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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Tull Unification - 3. Chapter 3
font>Dear reader: I'd like to thank Cole for editing and my friend Carolyn for the behavioral aspects of this chapter. This comes from the perspective of Colin McIlduff.
I glanced around the office, one I'd disliked from the first time I'd set foot in it. It was a converted attic and, as a result, had a sharply sloped ceiling that began about a foot and a half into the room and ended when it met the floor. One large window rose in a sheltered cutout that only served to increase the uncomfortable temperature that was always present. There was a desk off to the right covered with papers that I'd noticed the first time I'd come in that seemed to be just as messy now, and a circular table fit for the vertically challenged filled the center of the room. The left hand wall was dominated by a slip-shod bookcase that always appeared on the verge of collapse.
I allowed my eyes to wander across the surface of the circular table, examining the scattered items. There were stacks of forms, files and boxed 'therapeutic games' covering half the table. I hoped, with all the energy I could muster, that she didn't want to play 'The Emotion Game' again. In fact, I didn't know why I'd been called to her office since this wasn't my regularly scheduled time with her. It was a break in my routine and it made me vaguely uneasy.
'She' was the therapist, Mrs. Gulakowski. She was short, pudgy, applied too much lipstick and was warm as a cactus in January. Her hair was teased wildly to hide the balding areas and her fifties-looking glasses seemed more old than retro. She was like a few others I'd met in my relatively short stay in the system - closing in on retirement and had stopped listening. She worked for Bishop's Foundation a religious charity and had spent a lot of time trying to talk me out of being who I was. She'd even said my parents might take me back if I just would stop being so obstinate.
She might be right that I was obstinate. I'd never let her know that because the thought of agreeing with her about anything went against my grain in a very, very primal way. But the facts were that I'd ruined my home with who and what I was and that there wasn't any changing that. Even if I took it back and somehow convinced them – lied to them – that I wasn't gay, my life there was over. In many ways, it just felt like my life, all of it, was over.
Isaac and I had been circling each other for a month or more, never quite daring to make too much of a move. But then, after a Sunday School class, we'd been assigned clean up because the little ones were messy with their snack. So we'd snuck looks, glances filled with lust. Yes, lust in my heart while in the bowels of the church; I'd burn in hell.
It was fast. Fast, and not at all satisfying and not worth it in any way. He stepped up to me and forced his lips on me quickly, but painfully. His teeth scraped my lips and then the doors opened, my parents and his – the pastor – and the Sunday School teacher coming in for us for some unknown reason. Then it all got worse.
“Colin? Colin, sit up. Mrs. DeJesus is here.” Mrs Gulakowski's voice pulled me from my mental review of my not-so-greatest hits.
I stood, shaking Gloria DeJesus's hand briefly and resuming my seat. So I was here to meet with my social worker.
“Colin, I have a lot to talk to you about today. Would you like to go get an ice cream? I know I'm craving one!” Gloria asked.
I shrugged, but stood to go with her.
“Why don't you go get your sweat shirt and I'll meet you downstairs, all right?” she said.
I nodded and left the room. No doubt they'd be whispering about all the things I did wrong and the progress I wasn't making. Mrs. Gulakowski felt that I was too young to really understand my sexuality and was 'just confused'. She spent a lot of her time telling me how I was making a big mistake labeling myself and that I was throwing away my whole life.
I knew I'd thrown it away. I knew it the moment Isaac jumped back and accused me of kissing him. I knew it as I saw the condemnation on the pastor's face as well as my parents'. I'd heard the whispers about how my parents had done their best but that I wasn't really theirs - being adopted and all. My protests went unheard, and the damning statements got worse. Gulakowski didn't get it – Isaac's kiss had doomed me and there wasn't squat I could do about it. I often felt out of control and considering my birth parents had dumped me – something I only found out about around a year ago – and now the adoptive ones had dumped me too, everything felt like the normal chaos of my life had been magnified by a hundred.
No one cared about my protests and I didn't care about Gulakowski's opinions. I should have told her I could save my breath and she could save hers. No one was listening to either of us.
I got my sweat shirt complete with a hood to protect me from the drizzle we were getting and waited in the front hall. School would start soon and I dreaded going to the nearby high school with its lack of books, abundance of drugs and metal detectors at the front doors. It was quite different from the private parochial school my parents had sent me to before. I pictured Gulakowski telling Gloria how I wasn't putting any effort into our sessions – which was true – and how we might need to scale back my goals and work on more of my social integration skills at the group home. I knew all this because I'd heard it all before.
Gloria came clomping down the wooden steps and smiled at me. “Okay, let's go!”
We walked out and to the sidewalk, she under her umbrella and me with my hood up. We strolled in companionable silence. I liked that about her, she didn't always feel the need to talk. Talk from adults meant you had to share everything; who wants to tell everyone how screwed up you are? Not me.
“So, it's been a few weeks since your last court date. Have you had any thoughts?” she asked.
I shrugged. Of course I'd had thoughts and I had no doubt she'd know that. My last court date was where my adoptive parents followed through on the legal term for dumping me, which was a 'Disruption of Adoption' and which came down to voluntarily surrendering their parental rights. I'd known it was coming, I hadn't had a doubt. My parents hadn't spoken to me since I'd left in the custody of the child welfare people and they didn't change that in court. I promised myself I wouldn't cry; but when I did, I told myself it didn't matter. After all, what was a promise from me really worth?
