get me to talk about this whole gay thing. Well, I'm not going to. Not with this guy who I don’t know at all.

“Anyway,” John continues, “he’s done pretty well since we got him here, going on six months now.” I sit mutely as he places the few remaining items in the cupboards and then moves to the fridge for a drink.

“Want something?” he asks.

“No thanks.”

“So, you and your mom been having problems for a little while?” he asks. I snort. Who does he think he is? My shrink?

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he replies dourly.

“Take it any way you want.”

“Just offering an ear, man,” he shrugs.

“I talk to Randy and Nick, I love them and they love me.” I bite my lip in frustration, not sure where that outburst has come from.

“Love is a strong word. Which one gave you the kiss?” he asks from behind his raised glass. I sit dumb-founded. Did everyone watch my every move? I had no idea my first kiss would be a public event! Maybe I should have called a news crew and fewer people would have seen it!

“Do you have a camera back there? Did you enjoy as much as Joe the pervert did?”

His forehead creases and he rubs the bridge of his nose. A deep breath, then another and he addresses me.

“Secrets aren’t something that are easy to keep in this house. The one thing I can say, though, is that the boys will keep it in the house.” He smiles benignly at me as he takes a seat at the breakfast nook I had noticed in the kitchen the night before. “I can speak to Joe if he upsets you that much.”

“Why is everyone so interested in what’s inside my head?” I grumble as I take the seat across from him.

“Partly because we’re here to help. This is what I do for a living.”

“Why?”

“Well, that’s a good question. Sometimes I ask myself that, sometimes more than once a day,” he snorts and eases back in his chair. “I think the most straightforward answer is so that I can help someone. See, I worked in shelters for a while and did some psych work. And I can tell you, the people that get screwed most in family crisis are the kids. Take you for example,” he says conversationally. “You rely on your friends, which most people your age do, but in the background you should have this anchor at home, this secure place for when even your friends just won’t do. You don’t have that, obviously.

“Not just that,” he continues while pointing at me as if is hand were a gun, “you’re so sure someone is out to screw you over that you have serious trust issues. Take Bernard, for example he's someone you clearly despise. Yet, he seems to see some good in you, and I have to say it’s in there,” his eyes narrow as he looks at me, “it’s in there, but covered under a lot of hurt.”

I squirm in my chair under his steady gaze, but that is all I allow to show of my discomfort. More than this and I'll probably start screaming expletives at him and where will that get me?

“Losing someone is never easy,” he says with a deep sigh. “I know when I lost my parents it was very tough on me. I imagine it wasn’t any easier for you to lose your dad, and in some ways it has to be harder since you are still so young. At least I had the advantage of being older, having had some more time with my dad.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble just to help someone,” I mutter.

“Yeah, it can be, but sometimes you have to work hard to get something good to happen. You might not stay here long, but I hope that you get some help here, even if it means just knowing you and your thoughts are safe.” He coughs then adds, “Or maybe I should say that they are contained to the house.”

“Well, at least no one called CNN,” I remark and we both laugh a little.

“Your friends seem really nice. They were very respectful, even though it was obviously a tough thing for them to leave last night,” he remarks. I know this is his opening gambit to try and open up a dialogue between us, but right then I'm sure why I should hold out anymore.

“Randy has always been the polite one of us - he helps people all the time. Like Mr. Broderick across the street from him. That guy can’t really do much physical stuff anymore, so Randy rakes his leaves and shovels his snow and won't take any money for it. Mrs. Gamache always seems to talk him into doing her lawn a few times a summer. Just about the only place he doesn’t do much is at home,” I find myself telling him.

“Those sound like great qualities in a friend and a neighbor. Tell him to move down here so I don’t have to mow, rake or shovel anymore!” John laughs.

“Yeah,” I smile at him. “Randy did more chores at my house than he did at his,” I say, trailing off into silence.

“So Randy is pretty much your rock, huh?” John asks and I nod in reply. “Has he ever said anything about your mom, or how she acts?”

“No, not really. I mean, nothing outside of regular shit I guess.”

“Has your mom always been like she is now?” he asks quietly.

“Well, not that I really remember. I mean, she and Dad used to fight, but I never knew why. She said…” I trail off, unable to complete the sentence she had screeched about my fathers demise.

