Well, guys, this is my first complete story... it was pretty hard writing it - and it took me forever - so don't expect any more soon (or at all). Please send nice, constructive comments to me at bombarde1@yahoo.com - I guess it's obvious that flames will be ignored.
Also, I omitted the actual sex for a reason, and I'm sure you can imagine that for yourselves. I want to dedicate this to all the guys that write stories for Nifty (keep on pluggin' away!) and to Brandon, P.J., Chris, and Julien - you guys keep me sane - I love you!
Enjoy - nothing but my poor brain was harmed in writing this.
"Hallelujah from the heart of God, and from the hand of the artist inimitable, and from the echo of the heavenly harp in sweetness magnifical and mighty."
-- Christopher Smart (1722-1771)
Aquamarine Chase Bentley, March 1999
I looked down at my notebook. The words scrawled there seemed misspelled and foreign. The bold green ink I was using stood out sharply from the white paper with its pastel blue and pink lines. My eyes went out of focus.
"Mr. O'Connor, I don't suppose you'd like to join the rest of the class?" my teacher's nasal voice pierced through my daze. I jerked up and glanced around the room. Twenty-three pairs of eyes were glued to me. Slowly, I slid back down into my seat.
"Um... I'm sorry, ma'am," I mumbled, keeping my eyes glued to a spot on the dusty chalkboard just to the left of the witch's head. I felt my fingers grip my notebook as I had sudden urges to hurl it at her. 'Take it easy,' I told myself as I slowly began to count to ten. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5...
"Well," she humphed, pursing her lips and giving me the Evil Eye. "I don't suppose you could explain to the rest of the class how one would go about finding the parametric equations for this model," the old bat said, turning and rapping her pointing stick on the chalkboard where a diagonal line was painstakingly plotted on a plane. I looked down at my notebook and didn't reply.
"Mr. O'Connor? Hello? Perhaps Mr. Morrison would be able to help you?" she said, smiling sweetly and pointing to the door. "Why don't you pay him a visit?" 'God ... she's practically batting her eyelashes at me! `BITCH!' I silently screamed. Instead of giving her the satisfaction of knowing she had won, I simply nodded and smiled back at her. She gave me a "Hello? Is there anyone home?" look and said, pronouncing each syllable slowly, as if I was deaf, "Mr. O'Connor, Mr. Morrison is the principal of the school. His office is down the hall on your left. Just tell the secretary I sent you." She stood with her hands pressed together, as though she was sending up a silent prayer for me. I smiled, gathering my things, and made my way to the door. The entire class erupted in snickers and someone threw a wad of paper at me. I slunk out of the room and shut the door quietly.
Outside, the hall was empty. Looking both ways, I began to head towards where I thought the principal's office was, but I got lost almost immediately. Opening a random door, I found myself in the empty gym. As the door shut slowly behind me, I absorbed the dusty light that filtered in through the large windows and the big balls of dust that lined the wooden playing floor. I looked up at the ceiling and felt an amazing sense of awe, as though I had stepped into a cathedral. I slowly walked over to one of the bleachers. Lowering myself onto the first row, I pulled my legs into a lotus position and tried to find some sort of peace with the dust and the air of silence.
My mom had already begun to pack before she told me we were moving. I had walked into the small apartment after a wonderful day at school, jauntily whistling and swaying to the music in my head. The reason? I was in love.
I stopped short when I saw my mother in the living room. She should have been at work, taking care of her babies at the hospital or whatever it was that she was supposed to do. Instead, she was on the floor. A box was in front of her and all of her Chinese knick-knacks were spread around her, some wrapped in old newspaper.
"Mom?" I tried to speak. She looked up and her face grew stony.
"I know about you and Taylor. And I do not approve. But you're still my son and I love you. I was offered a new job in rural New York and I'm planning on taking it. We're moving this weekend," she said, looking back at her packing. The room went black for a second as I absorbed what she had said. She knew what about Taylor? That he and I were going out? It wasn't like we'd had sex or anything - there hadn't been time. I saw her shake a little and, despite my anger, I went to stand next to her. A tear fell on the newspaper, and then another, and another. I wasn't sure which one of us was crying.