When she saw the shrug was the only answer coming from me, she supplied the answer herself. “Well, I've had a lot of thoughts. Right now, I'm thinking Rocky Road. What will you have?”
“That sounds fine,” I replied.
“I'm starting to think you copy me!” she chuckled. “Whatever I get, you get!”
“You want me to pick something else?” I asked.
“Honey, I want you to get what you want.” Her heels clacked on the sidewalk, a steady sound that was accompanied by a small squelch as the water clung to our shoes.
“What if I want what you want?” I asked.
“Then that's what you get!” she smiled. She put an arm on my shoulder, a sign that there was 'something serious' to discuss. “So, as you know, you are now legally freed for adoption.”
“I don't want to be adopted,” I said firmly. It was about the only thing I did know for sure anymore and the only thing I had any control over.
“Oh, sweetie, I can understand that. It's far too early to start talking about adoption, but you know...” she stopped and turned me to face her. “I don't want you in this group home. You don't like it, you don't like the school and I don't like that you're so unhappy here.”
I waited. She was building up to something; there was no way she wasn't with all the eye contact and chatter. This was almost the same way she'd talked to me about the court date and the official end of my home. What could she possibly be building to, considering I'd said 'no' to adoption? She turned and pulled me with her to the small convenience store and we lined up at their ice cream counter.
The staff were busy, one running behind the counter for purchases and the second filling orders for milkshakes and cones. We waited our turn, not speaking, but my mind was turning. She must have a place she wanted me to go live; it was the only explanation. It would mean a new school, possibly, and a new house. I wondered if there would be siblings to contend with or if I'd have my own room. Would the people want me to go to church? Would they be told ahead of time about my deviancy? How I'd wrecked my home?
It was our turn and Gloria glanced at me before telling the clerk she'd like a rocky road milkshake. I didn't really want a milkshake; I always managed to make my hands sticky with them. I considered ordering something different, but I decided I didn't want to rock the boat and just ordered the same thing. Gloria placed a hand on my shoulder again.
“I thought you wanted an ice cream?”
I shrugged. We took our drinks to a table and she sipped. Once she had, I decided I could as well.
“Well, I have some news,” she said, swiping a hand over one of mine. I moved my hand under the table and onto my lap. “I have someone I'd like you to meet, someone I think you'll like.”
Did that matter? I sat still and watched her enjoy her moment of suspense.
“His name is Mike. He has a very nice house with a dog and he's very interested in you.”
That must mean she hadn't shared my details with him. Once he knew, he'd dump me too. It would be nice to have a dog for a while, though. My old parents didn't believe in them - said they were filthy disease carriers.
“He's looking forward to meeting you, and if you're open to the idea, we can have you start to spend some time together. See how things go?” She placed her free hand flat on the table while her other hand curled around the cup. She sipped and waited for me.
Moments ago, literally, I hadn't cared. Now I felt stressed. She would have said nice things about me, to get me placed. But I couldn't live up to these promises – and really, why should I have to? I'd already proven I could take a home and completely wreck it and she knew this. What did she want me to say? What was the right answer?
I shrugged.
“Oh, come on!” she laughed and pretended to swipe at me. “How about some enthusiasm? A smile? Is that too much to ask?”
A nervous grimace was all I could manage. She was setting me up to fail. Even though I didn't like the group home or the school, no one else was going to keep me. No one was going to love me – I'd already had that and ruined it. I didn't even love me, so what was the point?
“Really, Colin? You're going to be compliant every day except when you meet this potential placement?”
I shrugged. Shanae Williams meant well, I thought. She was a full time staff member in the group home who claimed to care for all the kids that came through her doors. How much could you really care for people that were pretty much transient? I didn't understand. What I did understand is I wasn't eating that.
“I don't like beets,” I said quietly.
“It's the vegetable tonight, suck it up, Buttercup.”
“No, thank you,” I said firmly.
“Won't be no snack later if'n you don't eat now,” she warned.
“I understand.”
All week, despite myself, I'd been wondering about this Mike guy. It didn't take me long in the group home to realize that, of the kids that could be adopted, your chances slowed significantly once you got past your second year. The kids that were here were either going to finish what was left of their childhood here or get bounced to one of two places – a home or a lock-up-style facility. Sandy, a boy with Down syndrome and a habit of swearing for no apparent reason, had already asked me to let Mike know he'd like to be adopted, too.
I could understand why he'd want that, why everyone wanted to be adopted. But I knew adoptions didn't always stick and I knew that, at our age, the chances of either of us finding a home were extremely unlikely. In his case, the disabilities – not to mention his violent episodes – made his chances even worse than mine; not that I cared.
I really wasn't looking forward to the meeting. I was nervous, yes, and I'd come to an uncomfortable and confusing conclusion about that: I was afraid he'd reject me. After all I knew about myself, why would I carry that fear around? Maybe it was just the inevitability of it all, like watching the train come down the tracks with black smoke pouring out of its stack. The squeaks of metal as the wheels pulled along its great bulk on the rails. Then there would be me, standing in front of it – close enough to see the rivets and the number '97' on the nose in raised gold letters with a red background – and know it was going to smash me into pulp – I'd know it with all my heart and still be worried. Yes, something like that.
