W.A.R. Part 1 - Black Summer - 2. A Late Night Conversation

If you can believe it, the heat of the day was even more unbearable after the sun went down. It was muggy and miserable inside and out. I had spent the evening at grandma’s house so mom could do a few chores and I had to go back in the morning because she had a hair appointment. But for the night, I was back in my own miserable home. There was one air conditioned room in our house, and it wasn’t mine. So I lay there in a puddle of my own sweat unable to sleep because my brain refused to shut up and let me sleep.

I lay there thinking about what a jerk I’d been to Brett. He was just trying to be nice to me, and I went and called him an idiot and told him to go screw himself. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he never talked to me again, but I knew he would. There was something special about the two of us together that no one else would ever understand. We had a bond that we knew could survive anything, even me being a stupid jerk.

I pondered why I’d been such a jerk earlier that day. I guessed that it was just a combination of everything that I’d been dealing with. Sometimes my temper gets the better of me when I’m stressed out and I just snap. Grandma being sick was just the start of everything. There was also what the situation was doing to my parents and me. We used to be a real close family. We never even had an argument before all this crap had happened. I could always count on my mom and dad to be there for me. We could talk about anything. We always had good conversations around the dinner table together. I always felt loved.

Then it happened; the day that had ruined my life for the last eleven months.

Now, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had dinner or had a real conversation that didn’t turn into a fight. It seemed like we were always mad at each other and we weren’t agreeing on anything anymore. I was always angry even when I didn’t really want to be. Before, I could have talked to my mom or dad or grandma for help. Now it felt like I didn’t have anybody I could talk to because they were the ones making me mad in the first place. I felt like the only person in the world sometimes.

I was also feeling stressed out because of what was going on with my body. I had known puberty was coming. I’d read and re-read everything about the subject in books I found in the library. I knew everything about what would happen to my body. I knew my thing was going to get hairy and bigger and I’d start making sperm and all that good stuff. I knew my voice was going to crack and change and all that. I knew everything there was to know about the subject. I’d spent hours in the library learning all the neat things that were going to happen to me. I’d eagerly anticipated the first signs, and wondered if my friends were experiencing the same things. My voice changed. My thing got bigger and so did my balls. I grew a foot taller. Everything I’d read about was happening to me. But then, no amount of book learning could have prepared me for the intoxicating feeling of what I’d learned to do with my new toy. It started so innocently. One afternoon after school I started mindlessly playing with my thing, rubbing it a little bit, noticing how good it felt, and then a little more until it started to feel really weird and really really good, and then it shot me in the face. That was it, I was hooked.

At first, I was kind of ashamed about doing it. But soon enough, I couldn’t go more than a couple of days without doing it again. The more I did it, the more I needed it, and the braver I got about doing it. The good feeling of orgasm was stronger than any shame I might have felt. I started by doing it in my bed. Then I did it in the bathroom. Then I did it in the school restroom once, but that was way too risky so I never tried that again. One afternoon I’d even splattered my stuff all over the floor of Brett’s bathroom with him in his room totally unaware I was beating my meat in his house. I just couldn’t leave it alone for very long. I wondered if the other boys in my class had discovered this awesome secret too.

Of course, nobody ever admitted that they jerked off. Not unless you wanted to be mercilessly slaughtered by your peers. As far as anybody knew, I didn’t even know what a dick was, let alone what to do with it. No, Billy Roberts wasn’t going to be known as the kid who masturbated like a monkey in heat. One time a kid had been caught in the school bathroom spanking it and he never lived it down. Even I’d picked on him, even though the only difference between him and me was that I’d never been caught. In fact, I never even had a wet dream because I’d never given my body a chance to build up enough semen to have to get rid of at night. No, if I was going to get wet in my sleep it was because I dreamed that I’d found the bathroom.

Unfortunately, that happened more than I’d ever like to admit. Even though I was thirteen years old and should have long been over such things, I would still wake up during the night to find myself drenched sometimes. It had been a few months since my last such incident, and I always hoped that the last time it happened would be the last time. But I knew it wouldn’t be. It was the most embarrassing, humiliating, and most hated thing about myself. I tried to hide it from my parents, but they eventually found out. They tried to help me for a while, but they only made things worse. For a while I was so anxious about it that I didn’t drink anything for three days and then I still pissed the bed! I’d even seen a doctor about it who said I’d eventually grow out of it. That was five years ago. Besides my parents, there was only one person who knew about my problem. And surprisingly, it wasn’t Brett. It was Dustin. I’d always avoided sleepovers because I was afraid that the night I slept at a friend’s house would be the night my problem would resurface. So one night Dustin’s sister got sick and had to be taken to the hospital. Dustin ended up at our house and he slept in my bed with me. We woke up in the middle of the night to a bed full of piss. I was humiliated and thought that Dustin would ridicule me forever. But instead, he helped me clean up so that my parents wouldn’t find out. He swore he’d never tell anybody. I even told him about the infamous “Bathroom Dream” which inevitably would lead to soaked sheets.

Lately I’d taken to sleeping in a pair of shorts and nothing else. It was a bold step for me to stop wearing a shirt to bed. But it was so hot that anything on my body became a sweat-soaked mess. My mom had bought me pajamas since I was a little boy, but during that whole puberty business I’d decided I was too mature for that. But it was so hot on that night that even shorts were too much. I shucked them off and lay there in my underwear. The temptation was there to get rid of them as well, but the idea of sleeping naked was too weird for me. I got thirsty and decided to get a drink of water.

