Mind Over Matter - 4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I endured three more days of ridicule and shame. On Thursday, my birthday, I got up to find it pouring outside. As far as I was concerned the weather was perfect. I arrived at school soaking wet and shivering. I went to all of my classes silently and, when the last bell rung, stowed all of my books in my locker. I didn’t think I’d be needing them anymore.

I was right.

I got home to find a strange car in the driveway. It was beat-up looking, but the tires were new and the glass was all intact. I let myself into the house and looked around. As usual, my parents were nowhere to be found. I’d almost grown used to their absence these days. As I headed for the stairs, I noticed something sitting on the dining room table: a note, an envelope and a set of keys.

The keys, it turned out, were for the car in the drive. The note said I was to leave my house key on the table. It also said the savings account my father had opened for me the day after I was born had been closed, and the contents were in the envelope– a little over fourteen thousand dollars. I stuffed the envelope into my jeans pocket, tossed my house key on the table and headed up to my room.

Everything I owned had been packed up. All of my books and magazines were in boxes on the floor and there were two suitcases sitting on my bed. I opened them slowly. Inside were all of my clothes. As I redid the zippers, I didn’t even try to keep the tears at bay. I knew this would happen – had prepared for it all week – but it still hurt like hell. I wanted to scream and cry and throw things. I wanted to trash the house and everything in it. I wanted to find my parents and demand that they explain why they were doing this to me.

I wanted to find the idiots that wrote all that ‘guidance’ information and blow their fucking heads off.

Instead, I carried the boxes out to the car, shoved them into the trunk and then went back up for the suitcases. When I came back out, one of the guys I used to consider a friend, Phil Wadley, was standing at the end of the driveway. I barely spared him a glance as I heaved the cases into the backseat of the car.

“Hey, Joseph,” he said tentatively. “What’s up?”

I looked at him, stunned. He was the first person in almost a month to actually talk to me without saying something derogatory. I immediately became suspicious. “Why do you want to know?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just… saw you with the boxes, and…” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

“It’s my birthday, Phil,” I said quietly. “I’m eighteen today.” I waited for his response.

“So you’re leaving?” he asked, taking a step forward. “You can’t!”

“I don’t have a choice,” I said. I patted the roof of the car. “This is my birthday present. This… and all my stuff already packed up for me.”

His eyes widened. “Your parents kicked you out?” I nodded. “Why?”

“Because…” I began, then stopped. If he hadn’t heard already he would soon. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, though. “Because I’m not who I was supposed to be,” I said finally. I gave him one last look and then climbed into the car.

Phil came around to my window and tapped on it. When I rolled it down he asked, “Where will you go?”

I blinked back tears. “Somewhere else,” I said. “Now go away, Phil. Don’t tell anyone you talked to me or you’ll get in trouble.”

“Bullshit.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, starting the motor and putting the car in gear. As I backed out of the driveway, I leaned out the window. “Watch your back,” I called. I kind of liked Phil. He was quiet and friendly. I’d been looking forward to getting to know him a little better this year. He’d only moved into the neighborhood at the beginning of the last semester. It wasn’t going to happen now.

As I drove down the street, I reached up and ripped the rearview mirror off of its base, tossing it out the window as I turned the corner.

***

Fourteen grand sounds like an awful lot of money, but when it’s all you’ve got with no immediate chance of getting more, it really isn’t that much. I spent the next few weeks traveling and living out of my car, using the occasional truck stop, laundromat or Y as the need struck. Every so often sleeping in the front seat of my car started to make me ache all over, at which point I’d pull in to the nearest roadside motel that didn’t look too run down and get some real sleep.

Once or twice I thought about calling my parents. I even thought about calling my mother when I knew my dad would be at work and asking her why they did this to me. I was sitting on the edge of the bed at some sleazy little motel, staring at the phone when that thought occurred to me. Instead of picking it up I went to the window, pulled back the curtain and stared at my car.