The house emptied out after dinner. There were appointments, outings with various workers from different agencies and shopping that had to be done. I remained behind with Shanae to wait for Mike, my personal train engine, about to grind me to a pulp, and then go back to his life. I sat on the ratty couch with the TV displaying whatever show the last person had been watching. My jeans were a touch too warm for the weather and if that wasn't sure to make me sweat, I'd put on a long sleeved tee as well. My foot was bouncing on the floor and I was debating if I'd have time to go upstairs and change when the door rattled.
The screen door wasn't attached well, so if you knocked on it, it rattled in the frame as opposed to sounding like a proper knock. Opening the screen door made an alarming squeal, which my imagination told me might be what a rat sounded like on a rack. Made for rodents. A rat rack. For medieval-inquisition type rodents to torture their fellow rodents.
“Colin! Hello?” Shanae waved her hand in front of my face and I jumped, realizing I'd just blocked out the whole 'meeting Mike at the door' thing.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I stood and there he was, standing in the foyer of the house. The building had been donated by its previous owners and hadn't been updated to reflect current room set-ups. 'Foyer' sounded way too pretentious for this place, but it was the only word we had to describe it. Mike looked young-ish, only a few strands of gray hair showing around the temples. He had on jeans and a button up shirt and seemed unsure of himself, moving slightly from one foot to another.
“Why don't you sit down and get to know each other for a minute? I'll just grab some forms downstairs and then, if you feel comfortable, maybe you can go out for a bit?” Shanae said to Mike, chattering as she led him to the love seat and I resumed my seat on the couch. Mike waited for Shanae to retreat before he rubbed his hands on his thighs and addressed me.
“So, I'm a little nervous, I hope you'll take it easy on me.” Mike said with a smile.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I don't have much experience with kids and Gloria spent a lot of time telling me how awesome you are, so...” He spread his hands, “I'm a little intimidated.”
“Gloria just says that to get people interested,” I muttered. If Mike had half a brain, he already knew this.
“Well, it worked.” He smiled and shrugged, “But hey, you and I already had something in common. We met before, do you remember?”
I glanced up and studied his face with some curiosity. He didn't really look familiar to me, and in fact I could have passed him in a hallway and never known he'd passed. I shook my head in reply to his question.
“I was going to the doctor, so were you. You're a Tull fan.”
“Oh? That was you?” I grunted, the unusual conversation we'd had coming back to mind.
“That's an unusual band for a kid your age to get into; where'd you hear about them?”
“I don't know,” I replied uncomfortably.
“I understand, sometimes things we get into, we don't really have a single moment that stands out for us.” His palms dropped down to his knees and I sat quietly, waiting.
“So...” Mike stopped speaking as Shanae came back into the room, smiling and carrying some paperwork.
“So... Colin has already had dinner,” she said as she sat next to me. “I told him he couldn't have snack on account of him not eating his beets. But beets are pretty nasty, so I guess I could let it slide on his big night.”
“I'm not hungry,” I muttered.
“Keep your options open, Buttercup,” she said while turning to look at Mike.
“Everything is set here.” She waved the papers in her hand in Mike's direction. “The county sent everything – which is a first, trust me!”
“I'm sorry, the county sent what, exactly?” Mike asked.
“Oh! See for yourself.” She handed the papers to Mike. “Permission to take Colin out and – you can ignore that one, he has no medications – and that one; he has no allergies. Just general stuff, but if we don't have the releases we can't let him go or talk about him.”
“What do you mean, talk about me?” I asked with suspicion.
“Don't get your panties in a knot, Buttercup. Anyone who might be your caregiver has to be able to work with us and so we have to be able to talk. Legally, these papers let us do that.” She said all this dismissively and turned back towards Mike.
“I see. Okay, well, Colin how about we go for a walk or hit the mall or something?”
“If you want,” I said without any real enthusiasm.
“Come on, muster up some energy!” Shanae said while shoving me in the shoulder and then standing. “He's a little moody tonight, I think he's nervous. Just tell him what I do.” She turned to me and said firmly, “Suck it up, Buttercup!”
“Stop calling me that!” I yelled. I don't know where that came from, but suddenly I was angry and her constant dismissive attitude had gotten to me.
“Whoa! Slow your roll, little man.”
“Stop calling me names! My name is Colin!”
“Colin, right now you need to get a hold on yourself. You are not acting safely and I can't let you go out until I know you can be safe. You hear me?” She had lowered her voice and brought her face even with mine, staring me down. Daring me. I felt myself teetering on the edge, ready to unload on her for all the little bullshit ways she messed with me. Then she smiled, that satisfied 'I win, you lose' smarmy, full-of-herself look – and I went over the edge.
“Fuck you!” I screamed full on into her surprised face. Instead of feeling good, feeling like I had released some of my tension, it only ratcheted up another level and I began a litany of screams and clenching my fists and stomping my feet like I was fucking six or something. I was so mad, so white hot, out-of-the-blue angry – and it felt good. I'd been dead inside for what felt like forever and now, suddenly, I was alive.
Shanae was speaking, trying to regain control. She wanted me to go to my room and chill out but I couldn't, wouldn't listen. I kept up the verbal onslaught for a few minutes, slowly starting to run out of cuss words and my throat was getting a little raw. Tears were running down my face, but I didn't know when that had started. Or why. I finally stopped, breathing heavily and clenching my fists, feeling the fingernails press into the skin of my palm. Then I saw Mike's face.