Suddenly, I awoke from my reverie. It was almost like waking in the night to a noise and then hearing nothing. The silence in the gym was thunderous, broken only by my ragged breathing. I'd started crying. 'Typical fairy,' I though to myself. I slowly put my hand to my face, to wipe the tears away, but my hand stopped halfway up. I'd heard a noise. An intake of breath. Afraid, I stiffened. 'What if it's a senior or something? Looking for queer freshmen to bash -- I'm dead,' I thought. I didn't move.
"Hello?" came a quiet voice, from my left. It sounded male and slightly afraid. Compelled by something deep within the voice, some electricity, I turned slowly. As I lifted my eyes, shining with tears, I saw an angel. I knew there was something wrong because angels weren't real and even if they were, they didn't appear to normal people, right? I mean, you had to be an apostle or Moses or someone. But there, despite my disbelief, was an angel. He looked about my age and he had a mop of blond curls, shining like pure gold, and huge, deep blue eyes that seemed to look deep within my soul. His face was smooth and tanned, and his lips were pale pink. He was wearing a long, white robe, voluptuously hiding whatever figure he possessed, and he was standing in a beam of sunlight, which lit his hair like a thousand strands of light and made him seem truly holy. I must have stared for hours.
"Um, hello?" he said again, a little more unsure of himself. He slowly stepped forward and out of the beam of light. He walked towards me, eyes holding mine like deep pools of pure sky. A few yards away, he stopped and hesitated. "Are you ok?" he asked hesitantly. My mouth flapped like a fish out of water before I finally found my voice.
"Wh--Who are you?" I gasped out, still staring. I was completely confused and dazed and discombobulated. 'Come on, fag, get with it,' I said to myself but I couldn't seem to find reality. The angel in front of me looked down at his clothes and snickered.
"Oh, you mean these? I'm in the play ... we're having a dress rehearsal over in the auditorium. I just came over here to get something," he said, his eyes smiling at me. I felt really stupid, because now it was obvious that he wasn't an angel. It had seemed so real, though. Finally, I managed to clear my head a little.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I thought you were--"
"You thought I was what?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing. I'm sorry," I said, suddenly ashamed of myself. Here I was with this blond god and all I could do is babble. And I probably had streaks on my face from crying. I was such a wreck. I looked down at the floor glumly.
I felt him move towards me, his aura of peace still strong. He sat next to me and I could feel his gaze. "So what were these about?" he asked softly, barely touching the streak on my cheek. At his light touch, I shivered. I couldn't meet his gaze. Was he mocking me? Was he going to laugh if I told him? I didn't say anything.
"Aren't you new here? I haven't seen you before. You miss your old school?" he asked gently. Suddenly, it all came back. I could remember my mother yelling at me about Taylor, threatening to kick me out. I could remember the time she threw a plate at me. I gasped once and then felt the tears begin to fall again. I was so ashamed of crying in front of a total stranger. I turned my head away and tried to stop, but I was sobbing uncontrollably.
I felt him touch me on the shoulder, lightly. Meeting no resistance, he patted my back and gave me a little squeeze, in a brotherly way. I felt him move closer and I felt his kindness, like a sudden feeling of love. I leaned on his shoulder slightly and he moved his arm to accept me. Leaning my full weight against his chest, I felt his arms encircle me slowly. I stopped crying and simply lay there, enjoying his presence and touch. I could feel his breath on my neck, soft and sweet. He was slowly stroking my chest and murmuring soothing words in my ear. Suddenly, the weight of Taylor and my mother and moving and all of my problems disappeared and I was happy. I lay like a child, with him as my guardian angel. I fell asleep.
I dreamt about Taylor. We had been distant friends for a long time before that particular day, but we had never really known much about each other. It was just because of the freak rainstorm and being stranded in McDonald's that we really became what we were. Although I wasn't sure exactly what we were. Lovers? We never had sex. Boyfriends? I don't know. But at those sticky plastic tables a connection had passed between us. It had been love, I was sure.
