Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/camping/canvas-hell) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
Karl looked at me with hope, fear and longing; my heart shattered. I cradled this boy-man in my arms and began to weep, cuddling and soothing both of our souls. Would he hate me? I didn't care. Would he blame me? I didn't care. What would others think? I DIDN'T CARE! I rocked him until sleep came, both his and mine. Repercussions, recrimination and regrets were for the morning; now I took and gave what we both needed so badly.
***** Canvas Hell 7: What is a Man? By Bear Pup
T/T/T; self-discovery; no sex; being a man; abuse and recovery; the comradery of men
I awoke first, likely because most of my limbs were either screaming or asleep. The world was in that pearlescent not-quite-light and soft silence that precedes the birds starting the day in song. My heart simply stopped beating when I realised that I was still cradling Karl. My right leg (the asleep one) was hanging off the cot. The other, along with my left arm, were pinned beneath Karl's curled form. At some point in the night I had obviously tugged the flap of my sleeping bag over us.
Karl was by no means small, just shorter than me. His body was curled, not in a foetal position but close, his lower legs straight across my thighs and his head on my chest. His arms were held close and tight, and his right hand was in the thumb-sucking position but the thumb was tucked into his fist. A wave of, I dunno, affection? surely not love? washed over me. A close friend had been unmercifully-teased when we were younger; a group of older boys caught him in a moment of distraction with his thumb in his mouth. He'd done the same thing from then forward -- any time his hand was at rest, he made a conscious effort to ensure that his thumb was locked in his fist.
I knew that there was no way this would end well. If Karl woke up in this position, even though it was not by the choice of either of us to have fallen asleep during the storm, he could never forgive himself or me. He would wake humiliated about his panic during the storm itself. Add his curled and cowering pose, plus having slept with (ON!) me all night long. It would devastate him.
Ooookay. Option A: lift him like a child and put him in his own bunk like my dad used to do with me? I couldn't even move my own limbs; like moving him was going to work. Okay, Option B: wriggle myself out from under and move him (or me) to his bunk? See previous objection. Option C: um, well, I could, let's see, um...
Karl started to move a little and his breathing changed. I knew that I had about ten seconds before this whole thing exploded. AHA! Option Z: I lurched to the side, pitching the not-quite-asleep Karl onto the floor between the cots.
BAM! Rattle, curse, slide, scramble, slide, BAM (head up into cot), new curse word (I took note of that one for later use), slide, BAM (head again into cot), "Whaddawhad? HUH?" scramble. Karl's head emerged and I rubbed the pretend sleep from my eyes.
"Man! You just fell outta bed! Whaddya do that for?" Karl's eyes were wide with shocked wakefulness as he stared at me. Various brain cells came online slowly. First were legs, and he got up enough to fall back onto his cot. 'FUCK! His cot is cold and he'll have to notice!' Luckily, the next neurons in queue for launch were the boy's eternal standby, stuttering and blushing.
"What! No! I, I, um, I tripp... I..." Next was another in teen's greatest hits, confused blame and deflection, "WHAT DID YOU DO? I was asleep! Why did you wake me like that?"
Having had many more brain-startup minutes on Karl, I was ready. "What are you talking about? I was asleep until you shook the whole tent!"
I could see the lights coming on slowing in Karl-World. Inevitably, the next most-horrifying thought was sexual. 'Did I have an erection and did anyone see it?' The answers were half-assuring. 'Yes, duh, I always have a fricking boner but no, Patrick couldn't see it with all the covers, right? Right?'
Now fully conscious (or as much as a teen boy can be before noon), Karl finally got his breathing under control and his body fell 'back' onto his sleeping bag. I breathed sigh of relief.
"Okay. Okay. Okay. Um. What happened?"
"After the storm," I was indescribably careful with my tone and stress here where I knew most of the landmines were waiting, "I fell asleep. You musta got back in your cot funny and when you went to wake up, you fell." Hey! Actually, that wasn't bad for extemporaneous desperation!