Surprise? Shock? Fear? I felt bad, realizing what I'd just done. I felt bad for Gloria, as she'd be disappointed and wouldn't say so. But her silent reproach would hurt, a lot. I felt bad for Mike, blowing away his illusions of a happy kid coming to live with him in his happy home. I wasn't happy, and I'd just yanked the rug out from under him.
I also felt bad for me. I knew I didn't deserve – or want! - a family again, but I realized that maybe that was why I'd finally snapped on Shanae. Maybe my unconscious was putting the brakes on this before I really did get wrecked worse than I already was. I turned and went to my room and refused to talk when asked to later. Fuck Shanae, fuck them all.
Mona, the director of the group home, told me the next morning I was on level zero, which basically meant grounded. No TV, no electronics and an early bedtime. I just nodded, the white hot anger having left me the night before. I endured her lecture about making choices and there being consequences for things we do or say in the heat of the moment and tried to nod like I was being respectful and listening. They all want us to listen, but they never listen back.
When I got off the bus that afternoon I wasn't surprised to see Gloria's car. In some ways I felt like I was her pet project, and that made me angry and sad all at once. I don't know why. I walked in and put my things away in the hall closet and sat down with the other inmates for snack. It's such a kid word, snack. I'm pretty sure it isn't proper English, like people that say they 'went to Wal-Marts' like they went to more than one or something. The kids here all say it, though; 'Can I have snack?'
I was ready when Mona called to me, asking me downstairs where her office was. She'd already lectured me...of course Gloria had to do it too, now, except hers would be mostly silent. She'd give me the long face, the disappointed eyes and, eventually, the soft voice. In some ways it was worse than being yelled at. I stepped into the office and took in Gloria and Mike seated already, and did a double take. What was Mike doing here?
“Hi, Colin,” Gloria said with a smile. I was instantly suspicious. I should have been getting 'the look' right about then, since telling adults to screw themselves was frowned upon in this establishment. I glanced at Mike, who smiled wanly.
“Hi,” I said quietly to them both.
“Have a seat, Colin,” Mona said while patting my shoulder. I sat, feeling anxious and not sure why. Adults have two phases when they are angry or have bad news. Raised voices, screaming, cursing and waving arms or hitting things, all those I was used to. But the really bad things – like when they were ready to tell you to drop your pants and bend over while they snapped the belt in their hand or when they passed on news of some death or other tragedy – for this, they got very quiet.
“So, sweetie, I was just wondering if you could talk to me a little bit about what happened last night?” Gloria smiled, but not her sad 'tell me how you were wrong' smile. This was different, but I couldn't put my finger on how, exactly.
“I already got punished,” I replied and slumped down in my chair.
“I know, sweetie, but I just wanted to hear about it from your perspective.” She kept up the small, kind of...maybe an encouraging... smile? I glanced at Mike who looked grim and I wondered what he was doing here. Why would they want to gang up three on one? I'd already admitted what I'd done and been punished...well, maybe I just hadn't denied what I'd done.
“Shanae calls me names. I don't like it,” I muttered, finally.
“What kind of names, Colin?” Mona asked while her pencil scritched across her legal pad.
“'Little man',” I muttered and I could feel the heat in my cheeks knowing everyone would think 'that wasn't so bad'. I pressed on, “'Buttercup' and...” I glanced at Mike and then stared at his face, defiantly perhaps – don't ask me why.
“'Sister-boy'.”
“How long has this been going on?” Mona asked without pause. I ignored her for a moment, taking in the crease on Mike's forehead and wondering what it meant. Probably he'd just realized that Shanae was making fun of me being gay and realizing how close he'd come to having a gay kid under his roof. Fucker.
“Since the first weekend.” I looked at Mona. “She said she'd read my file.”
“Was she saying that last night?” Gloria asked. I suddenly felt tired of this. Was this a show for Gloria? Nothing would change and then Shanae would just be a bitch to me.
I stayed silent, looking down at my hands.
“She was. Did. I heard it,” Mike said. I stayed quiet.
“Which comments did she make?” Mona asked.
“I heard 'little man' and 'Buttercup'.”
Mona sighed. “I will definitely speak to Shanae; we do want our staff to speak to the residents respectfully and that should include using their names. I don't think that those two terms warrant the use of such abusive language as was used last night, however.”
“Mrs...” Mike said and I glanced up to see him looking at Mona questioningly.
“Roberts, but please call me Mona.”
“Mona, as a gay man,” Mike said and my head snapped up, “my masculinity has been called into question by a lot of people. As a kid the more obvious ones were 'queer' and 'fag' but there are a lot of ways to demean someone. Trying to put it in gentler tones while still implying that you are something 'lesser' can be very difficult to accept and the longer it goes on...
“I agree about the effect of words and tone,” Mike said and looked over at me. “I would never allow for that kind of language. However I think that Shanae is in a position of power and has been using that to imbue her words with put-downs and belittle a kid who just lost everything. In some ways, I think you're lucky it was only verbal. I feel angry about it and it wasn't even aimed at me.”
