Bailey By Rory M Chapter 1
It was too late in the evening for the young child to be awake, but his fear of the thunder outside his window kept him from sleep. He curled his small frame tightly under the old quilt and shut his eyes as tight as they would go with each crack of thunder. The oversized bed engulfed him in a comfortable buffer from the rest of the room that was so familiar and now so scary to the little boy. A large crack of thunder rang with a bolt of lightning that sent the house shaking. The large antique crucifix that hung on the wall rattled and then crashed to the floor with the crack of lightning. The five year old wailed and shrieked for his mother who was on the other side of the large house already tending to the boys younger sibling who had been crying since the beginning of the storm.
"Bailey boy, Bailey it's alright child, hush yourself before you wake the dead."
Soothed Bailey's Grandmother, who shuffled into the room with a rosary in one hand and a remote in the other. She was fond of saying her evening prayers watching television. Her thick Irish accent gave her away that she was not a native of New Jersey, but she was proud of her heritage and reminded everyone around her of it whether they listened or not.
The boy sobbed and reached for his grandmother from the oversized, antique bed that swallowed him into the middle. The old woman put the clicker (ass she referred to it) on the night table and brought the hysterical child to her lap.
"Now whit is aw the fuss about little one, you should be sleepin' like a lamb now."
The child could only cry into the larger woman's chest. She rocked the boy and pet his soft, curly black hair to calm him. Soon he no longer sobbed and was whimpering into her chest, the fatigue of not sleeping getting to his little body.
"Now ere yeh better now Bailey? You gave me a scare with all that hollerin'."
"It knocked down...the wall." The boy said choking back the last remains of his crying. He pointed at the wall where the crucifix had been and the older woman got up to place the oversized cross back on the wall.
"Jesus is mooch stronger that a lil' thunder child, now git back under those covers."
The child scrambled back under the large quilt. His small hands wiped the stinging tears from his eyes and cheeks as the old but not feeble woman returned to sit on the bedside. She saw the boy still choking on his breathing as he tried to calm himself. The poor thing was still too scared to left alone in her opinion, so she did what the boy loved best, sing.
She didn't have a good voice for anything but soft lullabies and Gaelic folk tunes, but that suited the taste of the five-year-old fine. She ran her hand gently up and down the boy's back, patting and rubbing as she sang Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral slightly above a coo.
Over in Killarney, Many years ago, Me mither sang a song to me In tones so sweet and low. Just a simple little ditty, In her good ould Irish way, And I'd give the world if she could sing That song to me this day. Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Hush, now don't you cry! Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, That's an Irish lullaby.
Oft, in dreams I wander To that cot again, I feel her arms a huggin' me As when she held me then. And I hear her voice a humin' To me as in days or yore, When she used to rock me fast asleep Outside the cabin door. Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Hush, now don't you cry! Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, That's an Irish lullaby.
The small boy was fast asleep in the middle of the old bed, his little arms wrapped around a pillow and his legs tucked into his stomach.
"Such a good little Bairnie." The old woman leaned over to kiss his forehead, and left the room quietly.
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"Bailey William McCorristin, if yeh don't git yer arse out of that bed I'ma gone come over there and box those ears!" That was the normal wake up call for Monday mornings in the McCorristin family.
Bailey opened his eyes to the familiar site of the old crucifix nailed to the wall over his antique bed. It was raining outside, and a distant sound of thunder could be heard over his grandmother's interpretation of a wake-up call. He shut his eyes again to say a quick morning prayer then hoisted himself up before his mother joined forces with his grandmother to coax him out of bed.
"Good morning, Nanny." He said groggily to the old woman.
"Yir bloody mothir is makin' breakfast, you bettir get down there before yer brothir or poppo get to it first. Yir fathir already ate, somethin' aboot an early meetin'."
The old woman gave the boy one last smile as she went down the hall to wake Shane up, who was more stubborn to get out of bed in the morning than his older brother.
Bailey slowly walked himself to the bathroom across the hall and shed his boxers for a shower. His mind drifted from the shampoo dripping down his neck to the dream he had. He smirked thinking his grandmother must have sung last night as she walked to bed, and it incorporated itself into his dream.
He stepped out of the shower and toweled off his slim body. At 16 he was merely 5'1 and 110 pounds. He hated his body and hated his size, it didn't help that his 13-year-old brother was 7 inches taller than him with a muscular bulk strange to someone his age. They were both very different. Bailey had crow black hair that curled loosely to fall always in disarray, with fair skin and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and upper cheeks. His face was slender, with smallish pale gray eyes and full pouty lips that added most of the color to his white face. Shane contrasting with his brother's feminine looks and size was built quite well for being just shy of 14. He unlike Bailey was tanned by playing sports and outside and his hair was kept very short and bleached at the tips. The two of them next to each other would never be thought of brothers, as Bailey took to his studies and especially to church while Shane wanted little to do with either. Though so different they go along well enough. Bailey was often a make shift tutor to Shane, as Shane constantly tried to lift his brothers serious and morose moods.