And then I dreamt about the day we moved. I remember saying goodbye and suddenly hating Taylor. I knew it was irrational and silly, but it was the only feeling I could muster. Instead of hugging goodbye, we stood in uncomfortable silence. I felt like a five year-old, thinking that it was his fault that I had to move. He had moved to kiss me, one final time, but I had turned and ran. I ran for at least three miles that day, through our neighborhood and into the city. It had begun to rain, but I continued to run, thinking that the rain symbolized something. It had been present at both the beginning and at the end of our relationship. After an hour, I called my mom to come pick me up, dripping inside the telephone booth. As I was waiting, a religious nut had come up to me to inform me about Jesus, but when he asked me what was wrong, I began to sob. He had left me alone, in the street, with the rain falling on my contorted face and mixing with the salt of my tears.
I woke up still in the angel's arms. He had fallen asleep also, and his head was against mine. His blond hair and my brown mixed together, as though on a pillow the morning after. As much as I didn't want to move, I felt uncomfortable with the situation. I didn't know anything about this guy, and at any minute someone would probably walk in and my life would be hell, for sure. I moved a little and I felt him start. He yawned and patted me on the chest.
"Man, I tell you - that was the most relaxing nap I've had in a long time," he sighed, looking at me through sleep-filled eyes. I gazed at him with a mixture of awe and trepidation. I couldn't imagine what he thought of me, crying myself to sleep in his arms.
"Who are you?" I asked with quite a bit of nervousness. I moved out of his reach and leaned against a bleacher.
"You mean my name? Jeff Willis. And you're Brad O'Connor, right?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
"Umm, yeah. How'd you know?" I asked, confused.
"Oh, I have my sources," he said expansively. He looked at my red eyes and tear- streaked face and smiled sweetly. "Why don't you wash up and then I'll take you to McDonald's? My treat," he asked, winking at me and pulling my hair a little. My breath caught in my throat.
"C--Could we go somewhere other than McDonald's?" I asked as memories of my first meeting with Taylor came to mind. I could still imagine those red and yellow plastic tables, like french fries and ketchup. Jeff looked at me oddly. "Well, sure, I guess. But I can't afford much more expensive. Is Wendy's ok?" he asked, giving me a weird look. "Sure," I said hurriedly. I didn't want him to think I was being picky or something. He jumped up and grabbed my hand. Dragging me to the gym bathroom, he turned on the faucet and scrubbed the streaks of tears off my face, soaking us both. Briefly, I wondered why the people in the play wouldn't miss him, but Jeff grabbed my hand and pulled back into the gym, with reckless laughter. We dashed out an emergency exit and to his car in the parking lot, where he stripped the angel suit and tossed it in the back. Leaving school behind, I was suddenly exhilarated. I rolled down the window and stuck my face out, like a dog. It was the first time I'd been excited about something in months.
We were alone in Wendy's except for a little old lady who was devouring a salad as though she hadn't eaten in weeks. When we walked in, she suddenly grabbed her purse, as though we would try to steal it. I realized, though, that we were skipping school and that she probably thought we were delinquents or something. At the cash register, I ordered a large order of french fries and a chocolate frosty. Jeff ordered a huge double cheeseburger with more french fries. When I looked at him oddly, he shrugged and said that a guy had to eat. Well, I generally agreed with him, but after my recent crying session, I wasn't that hungry.
After Jeff paid, we sat in the corner and looked out the window while tackling our respective meals in silence. The little old lady had finished her salad by then and was rummaging through her purse like some crazed animal. Eventually, she pulled a stick of gum out and held it up triumphantly. Clearing her place, she left, stopping to savor the first taste of the gum.
Jeff noticed me watching her and chuckled as she left. "My grandmother is just as crazy as her," he said, munching on a fry. "She forgets who people are some days, but others she's fine. But she's always had a wild streak - she drives a red Corvette and loves to buy designer sunglasses." He talked with real love in his voice, for which I was envious. I had never been close to my mother's parents and my father had left just after I was born, so I had never met his. I went back to my fries and watched the traffic through the window. Suddenly, Jeff looked straight at me and cleared his throat.
"Umm, would you mind telling me why you were crying?" he asked hesitantly, as though he was nervous too. He cleared his throat again. "I don't want to pry or anything, but ... maybe we could talk a little or something. You know, just--" he trailed off. I looked at him and sighed.