Mona folded her hands and squared her shoulders as she addressed Mike. “I understand what you're saying, and she will be spoken to. However, that kind of display is unsafe and we are responsible for the well-being of our clients, no matter what a prospective foster parent may think.”
“If I may,” Gloria interjected as Mike opened his mouth. “Mona, we all agree discipline must be maintained. But in this case, it sounds a lot like your employee was baiting one of the residents she was supposed to be being responsible for, and in front of an impartial third party as well. While I don't condone Colin's language, I do think there is a breaking point for everyone. In this case, it was one Colin shouldn't have been forced to reach.”
“There will be training to correct that, of course,” Mona replied coolly.
“I'm glad to hear it,” Gloria said firmly. “Now, Mike did you have something to add?”
“Sure do.” Mike looked at me and said, “So, Colin. What do you like on your pizza?”
I was kind of, sort of, dying to ask him about being gay. But I couldn't. I mean, I physically couldn't get the words out of my mouth no matter how hard they battered the inside of my lips. Those weren't the only things I had trouble verbalizing, though. Why did he want me? Why did he want any kid, I had to wonder after seeing his house. It didn't look like that much from the outside, just your average raised ranch. But he totally shattered the stereotype of gay guys that love landscaping. His grass was long, the shrubs needed trimming and it all looked kind of...I don't know...not run down but more like...what's a term like lived in, but for your lawn?
Inside it was really nice. He invited me to kick off my shoes and we walked through his house in socks. I met his lazy dog who just rolled over and let me rub his belly and it seemed like he'd be thrilled to just let me do that forever. He had hardwood floors that had shag rugs that were really ugly and ragged to look at, but really soft to walk or sit on. Jasper, the dog, went as far as the first carpet with me and then just sat there, waiting for his belly rubs to commence.
He showed me the house with a nice TV, comfortable couch and the computer set up downstairs. Then he showed me my room – or the one that could be mine, maybe. It was a room - I don't want to over state things - but the wall was done with a texture he said was called 'Venetian Plaster' and I have to say it looked very cool. It was done with two shades of yellow that gave the room a very mellow feel.
We made personal pizzas and then lounged on the couch with some tube before playing some games. The time seemed to fly by and he didn't pressure me to talk and I couldn't force myself to ask questions...kind of awkward but also really, really cool. However, even though I thought our time had gone really well, I was sure it would be the last I'd see of him - after all he'd been the good guy and stood up for me when I was the picked-on kid; I'll bet Gloria thinks he's the best guy ever, and now she can introduce him to a kid that might actually work out for him.
I thought about that in bed that night, while Sandy snored a few feet away from me. I decided that I was a test of some sort for Mike, to see how he'd react with a hopeless case. I definitely thought he'd come through with flying colors and would make a great dad for someone, but since I didn't want a dad – or a family – Gloria could work on finding him something better. In a way I felt good about that, like I was useful. I was such a wreck that I could be used to see how far down in the barrel a prospective parent would go to have a kid.
But when I got off the bus the next day, he was there. I went to his house and did my homework and had a snack. He showed me a Jethro Tull concert on DVD, which was kind of cool. I was a Tull fan, true, but there was a reason I hadn't told him why. Of course, it was about a boy; the first boy. The one that made me realize that I liked boys. I didn't think this was an uplifting story, and it definitely was not one for sharing. Still, making dinner with Mike and rubbing Jasper's belly filled me with emotions so mixed it was hard to single them out.
Sadness, or self pity maybe. Fear that it would all be taken away. Caution so I didn't get too used to it. Longing. Disappointment at having to leave for the group home at the end of the night. Wondering what it would be like to sleep in that mellow, yellow room. Wondering if anything...out of the ordinary would happen if or when I did sleep over. After all, he was gay too. That brought a wave of fear and nausea that only intensified when the first sleep over was planned.
Mike asked me once or twice what was wrong, but I couldn't say it. Not that. We watched a western, 'Tombstone', and even though I whined about watching a western it was pretty good. Then, it was time.
“Okay, why don't you get changed for bed and brush your teeth,” Mike said as he gathered our popcorn bowl and empty glasses to bring to the kitchen.
“Okay,” I replied. Inside I was quaking, wondering if this was it. But Mike seemed like a nice guy and, even though my parents had thrown me away they had never lied to me – as far as I knew. Gay's went after kids, recruited them. Touched boys. Would Mike want to...touch me? Did I want him to? I changed into shorts and a tee before brushing. I walked back out to the kitchen where Mike was just starting the dishwasher.
“Uh. Thanks - movie was pretty cool.”
“I'm glad you liked it, seriously. It's one of my all-time favorites,” he said with a smile as he leaned back against the counter. “I was really happy to share it with you.”
“Well,” I shifted on my feet as I felt confusion. Should I hug him? I was too old to be tucked in, and that would be inviting him in the bedroom; would that be wise? Would it seem...perverse? I decided that I had to do something, and so I closed the distance and gave him a weak, quick hug.
“Good night, Mike.”
“Uh, good night, Colin.” He said through a cough.
“Uh, do I have to have my door closed or open?” I asked, glancing back.
“Whatever works for you,” Mike said.
I nodded and went to my room, quietly closing the door. I cracked the window before turning off the light and stretching out under the sheet and light blanket. In the darkness I waited, hearing Mike move around in the living room. Hearing him urge Jasper out, and then yelling to try and get him back in a short time later. I heard them come up the hall, and the snuffle of Jasper's nose at the bottom of my door.