"Oh. Okay. Okay." Karl's brow furrowed deeply. "Storm. Right. A bad storm. Big lightening, really loud." His eyes went wide and all I could see were whites. "Did, um, di, did I, um, you know, say anything?"
I thought that I had this one in the bag, having planned the line since I woke up. "I don't really know. I was yelling I was so scared. I might have, you know, grabbed onto you?"
I could see that I'd blown it. His eyes narrowed; he knew better and remembered more than I'd counted on. But I could also see Karl churning through options. He inserted this into the range of humiliating and emasculating scenarios and the total came up 'not bad.'
"Yeah, I remember us both yelling," his blush was now nearly as bad as some of mine. "And, um, and I think I jumped up and when you grabbed hold. I, um," a pleading look that wracked my soul accompanied the words, "fell into your cot? And there was a Leader? Asking if ev, um, everything was o, okay and you said yeah and then?" I just sat and nodded, "yeah, then, then, the rain came up and you, yeah, you went to sleep and I got, got into my cot. Yeah."
No matter how still I held my face (more likely because I held my face so still), I could see Karl knew that I knew and was so deeply ashamed that he wanted to die. I could not stand that look.
"Karl," my voice low and grateful, "thank you for being there. I was really scared." After the looks of terror and panic last night, then the fear and self-loathing on Karl's face this morning, I could not have cared less if that made me into a pussy. I could not imagine letting Karl go on feeling like that, no matter what I made myself sound like. It would have been more than wrong; it would have been evil. "Let's hit the Hygiene Hut before the crowds, okay?"
We grabbed our kit including fresh clothes and walked (slid and sloshed) down the muddy ravine that had previously been our trail. We really DID get a lot of rain last night. If we hadn't needed a shower before, we sure did now!
We were the first ones in the HH. So early, in fact, that the water was still ice cold. We therefore headed to the latrine part to take care of those needs and brushed our teeth as we heard the pipes bang and pop and the water came above frigid. It was merely screaming cold when we showered. It felt like we set a speed-shower record. Much later, I'd come to call that a Schtinkenshowe Shower. You wash what might stink (pits, crack, crotch) and show (face, neck, hands, forearms) then run like hell for the towels.
We got to the Mess Hall before any of the kids and lots of the leaders. The Major, George and couple of other adults looked up from a planning session.
"Sorry, sir. We can come back. It's just so muddy we didn't want to go back to the tent."
"No need, son, no need. George, get each of them a cup of nasty. If you men wouldn't mind sitting over there while we wrap up, it would be appreciated, though."
We sat as far as possible away and George really did bring us each a cup of the vile sludge that, deep (DEEP) underneath, hid the nectar of the gods. Caffeine. Chef was making a racket, apparently inventing new ways to do unspeakable things to unsuspecting foodstuffs. We caught snatches of the conversation as more adults and leaders trickled in. It looked like the front that had pushed through last night was both more powerful and less predictable than expected. The radio weathermen said it would push back across us, or perhaps stall right over us. We had at least two days of ugly in store. Karl and I stared at each other. Could this day GET worse?
As the tent filled up, a short and rather scrawny mud monster stumbled over to the table with a tray. I just stared, but at least Karl had a guess, "Jim?" Jim squelched onto the bench opposite us and just wilted. I watched his hand fumble for a napkin; he used it to hold a piece of toast, but moved no further. His head hung straight down. "Jim? What the hell happened, buddy?"
Jim looked up and I could see that he'd been crying enough that rivulets of tears had washed the mud from streaks of skin below his eyes. Every muscle across Karl's back and arms tensed and his hands curled into fists. Between clenched teeth, he hissed, "Who, Jim? And what did he do?"
Jim mumbled at his shoes and I reached across and tilted his head up again. In a tiny voice, Jim said, "Them. Not he, them. They..." Jim froze and seemed to shrink into himself. I looked over my shoulder at what had turned my little friend into a statue. The two remaining Buggers had just entered, Mikey and Bobby, laughing and smiling. Their hands and boots were muddy, but nothing else. They spotted Jim and the look of predation they gave our friend sent shards of ice through my heart. It was obvious why Jim looked like he'd rolled around in mud and muck; that is just what the Buggers had done to him.