"I'm not sure I can yet. You know, I hardly know you at all, and--" I said. I really didn't want to tell this cool guy that I was gay and I was crying for my boyfriend. He would think I was disgusting and would hate me, and ... I didn't want to lose the only person that had been nice to me at this new school. I wasn't sure if I could handle that. So, instead of answering him, I changed the subject.
"So," I said brightly after a moment of uncertain silence. "What grade are you in?"
"I'm a junior," he said, looking at me closely, probably wondering why I wouldn't tell him. "And you're a sophomore, right?"
"Yeah! How do you know that?" I asked.
"Oh, I figured it out. So what kind of music do you like?"
"Well," I said, eating some fries, "I like all kinds. But right now I'm in love with Madonna. She's soooo cool! I don't really like the song "Ray of Light" 'cause it gets really old sometimes, but there are some other really cool songs on that CD. But I don't like her recent video, you know, the one with all the oriental people in kimonos all jumping up and down. She really ruined that video, even though it's a cool song." I realized that I was just babbling at that point and just stopped. Jeff was staring at me.
"So,... what kind of music do you like?" I asked nervously, trying to stop his staring. He was kinda phased out or something, so I leaned over and knocked him on the forehead. He jumped and gave me a weird look.
"Sorry ... I was just--" he stammered. "I think it's really cool you like Madonna - I like her music too! But I pretty much like anything -- as long as it's not the Backstreet Boys!!!"
"Oh, yeah man - they suck so much!" I said, reaching for another fry. He was reaching for the same one, though, and our hands brushed. He looked at me again, and sighed. "You're sure you won't tell me why you were crying?" he asked, looking concerned.
"Well ... I really don't think I know you well enough to just..."
"Do you think you could get to know me better?" he asked.
"Umm ... yeah ... I guess. I mean ... I dunno."
"You want to come back to my house and hang out?" he said, smiling. Excitement filled my chest and I looked at him happily.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Come on!" he said, standing up and grabbing the rest of the food. "We'll finish this on the way!"
Jeff's house was huge. It probably had fifteen massive rooms and they all had fireplaces and stuff. It was rather intimidating and I looked at him strangely.
"This is where you live?!?" I said, freaking out over how rich he must be. For the first time, I noticed what kind of car he drove. It was a BMW, probably brand new.
"Umm ... yeah. It's kind of embarrassing, actually, since it's so big. But..."
We walked into the house and he gave me the grand tour. His room was the last one on the tour, on the third floor. And it was as big as my whole apartment! He had his own bathroom, a walk-in closet, and a king-sized bed. In the corner was a computer and the room was plastered with posters with everyone from Leonardo DiCaprio to Marilyn Manson. He looked around, seeming to see it from a stranger's point of view.
"Well, at least it's mine, huh? I collect the posters -- just various ones I've found and bought over the years." He sat on the bed and motioned for me to sit next to him. I did.
"You want something to drink? Those fries were pretty salty," he asked, looking at me. He was quite close, even though it was a big bed. I could feel the warmth of his body, just inches away from my own. It felt wonderful.
"No, thanks -- I'm fine!" I said, giving him a smile and looking back at him. He had zonked out again and was staring at me. I gazed into his beautiful blue eyes and longed to kiss his soft lips. I moved towards him slightly.
"Brad," Jeff said, breaking the moment. "Can I tell you something about me?"
"Umm ... sure, I guess. What?"
"Well, I don't know how to say this, but I kinda want you to know, just in case you'll hate me because of it--" he trailed off, looking at the floor. "Brad," he paused, and then looked me in the eye, "I'm gay." He stopped and just gazed at me, watching my reaction.
Which was to start crying, of course. I looked at him through blurred vision and he looked nervous, hoping I wouldn't hate him, I guess. I looked down at my feet and then made a decision. I had to leave Taylor behind and Jeff seemed so nice. I looked back up at him and sighed. I said, slowly, with a passionate and husky voice, "So am I." He stared, a smile playing on his face. He leaned in and kissed me softly, on the cheek. I gasped at his touch. Feeling no regrets and no sorrow, I leaned in and kissed him on the lips, slowly but firmly. We sighed together in lust or in love, or in both, and fell back, my head resting on his chest. I fell asleep to his slow, steady heartbeat. I was happy. I was safe. I was in love.