The bathroom light came on and I heard Jasper jumping into Mike's bed. Water running, the toothbrush being hit against the side of the sink. The bathroom light went out and disappeared from the bottom of my door. I tensed, waiting. Then Mike's door closed and, faintly, I heard him settle onto his bed. My tension slowly melted as a feeling of disappointment washed through me, and then immense relief followed by a sudden onset of tears. I don't know why.
Maybe it was family, and maybe it wasn't. I wasn't going to jinx it and I'd been there, done that already. But maybe...
The high school was much nicer than the old one. It was brighter, cleaner and didn't have metal detectors at the doors. The kids clothes were the same, but different. There were more 'preppy' type kids and the ones that dressed like the kids at my old school wore far nicer clothes. Like better quality. Like Bloomingdale's versus Wal-Mart. Mike got me all registered and got copies of my bus schedule, classes and a bunch of other stuff. He seemed like he really had his shit together and was waiting for me when I got off the bus.
“So? How was your first day?”
“Okay,” I replied.
“Whoa, whoa. I did not take two weeks of vacation time to hear 'okay',” he said while dropping a hand on my shoulder. I hid a smile, feeling a little silly but also oddly good at his interest.
“It was high school,” I replied. “There were kids there and teachers and lunch was terrible. Can I bring a lunch from home?”
“You going to make it? I can guarantee I won't.” Mike said as we walked up the block to his house.
“Come on, that's a parent kind of job!” I said, again hiding my smile.
“Nope, you're at the perfect age – you can make your lunch but can't ask to borrow the car.”
“Lame,” I replied.
“Yep. Cool kids have been calling me that for years. Anyone get in trouble today?”
“Not that I saw. Honestly, I was just trying to get to classes. The map they give you isn't the greatest and no one seems to know the room numbers, it's like they stop thinking of those and name them after the teacher. I think two or three times I'd ask someone where room whatever was and they'd ask who the teacher was and then they'd know.”
“Well, at least you found a way to get there. I never asked, did you want to play sports or join any clubs?”
“I'm not big on playing anything, I'm kind of clumsy,” and then Mike deftly pushed me into the side of the house. “What was that for?” I asked.
“What are you looking at me for?” He asked with the falsest sincerity ever. “You're the clumsy one!”
We walked in and I met Jasper on the carpet before going to start my homework. Mike put a bowl of chips on the table before disappearing. I worked for an hour and a half or so. The material at my previous school was similar to what I had now, except my new classes were further along. I had to make some intuitive leaps to figure out how to get things done, but some things I'd have to ask about the next day as I just couldn't see the connective tissue between what I'd been taught before and what they were working on now.
Mike came back in and was flipping through the journal the school provided. Inside was a planner for writing down homework and other due dates, a section for teacher comments and a sleeve for flyers or sealed envelopes. The lady in the office had included a bunch of papers – ads for sport team sign ups, PTA, the school play and various clubs. I'd only skimmed them as I had been kind of on the go all day.
I helped with dinner and, after we ate, I started to put my stuff away. As I went through the papers and set the sign ups into a recycle pile and the parent stuff into another, I came across one that froze me. 'Gay – Straight Alliance' was framed on either end with pink triangles and a short note underneath said they welcomed all people each Wednesday.
“Any of this for me?” Mike asked as he approached.
“Uh,” I muttered as I jumped. “Yeah, here,” I said while handing him the 'parent' pile. I slipped the Alliance sheet under the recycle stuff. His eyebrow went up and I realized I'd been too slow. I was more than a little surprised that he seemed to let it go.
“PTA. Bake sale. I see you saved the really cool stuff for me,” he said.
“Yeah...the rest is just sports sign ups, clubs...stuff like that,” I replied. He watched me for a moment and then nodded before tossing the sheets in his hand on my pile.
“Looks like they are all for recycling, then.”
After he walked away I pulled the Alliance flyer out and stared at it. They met in two days.
I worried about it all that night, the desire to ask Mike about being gay pushing my emotions all over the place. I was a tiny bit afraid that, if I asked him, he'd recruit me like my parents had said. Was that how it worked? You had to ask or somehow invite them in? Like vampires? I know, in church, we were always asked to invite Jesus in. Did gays work the same way? Or did that make no sense since I felt like I was gay anyway?
It took me another night to work up to it, and then it was because I felt I had to. I was bursting with questions and a question echoing in your head gains a lot more power than one that is just asked. So, after dinner, I asked Mike if we could talk.
“What's up?” he asked while collapsing onto the couch. I took a seat on the opposite end.
“I wanted to ask you...you read my whole file...right?”
“It wasn't all that thick, to be honest. There was a psych eval, grades from school. Some notes from that horrible counselor woman at the group home. Mostly, Gloria filled me in.”
“Well,” I said while shifting on the couch, “what did she tell you?”
“That your parents threw you out for being gay.”
Ouch. It was so matter of fact, so...unimpressive. Devoid of emotion that I couldn't tell what he thought of that. I froze, wondering which direction to jump next. He knew, had known from the start, then. But I also knew he'd called himself gay before, in the meeting at the group home. So where did that leave me?