That morning they met at the dining room table and took their usual seats to the left of the table, as their parents sat across from them at the right. Each grandparent took the ends of the table, and Bailey since he was nine had usually always said the meal's prayer. Bailey picked at his breakfast half sleepily as his brother inhaled his, then rushed out the door to walk with his friends to class.
"Shane Patrick, come here." Their mother said with a small laugh and a smile. She took the boy's tie in hand and repaired the lazy excuse for a knot.
"Thanks Mom!" He kissed her on the cheek and rushed out the door once more, not wanting to be bothered with anything more.
"Bailey dear will you eat more, you complain about being small and yet you don't eat, I give up with you!" His mother said with the same smile as she kissed his forehead walking past the table.
"If yah fed that child with good food he'd be as strong as the rest of em'. Look at that skin, he's as whiete as the arse of a protestant whore." His grandmother had a way with words. "Mother McCorristin I will not have that talk at my table, and especially of my son. He eats fine enough, and he's go his FATHER'S SKIN!!"
Bailey blushed and excused himself from the table as his mother and grandmother got into the usual fight about nothing. His grandfather sat back and read the daily paper as if he were alone in the room. Bailey straightened his tie and put his jacket on for school.
"Have fun, lad." Was his entire grandfather said as he walked to the door unnoticed by the bickering Irish women.
"I'll try, Poppo." Was all he said as he slipped through the door and shut it behind him.
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The catholic high school was nothing different from any other institution of its kind. All of the boys wore slacks, a tie and a jacket as the girls wore a skirt of the matching color scheme and a button-up blouse. Most of the students were of either Italian or Irish heritage, but other than last names there was no difference between most. The McCorristin brother's were second generation Irish, which was the story of most of the students. Very few were not born in the US, and most if not all were brought up strictly catholic. Bailey was brought up in this archaic system of rituals, beliefs, and fears to stand as he is today. He was an altar boy, attended church twice a week, always with his Grandmother in toe, and loved god as much as he feared him. He was a dying bread amongst his peers.
"Bailey Boy! Have some whiskey for me? Or are you still hording the communion wine?" Bailey grimaced at the jokes and sneering, they were old, and not the slightest original, he was still waiting for them to give it up. He walked to his locker and gingerly opened it, reaching in for his books. It didn't take long for Tony Vernace to slam him into the locker, pinning him against it.
"Bailey Boy, I seemed to have lost my tie, may I borrow yours?" The larger boy said as he wrenched the tie around his small neck, pulling it tighter.
"I haven't got an extra today, sorry Tony." Bailey said with slight fear in his voice, even though he knew the other wanted the one around his neck and not any other. Before he knew it, the tie was yanked from around his neck, and a snicker past him as the crowd followed Tony to class. Bailey went on to class, fearing the demerit he would get for not having his tie...once again.
"Mr. McCorristin, is that the second time this month without a tie? You'll never learn, boy." Bailey just sighed back his apologies and sat in his normal chair as he was given his demerit. He sat alone and pretended to read a book as the other students chatted loudly around him. It was a normal day in his world, not that it was easy. Classes hadn't even started yet and he longed to go home, or for at least someone to talk to him. He had friends but very few, most didn't understand his shyness or his fear of getting close to someone. He feared the rejection that he was sure to get; his features and mannerisms were far from those of the obnoxious co-eds and bullies.
The day dragged on as a normal Monday, and at 2:30 Bailey hastily walked home, impatiently awaiting his room.
"Bailey William, where is your tie?" His mother asked as soon as he entered the door.
"I must have left it somewhere, Mom. I'm sorry."
He stomped up the staircase before she could retaliate. It was pointless to her anyway, he had lost so many over the years that they bought blue ties in bulk.
"That boy will never learn." She sighed.
"Somethin' aren't right with that boy, maybe he's got himself a girl."
"Every time you say that mother he gets a pained look on his face and gets quiet, if you bring it up one more time he's going to become a mute."
"Nonsinse you cadd, a boy his age only wents one thin', and that's a lass."
"That boy might as well be a priest, you should have more concern for Shane...that one is going to cause trouble."
"The lad is trouble! Yer a thick womun if yeh can't see the lust in that one. He be the one to bring me great gran' bairnies.
"Old woman, you talk nonsense."
It was a typical Monday.