I rolled out of bed and walked down the short hallway to our living room and dining room area. Our house was all one floor with my room and the main bathroom on one side and my parents’ bedroom on the other side with the living room area in the middle. It wasn’t much of a house but it was home. It was one of those old coal mining town houses made out of cheap brick and cement that looked just like every other house on my street. It was hot as balls in the summer and cold and drafty in the winter. But at least the walls were so thick that I could be about as loud as I wanted in my room and not worry about being heard. I couldn’t hear my parents in their room and they couldn’t hear me unless I had my music up too loud. I felt awkward walking around the house in just my underwear. My family was kind of prudish when it came to that kind of thing, and I don’t think I’d ever seen my dad without at least an undershirt, and never without pants. I was pretty sure that my parents had never been naked in their lives. I’m not sure how they had me.

I expected that I’d find my dad asleep in his chair in the living room with the television turned to some old western movie, and I was correct. A cigarette that was still smoldering was clenched between his fingers, hanging there by some unseen cosmic force that kept the house from burning down if he let it go. His glasses were still on, slightly askew. I tried to be quiet so as not to wake him and silently got a glass of water from a pitcher in the fridge. I gulped it down and would have had a second if not for the fear of reaching the toilet in my dreams instead of in reality. I refilled the pitcher and tip-toed to the living room. I turned to television off, put the remote control on the big wooden coffee table in the middle of the room, and started to make my way back to my room.

“I was watching that.”

I turned around to find my dad was now awake. “Sorry dad. I thought you were asleep,” I said. I immediately wished that I’d put on some pants before leaving my room.

“It wasn’t too loud was it, boy?” he asked.

“No, I was just thirsty,” I replied.

“How many glasses did you drink?” he asked.

“Just one, dad,” I answered.

“Okay,” he replied. “Don’t drink too much.”

“I won’t,” I replied.

I started to walk back to my room when dad stopped me. “Hey hold on a minute.”

“Yeah dad?” I said.

“Come back here, boy,” dad asked. I moved to my father’s side. Dad smiled at me and shook his head.

“You look just like your mom,” he said.

“I guess,” I replied awkwardly. Everybody said that about me. I could see some resemblance, but no more than anybody else and their mother. I really wished he’d picked a better time to have a conversation. The embarrassment of standing there in just in my underwear was having the unfortunate effect of making my wiener begin to swell and there wasn’t much of me left to the imagination. I tried to leave again before things got worse but dad stopped me again.

“Hey, boy.”

“Yeah, dad?”

“You know your mother and I love you.”

“I know dad. You don’t have to tell me,” I said. Of course they loved me, I was their kid. It was in the contract.

“Well it’s just that we’ve all been so irritable with each other lately. You and your mother and me… We all need to get along a lot better than we have been.”

“I know,” I replied. “I know you guys are having it rough with grandma being sick and you working so much because mom can’t right now.”

“Yes, but I want you to know that whatever happens through this that we both love you.”

“Jeez dad, you act like you’re getting a divorce and you don’t want me to blame myself,” I laughed. Dad wasn’t laughing though. “You’re not are you?” I asked more seriously.

“I don’t think it will come to that,” dad said. “But these are some rough times for all of us, boy. You’re growing up and we’re missing it. It seems like yesterday you were just a little boy. When you were born you were just a tiny little thing. You could fit in my arm with room to spare. You had the blondest hair. Now look at you, all grown up. You’re going to be taller than me soon. What happened to my little boy?”

“The store ran out of hair dye and mom stopped poisoning me with her cooking,” I replied.

Dad had to stifle a laugh.

“But I’m still your little boy, dad. Just taller.”

“I know… I’m sorry I haven’t been to any of your games this summer. It’s just been…”

“You’ve been busy,” I interrupted, “I know. It’s not a big deal. You can watch me sit on a bench anytime.”

“No. It’s no excuse. Just looking at you tonight, how much older you’ve gotten. Gosh, I can’t believe how much you look like your mother. I’ve missed you growing up right in front of me. It’s like my little boy moved out and this teenage kid who I barely know moved in and took his room. We’ve drifted apart these last few months and I don’t like it. I want to see more of you, boy.”

“Well, you can’t see much more of me than this!” I laughed. “But if you want I can parade around in my underwear more often!”

“I see your looks aren’t the only thing you got from your mother!” dad laughed. “When did you become such a sarcastic wise guy?”

I leaned over and gave dad as tight of a hug as I could muster. I could feel the stubble of his beard prickling against my cheek. “I love ya, old man.” As I pulled away from the embrace dad clutched me back to him, and awkwardly hugged me back. It was probably the first time we’d shown any sort of affection like that in months. He patted me on the back and then released me.

“Isn’t it sad that I can’t remember the last time I hugged you?” dad asked.

“Things are going to get better,” I replied. “I promise.”

“Okay, get to bed,” he said. “I’m going to make it to your game tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure,” I replied. I managed a smile. I knew he wouldn’t really make it, but it was nice that he was willing to pretend that he actually gave a crap about my activities. He’d surely be working tomorrow, just like every other day. I walked toward the hallway to my room.

“And boy!” dad called after me.

“Yeah?” I replied.

“Put some pants on when you walk around the house for god’s sake. You don’t want your mother to see you walking around half-naked, do you?”

I smiled, “sure. Okay, dad.” Like I said, my parents were a couple of Puritans. But I guess I loved them just the same. As I lay in my bed later, I thought about a lot of things, but I wasn’t nearly as anxious as I’d been before. Sure, I was still crushed under the weight of the unbearable humidity. But it felt a lot less oppressive, as if some of the weight had been lifted. For a while I felt like our family, as screwed up as we were, was somehow going to get through the mess we were in. For just a little while, that teenager who’d stolen Billy Roberts’ room was gone and the old Billy was back, drifting off to sleep in his old bed.