I had to give the old man a little credit. For a car that looked like shit it was in fine shape. It wouldn’t win any races but it had a good motor and transmission, new tires, good glass – and it was mine. I found the papers for it in the glove box. It was registered in my name, free and clear, for an entire year. I didn’t want to think about what I’d be doing in a year’s time.

For the first little while, I would wake up to find my face wet with tears and my traitorous cock standing rigid in my pants. I’d climb out of bed – or the car, if that’s where I’d slept – and go to relieve myself, waiting for my erection to subside before I could take a piss. I wouldn’t jack myself off to hurry the process along. Instead, I’d stand there and think about everything that had happened to me. It usually didn’t take long for it to go down. There’s nothing like isolation and emotional destitution to kill the sex drive.

The funny thing was, up until that scene in the kitchen with Devin and his cousin I hadn’t really considered myself ‘gay’. I’d suspected it, prepared for it and read about it, but I’d never really associated myself with it. It didn’t really sink in until that moment that ‘gay’ wasn’t an attribute – it was a pseudonym. I’d gone from ‘Joseph’ to ‘gay’ or ‘queer’ – or, more likely, ‘faggot’. And I hadn’t even touched anyone… well, other than myself. But what guy hasn’t?

I’d thought, after all the research I’d done, that most of the stigma attached to homosexuals was gone in this day and age. I soon came to realize that that wasn’t the case. At least not where I was. If I had been a stronger person mentally I might have brought discrimination charges against the third guy who’d hired me, only to toss me out on my ass a week later yelling “I ain’t payin’ no faggot to work for me!”

I tried working at an escort service for a little while once I got to a big city. It was really a brothel of sorts, but I was told early on only to refer to it as an ‘escort service’. I had a pretty good build, thanks to frequent visits to a local gym, so I was hired almost immediately. The woman who ran the place was really good to me, as were all the women that worked for her, but once some of her clients got wind of the fact that I was gay and began making inquiries, she asked me to leave.

“I hired you as a bodyguard,” she’d said. “Not as an escort. A gay man minding my girls is one man I don’t have to keep an eye on.”

I hung my head. “I understand.”

She went on “And it’s not that I don’t think you could make yourself useful in that regard. It’s just…”

When she didn’t continue, I looked up. She was staring at me sadly. “You’re so young,” she whispered. “And I might be wrong, but I don’t think you’ve been with anyone yet.” I shook my head. “You’re a good boy, Joe,” she said, pushing an envelope across the desk to me. “You deserve better than to start off here.”

I took the envelope and left before she could see the tears in my eyes. It wasn’t a lot of money but it was enough to keep me driving for a little while. I didn’t want to use any more of the savings money I had than was necessary. I’d already managed to cut it down by a sizable amount.

She was the first person to call me ‘Joe’. Everywhere else I’d been, I’d introduced myself as ‘Joseph’. When she’d announced that ‘Joseph’ had no business working at an escort service and that she was calling me ‘Joe’ from now on, I thought it highly appropriate. ‘Joseph’ was dead and gone, anyway.

***

A few weeks later, I was walking down the street in a town too small to be called a ‘city’, yet too big to really be a ‘town’. I’d just left the diner a few blocks away in search of a Laundromat to wash my clothes. The waitress at the diner had been friendly – but not in a way that made you think she wanted to get into your pants – and when I’d asked she’d told me there was a coin laundry about six blocks away.

I left my car at the diner and started walking. Even though it was spring and the nights were still chilly, it was getting warmer out during the day. I knew it would be cold in a couple of hours and decided to enjoy the nice weather while I still could. As I headed down the sidewalk, I passed a storefront with a large picture window. Inside, nestled on a bed of chocolate brown silk, was an array of books. Needless to say I stopped.

Although the shop was dark, I could see that it was filled to overflowing with books. Shelves rose from the floor ten feet, every inch of them crammed with volumes of every shape and size imaginable. There was a loft area reached by a spiral cast-iron staircase and I could see that this upper area was also packed with books. I wanted the store to be open. Now. I could practically smell the leather-bound tomes, dusty from disuse. I stepped back from the window, vowing to return in the morning, and that’s when I saw it.