Jim had gone from immobility to tremors, still unable to move his wide, terrified eyes. I grabbed Karl's belt and held down hard as he tried to jump out of his seat and confront the bullies. I thought Karl was going to slug me, his eyes were red with rage and he was snorting like a bull. I had never seen anyone (outside a movie) with that out-of-control rage. He started to pry my hands away from the grip I had when I whispered. "Not here, Karl. Not here. Not now." Knowing it was a low and unfair blow, I continued, "Who is gonna protect Jim if you get sent home, Karl? Do you really want to leave him to them? DO YOU?"
A flash of sanity entered Karl's eyes, but the smouldering murder still lurked there, banked but not extinguished. His eyes went from me to Jim, then tried to look again at The Buggers. I got up and kept myself blocking his line of sight and started chivvying him toward the door. As I passed, I snagged Jim's shoulder with the hand not locked in Karl's belt and dragged him into our wake. A light drizzle had started. Considering Jim's appearance, I herded both of them to the Hygiene Hut. The triangle had begun to ring a strong and sustained racket, drawing everyone to the Mess Hall for an all-camp meeting. I ignored it. The HH was empty when we got there. I pushed the two of them in, then leant against the door, blocking it.
Karl finally erupted. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING! Look what they did! Why did you stop me? You SAW! They DID THIS! Them! Them! I will DESTORY them." I watched Jim closely whilst Karl continued to rage and bellow, voice rising and spittle flying with his fury. Jim had cowered against the wall when we entered; as Karl's voice grew, Jim sunk, shaking and weeping silently to the floor, eyes wide, dilated and fixed on Karl.
"Shut up, Karl," my voice calm, steady and low.
"SCREW THAT, PATR..."
"Shut up," I hissed, and made him look at Jim. The boy was staring at Karl like one would a monster from the worst possible dream. A demon made flesh come to rend and rip. Karl moved to comfort him and Jim wailed, scrabbling the boards in an attempt to crawl along the wall. I grabbed Karl and flung him by the belt to the latrine side of the Hut, then crouched and moved slowly, speaking low and soft.
"It's okay Jim. It's okay Jamie." Reverting to his safer and accustomed childhood name seemed to help. "You're safe. No one will hurt you. No one will yell anymore." I finally reached him and he recoiled from my touch.
With that same soft, nearly sing-song voice, I motioned to Karl, "Stay behind me and go into the showers. Turn on the taps as hot as they go. It's okay, Jamie. It's okay. Do it now, Karl." I never let my eyes leave Jim's, but felt Karl move past me and I heard the water start. The concept of 'hot' at Camp Sin was laughable, but at last I could feel some warm moisture. I coaxed Jim forward, making sure that Karl (his own eyes horrified and ashamed) stayed in the corner where Jim was unlikely to see.
I gradually got Jim into the spray and started to rinse off the worst of the sticky muck, thick with leaves and slimy mud. I could see a bruise was forming on his left cheek. When most of the water was running clear from his matted hair, I reached out gently to undo the top button on his shirt.
I recoiled and Karl yelped at the piercing wail of fear and horror that erupted from Jim. He scrambled into the farthest corner of the room, a petrified and cornered creature, wailing and panting. I heard the door explode inward as two adults entered. The lead grabbed me and locked my arms.
"What are you doing to this boy?"
Karl and I began babbling together, each trying not to yell and hurt Jim even more. I don't know who said what: "N, nothing! "Please! "He's hurt! "Help him! "Jim! "Don't touch him! "They hurt... "They did... "Jamie!
George had hold of me and Dr Eaglas stood between Karl and Jim. The Doctor's voice, a deep and irresistible rumble, silenced us. "Neither of you hurt him?" We shook our heads. "You know who did?" We nodded. "Are you his friends?" We nodded even more vigorously. "Then stay there and stay still for me, okay, sons?"
He slowly and gently sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, facing Jim and establishing eye contact. "You're Jamie Conner, right?"