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Bailey sat on his bed with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around his shins. He stared at the crucifix on the wall and off into nothingness as the tears rolled down his cheeks. This was sadly a routine to the boy. He was depressed in his loneliness and confusion over who he was. Bailey knew deep within him that he wasn't normal, that he wasn't what he though he was supposed to be. He especially on this rainy Monday afternoon felt dirty and sad with himself and decided he had had enough. He changed into khaki's and a sweater and was on his way to St. Ann's for something he had dreaded doing for years.
The confessional booth was never a happy place for Bailey, let alone anyone, but today he almost feared that he would never step out of it the same. He entered the booth timidly and waited for the Priest to slide the partition back to start his confession.
"Good evening my son, In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen. How long has it been since your last confession?" The Priest said in a calm manner.
"Three weeks father."
"What is it that you come to seek penance for?"
"Father, I have a problem that I can't seem to get rid of. It's shameful, but I have to get it off my conscience, I can't live with it much longer."
"Have you prayed to God for help?"
"Yes I have, but I still can't understand what is wrong with me."
"What is wrong with you, if it is a wrong in the face of the lord?"
Bailey took a deep breath and clenched his trembling hands. His nerves were shot and he was having trouble working up the strength to go on in the confession.
"Father, I'm gay."
"In the eyes of the lord and of the catholic church you are not a fit catholic if you are gay. Are you sure, child?"
Bailey was already fighting back the tears; he already regretted what he had said. Barely a whisper he stammered a, "Yes Father."
"God loves all, but one must earn God's love to be one with him. You must find within yourself to rid yourself of this sin and any thoughts of homosexuality. It is not in God's grace for you to be. Pray to him, child, pray so that he could possibly forgive you for your ways. Say 4 Our Fathers and 1 Hail Mary, and resort to your Rosary in times of weakness, son. God be with you.
Bailey could not choke out the "Also with you" without bursting into a sob. Deep down he had expected rejection, but within the only place he knew he was welcome he had been condemned. It was too much for the boy as he rushed out of the church on his way home.
Back in his room, Bailey sobbed himself through his confusion and sorrows as he help his rosary tightly staring at the antique crucifix. Within his thoughts since he concluded that he was in fact gay were many things that all concluded in uncertainty. He knew his classmates would terrorize him even more if they knew, that was certain. His family he wasn't sure of. He knew his Great Uncle William from Mayo itself was gay, but he was never mentioned much. He wasn't sure which way his family would go; he honestly didn't want to face that. All he had was his family; in all its dysfunctional glory he loved every bit about it. He found a lot of comfort and humor in his family.
In such a traditional Irish house it was not traditional. His mother and grandmother never got along, and he questioned why they agreed to live with each other still, he surmised that it was for the sake of his brother and himself, and to drive his father and grandfather crazy. The house was obviously dominated by the two women, who were still outnumbered two to one. Bailey's father Collin went from being controlled by his mother to being controlled by his wife. The sad part was, the same would probably come of Bailey and Shane, for the McCorristin men were cursed with being submissive and genetically pussy whipped. But Bailey now confronted the thought of losing that.
He thought back to when he was younger, when nothing seemed to go wrong and nothing seemed to hurt. He thought back to his Grandmother's singing and all the stories she would tell of Ireland and of family members he had never met or barely knew. He never wanted to hurt his Nanny, and he surely didn't want to lose her or any of his family. In his mind that night in his room he knew that his religion was failing him when he thought it would be there for him. He was trapped within his thoughts and a feeling of absolute isolation over took him. He looked up at the cross on his wall that he had looked to for comfort so many times before and felt emptiness. The worn, dark wood that supported the metal cross no longer had the glow that he used to feel. It now cast a sharp shadow on the wall and seemed to mock him for what he was. He burst into tears again as he coiled himself into a ball.
His thoughts turned once again as they had so many other times to the question of suicide. So many times he had thought of it, but it was a sin also to commit suicide. 'How could a god make me this way and then turn his back on me, and how could he damn me either way.' His thoughts reeled as he got off the floor of his room and sauntered to the bathroom across the hall. He paused at the medicine cabinet to look at himself, maybe for the last time. His eyes were red and his lips quivering. His skin was slightly flushed and his hair still slung down into his forehead as hopeless curls. He was angered by his own reflection and looked away as he opened the cabinet to retrieve whatever pills he could find. He found a half full bottle of prescription sleeping pills his grandfather used when his back hurt. He downed the bottle with a glass of water and returned to his room.
He laid on his bed and soon found himself tired...and then nothing.
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That's it for now, this will probably be the worst chapter that Bailey will face, It goes up from here I assure you. Any questions or comments can be sent to St_Rory@hotmail.com or I'm also Rory Danial on AIM.
Thanks to all of you who encouraged me to write my last story and now this one, I love you all. Also, thanks to those in the Nifty Chat, you guys are there for me more than you know.