A small sign, tucked into one corner of the window, bearing the words ‘Help Wanted’.

I could have screamed for joy. All that time on the road, all the abuse and misery I’d gone through – I didn’t even know what zip code I was in, but I knew I wanted that job. I took another step back and looked up. The brownstone building was three stories tall, which meant there had to be living quarters up there. I tamped down the urge to find out if the owner lived over his store, promised myself I would come back in the morning, and went to find the Laundromat.

The next morning, however, I was having second thoughts. The waitress, who I’d learned was named ‘Cindy’, told me over breakfast that the owner’s name was Mr. Dawson and the sign had been in the window for ages. “He’s a cranky old man,” she said as she sipped her coffee. There weren’t many customers this early in the morning and she was taking advantage of the peace and quiet to visit with me. “He put that sign up but he won’t hire anyone who applies. I think someone from the town council badgered him into it.”

“Why?” I asked as I wolfed down a forkful of pancakes. For some reason there was always more food on my plate when my order arrived than was advertised in the menu. Not that I was complaining.

“Because he’s old,” she replied with a shrug. “He can’t have it too easy, going up and down them stairs everyday. He won’t even think of selling, so some people have tried talking him into hiring help. I think he put up that sign just so folks around here would leave him alone.”

My heart sank into my stomach, leaving no room for food. I pushed the plate away dejectedly. “Never mind then,” I said quietly. “I won’t bother.”

Cindy stared at me for a moment in contemplation. “I dunno, Joe,” she said suddenly. “I think maybe you should.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, glanced over her shoulder at two men coming through the front door, and got up from her seat. “What have you got to lose?” she tossed back as she went to take their orders.

What, indeed?

***

Two hours later (I’d given Mr. Dawson some time to get opened up and ready for the day), I found myself staring over a small stack of papers at the old man, waiting for his refusal. “I’m homosexual,” I’d said. I was waiting for him to throw me out.

He stared at me for another minute and then asked, “So, what – because you’re gay you can’t think? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“N-no…” I sat up straighter in my chair. “I just… most people don’t want…”

“Do I look like most people to you, boy?” he demanded angrily.

I shook my head. “No sir,” I replied meekly. He looked more like a demented gnome than anything else.

He nodded once decisively and then scanned the form again. “Address you’ve got here is that old fleabag motel on highway twelve, ain’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “It’s where I’m staying…”

“Not anymore, it ain’t,” he said, tossing the form on his desk. “If you want to work for me, you’ve gotta be willing to stick around for a while. Living in a motel ain’t gonna tell your head you’re staying – it’s gonna tell it you’re going.”

I blinked rapidly at the sudden moisture in my eyes. “Then where…”

“I got rooms upstairs, boy,” he said, cutting me off. “You can put up there.”

“Th-thank you.”

He waved a hand at me dismissively. “It’s empty space right now,” he said. “And it means I don’t have to pay you so much.” He looked at my blank expression. “That was a joke, boy – ain’t you got no sense of humor?”

“...Yes.”

“Rent, utilities in,” he went on. “And six hundred a month. That enough for you?”

I nodded. I didn’t think a little bookstore like his made that kind of money. “If…” I began hesitantly. “If it’s not too much for you.”

“You’d be surprised how much I make here, boy,” he replied with a wink. “And you wouldn’t be the only one.” He slowly got to his feet and began making his way around the desk. “Come on,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder as he went by. “I wanna show you something.”

I followed him into the next room. This one was cleaner than his office. It had a bookshelf (naturally), filing cabinet, a huge safe and a desk with a chair behind it. What caught my eye, however, was the laptop computer sitting on the desk, quietly humming away to itself. “I assume you know how to use one of these,” Mr. D said to me. I nodded. “Go take a look then.”