Jim got quiet and nodded. "It's fine, Jamie. You're safe and no one can hurt you here. Just listen to my voice. You know it's safe. You know it's okay. I'm here to help. George is here to help. Your friends are here to protect you and keep anyone else away from you." Jim's frantic breathing slowed and some of the mindless terror faded from his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, the doctor said over his shoulder, "George, turn off the showers over our friend Jamie. Leave the other side on, please.
"I know you're hurt, Jamie. But none of us will hurt you any more in any way. We won't do anything that you don't want us to. You are safe. Everyone is safe. Can you point to what hurts worst?" Jim started to shake uncontrollably, but one hand reached out and held his stomach and ribs. "Where, else, son?" Jim's head fell forward and his crying resumed, but his hand tentatively moved down to his crotch. Karl growled and I gasped. We'd both thought they'd just tormented our friend and rolled him in mud. Apparently, they'd done much worse.
"It's okay, son. It's all right. We're gonna stop it from hurting. I need to know more, though. No one needs to know what happened but me and George, but I don't want you to feel afraid and alone either. Do you want your friends, um, Karl and, um..." I whispered, 'Patrick', "Patrick to leave while we talk or do you feel safer with them here?"
The voice was a cowed rabbit, faint and stiff and quick, "Please! Make them stay. Oh, please!"
"We are here to do whatever you need and want, Jamie." Doctor Eaglas turned to us, "Can you handle, this, men? Your friend needs you, but if this is too much, don't stay." I scowled at the doctor as if to dare him to try and make me leave Jim alone, and I think Karl had a similarly-fierce expression judging from the doctor's reaction. He turned back to Jim.
"I need to know who hurt you, son. I don't want you to be afraid anymore. Jamie, no one outside this room will ever know what you do or don't say and I think your friends already know." Both Karl and I started to speak and George silenced us with a gesture. Apparently, this kind of rescue was not new to either of the men. "Who hurt you, Jamie? Can you tell me?"
In that same breathy voice, Jim replied, "Th, th, the, b'b'Buggers."
This time, the doctor had a genuinely bemused look when he turned to us; George made sure we understood to stay silent, but both of us nodded to the doctor.
"Do they have other names, Jamie? Do you know them?"
In a whisper, so faint as to be almost inaudible, "M'm'm..." Jim swallowed, "Mikey and, and B'Bobby." The doctor and George shared a look. It was abundantly clear that this was not unexpected news.
"When you say Mikey, son, you mean Mikey Reynolds? His first name is really Muriel?" Jim's eyes still locked to the floor, he nodded. "And is Bobby named Robert? Robert Marconi?" Jim made a sound that had to be, 'maybe,' but was inaudible. "Okay, that's all I need for now. We have to clean you up, Jamie. And we have to find out if you need to see the real Doc or if George and I can get you fixed up. You understand me, Jamie?" Our friend nodded miserably and in pain. Karl and I yearned to do anything to help, but there was nothing to be done.
"Okay son, you're fine. I need to come over and help you get cleaned up. Is it okay if I come over there?" Jim nodded again, but now brought his anxious face up to stare in trepidation at the doctor. Slowly, with Jim hawkishly watching every move, the doctor unfolded himself (replete with popping and cracking reminiscent of the popcorn of the previous night) and took a crouching step forward. Jim pulled back a bit and the doctor stopped. "I'll wait here until you're ready Jamie. No one will hurt you, we just want to help get the mud off and get your hurts fixed." When Jim relaxed, the doctor eased forward. Each time the panic returned to his eyes, the doctor froze again. In fits and starts, the doctor eventually reached Jim, but didn't touch him.
"You're doing great, young man. You're being really brave and that's great. Now reach out and take my hand. I am not going to grab you, but I just want to help you over into that nice warm..." even the doctor couldn't suppress the doubt in his voice, "um, warmer water. I won't do anything until you reach out to me, okay, sport? You with me, young man?"
Jim reached out much less hesitantly than I expected and grabbed hold of the man's hand, apparently quite strongly from the flinch in the doctor's shoulders. "You're really strong, son. That's good. Let's move over here."