“Well, no need to bring up so much sad stuff, right? So, which one was Randy?”

“He was the one with the dark brown hair who stands about as tall as an oompa loompa,” I giggle.

“Oh, yes, and who was the other one?” John prompts, keeping the conversation going.

“Nick,” I reply, “Nick Jackson.”

“Oh, is he related to Richard Jackson? The politician?” he asks.

“Um, you know, I am not really sure,” I reply. “I don’t ask too much and, well...” I hesitate before plunging forward, “lately I didn’t trust myself around Nick, so I stayed away from him so I wouldn’t make an ass out of myself. He thought I was an ass for avoiding him instead,” I say sheepishly.

“So you feel more comfortable around him now?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I don’t have anything to hide with him anymore,” I respond. I lean in as if to not allow anyone to overhear, “He says he loves me.”

“Love is a strong word, one that gets used too often and too freely,” John sighs as he leans back and scratches his chin thoughtfully. “But it’s also important enough that you can’t ignore it if it’s presented to you.”

I sit quietly and chew this over. I get emotions from Nick that feel like more than the crushes and lust that I've dealt with since the onset of puberty. Unfortunately, those periods of falling in and out of lust are all I have to compare this to, so how can I know if this is love or not?

“John, what would…what would you say love is?” I ask carefully.

“Well, it’s a lot of things. I believe that we take a number of emotions and mix them together to make what we define as love. I also believe that love is different things to different people.” He leans forward as if to join me in my conspiratorial pose.

“Some confuse sex with love. Some think you have to do everything for someone, and that defines love. Some think that someone has to be the center of your world for it to be love. I think it’s more complex than that.

“See, when people first get together it’s usually from attraction, and I admit there has to be some attraction to hold things together. After that initial attraction, though, there needs to be something to define, to cement the relationship beyond the physical. Some of those things might be personality issues, like a sense of humor or a caring nature. Maybe they're common interests or whatever.

“I think the truest measure of love is the ability to work through differences and to be content with the person you’re with. Now, say with you and Nick, you guys obviously have the initial attraction to each other.” At this I blush furiously and lean back in my chair in an effort to relax. “But what common interests do you have? If it’s sex it won’t last, or will only last until the one partner decides that someone else might be fun to play with, too. If you guys haven’t reached that step, maybe you have the chance to see what the other is really like and maybe get to know that person better. Maybe that’s where you are in your relationship, discovering one another.

“You did say, after all, that you haven’t spent much time around him, in truth,” John points out.

“That’s true, but I feel differently towards him than I have anyone else. Not like the crushes in school or something...” I trail off, embarrassed at how personal the conversation had become.

“Well, my advice for what it’s worth to you, is to take it slow. No one is rushing you, so enjoy it and see what happens,” he smiles at me. “Finding out if it is love should be a wonderful experience.”

I sit quietly while he stands and busies himself in the kitchen, muttering that the troops would be home soon. I retreat to the living room for some space and time with my thoughts. How do I feel about Nick, really? He is very nice, and he obviously cares about me. And he’s a phenomenal kisser - can’t leave that out. There have to be points awarded for that! Outside of that, what can I really say?

The opening and slamming of the outside door announces the return of Scott and Joe, who stop briefly to greet John in the kitchen before heading deeper into the house. I hear the closet door open and close, and in between, the sound of cloth whisking as it rubs, undoubtedly coats being hung in place. Ken's voice is a buzz in the kitchen. Joe appears first, his face lighting up in a wicked grin as he sees me, and right behind him is Scott, his partner in crime.

“Randy and Joe, sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g,” Scott sings out off-key as Joe grins wider and smacks him in the arm, and it looks like pretty hard, too.

“Ow!” Scott howls. And Joe grins all the more.

“What’s going on?’ I ask, not entirely sure I want to know.

“Joe talked to the boy of his dreams today,” Scott snickers and dodges another swipe from Joe.

“Oh really?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“It was short but sweet,” Joe sighs.

“What did you talk about?” I ask.

“Well, I mentioned that we had a mutual acquaintance.” Joe starts.

“More like he wiped his chin of drool first,” Scott snickers again while almost dodging a blow from Joe.

“I didn't really know what to say, so I just told him that I lived in the same house with you, and then he spoke to me,” Joe said dreamily.

“What did he say?” I ask with curiosity.