Mike must have noticed my discomfiture because he spoke up. “Look, I never asked about it because...well, it's your business, isn't it? I didn't want to make you uncomfortable and, I thought, maybe things would be easier for you knowing I was gay too.”
“Easier for what?” I wheezed.
“For you to ask questions, to know that there was no judgment in your being who you are. Being gay is a piece of who you are, but that's all it is. I won't lie, it's a big piece because there are a lot of people who make it more than it is. It's big because there are fewer people who share that attraction than straights. But, in the end, it's really the same thing straights want.
“You want to find love, you'll fall in lust and think it's love. You'll notice guys all the time and put them in your spank bank. Sometimes you'll see a pretty face and build that up in your head, only to find out that no one could live up to the person you made up in your mind. We all make these mistakes; they're human. But,” he said with a sigh, “some people want to say that if you're gay you're also evil or perverse or cause natural disasters.”
“Why don't you have a boyfriend?” I blurted, and then cringed. I had not intended to go down that road in quite that way.
“Well, it happens I do.”
“You do?”
“You don't have to look so shocked,” he growled.
“Well...where is he?” I asked.
“We've been waiting. We didn't want to overwhelm you. We thought we should go slow,” Mike said with a smile. “He's a foster parent, too. He was in the same class I was in.”
“What class?”
“Foster parent class.”
“You have to take classes?” I asked incredulously.
“Yeah, you do. We especially need some training to take on kids as tough as you!” Mike said with a laugh.
“Can I meet him?” I asked, ignoring Mike's verbal jab.
“Sure. We'll have him over for dinner or something. I know he's looking forward to meeting you.”
“Why?”
“Well, we both feel like gay kids are at a double disadvantage in the system. Some people won't take them, no matter what, so I wanted to help out a gay kid specifically. Ian has come around to my way of thinking, though he's happy just to get a placement.”
“Oh.” My head was spinning – Mike had a boyfriend? So all my worries that he was going to try and 'convert me' or something were totally stupid. Not only that, I kept forgetting, I was already gay so there wasn't much 'converting' to do. I was worried about sex, about what my parents had said. I admit, a little bit of me was worried about this new guy, the boyfriend. But I felt like I trusted Mike a lot more right now and was more curious than worried.
“So was there something that prompted you to ask about this now?”
I considered lying, treating it as random curiosity. But the whole point of this conversation was to talk about this Alliance thing. I'd just gotten more info than I'd planned. So I pulled out the worn sheet of paper – nearly in tatters from me taking it out to look at it and refolding it, and handed it to Mike.
“Oh, this is cool. I wish I'd had one of these when I was a kid. You want my blessing?”
“Well...it's after school, so I'd have to take the late bus home,” I said quietly.
“Okay.”
“I could still get my homework done when I got home,” I said quickly before his response registered. “Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Have fun. Hey, Colin,” Mike smiled warmly, “you've had people treat you like shit for liking another boy. You should meet people who think those first people are assholes.”
“Hi, I'm Peter and welcome to the meeting,” a boy with stylish glasses and a smattering of pimples on his forehead said as he greeted me at the door.
“Thanks. Um, Colin,” I said while shaking his hand and moving past him. I glanced around the room of maybe fifteen people who were milling in twos and threes. One group of four, two guys and two girls, was a little loud. One boy, tall with dark curls and pale skin, was talking and making the girls laugh while the other boy was covering his face. His fine brown hair came down straight over his ears and moved as he shook with embarrassed giggles.
The girls, one a brunette whose long hair seemed to shimmer and the other who had hair a violent, unnatural shade of red, were both laughing at the other boy's expense. I took a seat and remained quiet as a few more people filtered in and met up with friends and took seats as well. The meeting was short and I can't recall any details, mostly because I was nervous and felt entirely too hot. But I stuck it out, trying to remember I was among friends. I'd imagine that I looked uncomfortable to anyone here, though. I escaped afterward, only having Peter wave to me as I left.
I noticed some of the Alliance members through the next few days, recognizing them from being in the room but not, obviously, from interacting with them. Later that week as I sat down for lunch I was slightly disturbed to find Peter joining me.
“Hi, hope you don't mind some company but it's crowded today,” Peter said. I glanced around quickly, confirming the usual number of open seats before simply nodding at Peter. I guess he wanted to sit with me...oh, shit. He might be...interested?
“So, Colin, you're new to the GSA but I don't remember seeing you at school before, and I'm sure I would have. Are you new here?”
“Yeah...” I said while coughing. “Uh, yes I am. New. Here.”
“Oh, well, welcome then,” Peter smiled and took a bite.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“You're really cute, you know. Did you hook up with anyone from the meeting yet?”
“What? No!” I said in shock.
“Relax!” Peter smiled, “I was just trying to find out if you were taken, that's all.” He leaned in and said, quietly, “I didn't get a chance to talk to you and I assumed you'd be snapped up by someone, fast. You know, you should try wearing a polo? Unbuttoned, of course. I'll bet you're a medium, right?”
I took a bite of my sandwich, and then another to try to cover up my discomfort and unwillingness to answer. It wasn't like my shirt size was a state secret, but this just seemed...invasive. Was this how gay guys...met? Was I supposed to critique his clothing as well?
“Um, yeah. Medium. Maybe you should try a tee shirt. Comfortable, you know.”