I did as I was told, crossing the room and sitting down in the chair. I touched the pad to take off the screen saver and was immediately greeted with an open browser window. It was on a website that did online auctions. Specifically, it did online auctions for books. I jumped when Mr. D’s hand came down on my shoulder. “This is how I make my money, boy,” he told me. “The store is just a bonus.” I watched in silence as one of the auctions counted down to zero, closing out at a ridiculous amount. “Good,” he said. “I knew there would be some idiot out there that wanted that piece of trash.”

Looking up, I asked, “What is it you want me to do?”

Mr. D looked at me speculatively. “I’m an old man,” he announced at last. “Should’a retired a long time ago. Probably would’ve, too, if it weren’t for those meddlers down at city hall.” I grinned. He’d been refusing just for the sake of refusing. I liked him already. “I want you,” he continued. “To look after the store. I’ll take care of this…” He pointed to the computer and I nodded. “…And the paperwork. Deal?”

“Deal.” We shook hands.

It turned out the ‘rooms’ he had on the third floor was actually an apartment of sorts. He’d rented it out before, but – as he put it – the money gained didn’t justify the amount of work involved. He gave me a key and told me to see what I could do with it – after work.

Work involved a lot of organizing. The place was a mess, as I’ve mentioned before, and I soon discovered the reason for it was Mr. D didn’t really have what it took anymore to put things back where they belonged. Climbing up and down ladders and stools to shelve books was hard on his knees and back. That, and the fact that he’d almost fallen more than once, led him to just putting the books wherever. He was good at organizing things, however, so with me doing the climbing and shelving and him giving out instructions on where things were supposed to be, we soon had the place tidied up.

Lunchtime rolled around and we took a break. He told me that he didn’t live in town – “People are always wanting to poke their noses into my business,” he said – so he’d be leaving at the end of the day. Since the place upstairs had a separate entrance, he’d meet me at the front door each morning at eight o’clock. “Don’t be late, boy,” he warned. “I don’t like slackers.”

I knew I’d have to purchase an alarm clock. I wasn’t an early riser. “I won’t be,” I promised hurriedly. I was still pinching myself. To have finally found somewhere I felt comfortable and a job I knew I’d love was like a dream come true. To not have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t… that was still going to take some getting used to. “So…” I said tentatively, avoiding his steely gaze. “About the other thing…” I hoped he’d know what I was talking about.

He did. “That you’re gay?” Mr. D said abruptly. I nodded. “Told you before, boy. As long as it doesn’t affect your brain, I don’t really care where you want to stick it.” I flushed a deep shade of red. “I’m an old man,” he said again. “This is my place. I can say what I want.” Tilting his head to one side, he went on, “I’m guessing folks treated you pretty bad when they found out. Right?”

It was pretty strange. I’d known the man less than four hours and already I wanted to pour my heart out to him. I didn’t do it, though. I nodded. “Pretty bad, yeah,” I whispered instead.

“Your folks beat you?”

The question caught me off-guard. “No,” I said quickly. “They didn’t touch me.”

“At all.” It wasn’t a question. I looked up to see him nodding. “You finish school?” he asked.

I shook my head. That was another thing that was eating me up inside – I was supposed to be graduating in a few months. Devin and I had been planning our after-grad party since the end of last school year. It sure wouldn’t happen now. I blinked back the tears that stung my eyes.

“The high school is at the end of Anderson Street,” Mr. D said. “Go to the end of the block and turn north. You can’t miss it.”

My head came up with a snap. “I… I can’t…” I stammered. I knew I looked like I was panicking. I didn’t care.

“You’re eighteen years old – few months away from graduating – there’s no reason why you can’t,” he growled. “Don’t be spineless, boy.”

“You don’t understand…” I began, but he cut me off.

“You got no idea what I understand and what I don’t, boy,” he said. “Get your ass over to the school now. Go in and see Mr. Winters. Tell him I told you to.” I nodded and slowly rose from my chair. “And then get your ass back here,” Mr. D continued. “You’ve got work to do.” I nodded again and headed out the door.