“Oh, no, I couldn't.” Peter said with a smile, “Not in public. Button up shirts and polo's are the minimum, really. Tee shirts are fine under your clothes as long as they are white so they don't show or draw attention to themselves. You should wear khakis, too, they make your butt look better.”
He was looking at my butt? I suddenly felt self conscious in my jeans and tee shirt with protective hoodie. Was I dressed all wrong for being gay? Was he here to...fix me?
“You...think so?” I asked tentatively.
“Definitely. You should lose the sneakers, too and maybe get a haircut.”
I suddenly felt very uncomfortable; something here just wasn't right. Was he seriously trying to tell me all gay guys dressed alike? Mike wore button up shirts and khaki pants, but at home he wore jeans and a tee. He'd never said anything to me about changing my clothes. Was he trying to ease me along? I resolved to ask him – and to escape Peter as he just made me feel weird. I endured him for the remaining time in lunch, but then actively avoided him.
After the last bell I headed to my locker. I hadn't been able to shake off the unpleasant feel of my encounter with Peter and wondered if that was what I had to look forward to with gay guys. Are all relationships like that? Was Mike the boss in his relationship, or was it the other guy I had yet to meet? My thoughts were scattered to the winds by the appearance of a very perky girl at my side.
“Hi. Colin, right? I'm Emily, I saw you at the meeting. The GSA meeting?” This girl, Emily, needed to take a breath.
“Oh, yeah. Uh, hi, Emily.” I stammered. Her awkwardness seemed to have moved to me.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “Have you made any friends yet? You looked new.” she said while walking down the hall with me.
“No, not really.” I replied, deciding that my discomfort with Peter had ruled that out.
“Oh, well, now you have! You should come meet my friends, after school. They're all really nice and the boys are so cute! You'd fit right in!” She said, babbling. At this last she stopped, placing a hand over her mouth and she dropping her fingertips on my forearms. “Oh, oh I didn't mean that to sound like I was hitting on you. Oh, dammit, Emily!”
“Uh,” I laughed in embarrassment for her. “It's okay. Not even the first time today, I think.”
“Really? You're not offended? Oh, thank goodness. I'm not surprised someone hit on you, already. I hope it wasn't Peter. Was it Peter?” she resumed her babble, only to put the heel of her hand on her forehead and moan to herself again. “Not your business, Emily!”
“Uh, yeah, actually. You...know Peter?”
She peeked at me and lowered her hand, seemingly relieved to have not overstepped – or been called out on it. In a way, her awkwardness was endearing and it comforted me to know someone else felt weird.
“Peter has a reputation for trying to hit on new guys as soon as they walk in the door. He also is kind of a control freak,” she said as we walked down the hall.
“Controlling how?”
“What kind of movies you can see, music to listen to, how you dress...”
“Oh.” So his fashion tips were to make me more desirable to him? Or was critiquing clothes something gays did? If what Emily was saying was true, this was just so Peter could have control. Did I want that?
“He'd totally want to make you over, no matter what you had on. Change your hair, shoes, maybe the way you walk...I really should stop talking so much, everyone tells me so!” She said while covering her eyes with a hand.
“That kind of matches up with the conversation I had...uh, Emily?” I spoke to her uncertainly as I stopped and she turned her unsure gaze to me. “This might sound weird but...are you a lesbian?”
“Me? Oh, no!” she said brightly while waving her hand at me, “my best friend is, though. That's why I joined the GSA and I discovered that people had shit on so many of the members there that they kind of understood me being so awkward. They kind of put up with me talking. Did you notice I talk a lot?”
I smiled at her and she returned it. “I have to catch my bus, Emily, but it was nice to meet you.”
“You too! Oh, oh wait! I should give you my number!”
“I don't have a cell, yet. I'll get it from you when I do,” I said with a smile.
“Okay! Bye!”
She could dial down on the caffeine, but otherwise I think I actually did meet my first friend.
Friday night I met Ian. Mike had taken me out to the mall to get a cell phone added to his account for me and it felt good to have something physical that tied me down to Mike and his life. To him it might have been a way to get in touch with me or find me, but to me it meant he wanted to do those things, that I mattered to him. Then we met Ian for dinner.
He was pretty cool and included me in the conversation. I spent a lot of dinner watching them interact. They both had dressed casually for dinner in the mall and I smiled to myself thinking Peter would have had something to say about that. More than anything I was struck with how boringly normal they were. My adoptive parents had talked about finances and insurance with a side dish of piety. Mike and Ian talked cars, bills and me. I wasn't used to being part of the conversation, but it was pretty cool and it made me think even more that Peter's comments about my appearance weren't benign but rather a first step toward getting me to do things his way.
Ian gave me a gift card for music and Mike promised to set me up with an account later on. We went to the movies and then home. I was kind of shocked - after all my parents had led me to believe - at how ordinary we were. Except for the fact that it was okay for me to be me.
We spent most of the weekend with Ian. We went to a water park Saturday and he stayed over that night. I felt anxiety clutch my chest again at the idea, but is was for naught as it had been before. Instead of church Sunday Ian cooked breakfast and took us to play basketball for a bit. We were all pretty terrible, but it felt like we were our own little club and for a few minutes I felt safe and in control. Then, Monday happened.
Feedback is always welcome at dabeagle at dabeagle dot com.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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