The doctor moved Jim over to the other wall where the showers were still running. George heard a noise and turned to close a door we didn't even know was there, blocking the shower area from the rest of the Hygiene Hut; apparently, the meeting had broken and the facilities were needed. The doctor helped guide the water over our friend, then touched Jim's shoulder. When the boy didn't pull away, the doctor started to pet and rinse Jim's hair and hands.
"George, some help, please. Now, Jamie, we have to get the clothes... shh, shh! Son, it's okay. We have to get under the clothes to see how bad you're hurt. Gentlemen," turning to Karl and me, "can you excuse us? We need..."
"NO!" Jim's voice was firm and, though laced with fear, quite certain. "They STAY."
The doctor was taken aback but said nothing. Karl and I were rooted to the spot, neither of us really breathing and both heartbroken at the sight of Jim's torment and pain.
With plenty of murmured reassurances, George and Doctor Eaglas slowly and gently eased Jim out of his shirt. The skin was encased in mud and muck; Karl and I shared a look as we realised that Jim had been stripped when The Buggers had muddied him. When the mud washed away, we could see the start of a huge bruise on his belly; his ribs looked funny and he bend to that side. George sucked in a hissed breath at the sight. They worked to rinse off the worst.
Jim started to shaking when the doctor's hands began to unbutton his jeans. With the care of a surgeon, George and the doctor peeled away the flaps on Jim's pants and let the water run freely inside. A river of slimy muck ran out the bottom of the legs as the water rinsed out the dirt. They slowly pulled down the pants and even Karl and I could see that Jim had a welter of bruises around his abused and swollen package. Karl choked and turned away. I thought I'd be sick even as I heard Karl quietly sob.
"You're incredibly strong, son. They hurt you and you're still standing here. You're a good man.
"George, head over to Doc's office and bring that bathrobe for Jamie..."
A whisper, "Jim."
"What's that, son?"
"Call me Jim. My real friends," his voice shook but was strong as he looked from Karl to me, "call me Jim." For the first time, the doctor softened and perhaps even smiled.
"...for Jim, here to wear. Let Major Bachgen know that everything is fine and that I will talk to him in an hour or so, and ask Doc to meet us in my own office because we have a man who needs his care. Then head to cabin, um, four? yes, four and get Jim here a change of clothes, loose, please." George was gone like a ghost.
"Jim, do you know how to sit like and Indian Warrior?" The sudden shift in topic clearly brought Jim closer to his senses and further from his suffering.
"An India Warrior, Jim, needs to be ready for anything, so he sits like this." Doctor Eaglas moved himself so that he was on his toes, feet touching, crouched with legs akimbo and elbows resting on his knees. "You see how balanced that makes you. Try it, young man, go ahead and try it."
Jim couched and swayed a bit, but was suddenly in exactly the position the doctor assumed, looking for all the world like a young brave missing only a loincloth and war paint. He could have been the young Viscount Greystoke, raised by apes, or perhaps Mowgli, the whip-chord and agile youth of Kipling. Jim looked down and seemed to gain some sense of strength from the balanced, centred and warrior-like pose.
The doctor knew a lot about boys and men. In a stroke, he'd gotten a tiny shred of confidence back into Jim whilst positioning him perfectly to provide access for the doctor to wash and closely examine parts that no boy ever wanted exposed. His touch was firm but careful, that of a doctor or parent, not a lover or molester. It was business-like and methodical, but also thorough. He had Jim completely clean and rinsed in the minutes it took George to return with a very fluffy, very James Bond masculine robe.
He also had a few towels. Karl and scowled at each other. All this time, real, actual towels were within the walls of this place and we'd been scrubbing and drying with worn napkins? All the best for Jim, we silently agreed, but adults (as all boys knew) were nothing but a bunch of stinkers for keeping the good stuff hidden!
George and the doctor made short shrift of drying Jim and getting him robed. It was then that Karl and I realised we were wet as well. I was soaked from the early attempt to help our friend, and Karl had been splashed plentifully. The doctor was a sopping mess and George not much better, but none of us really cared.
The low and constant chatter ubiquitous around boys stopped suddenly when we emerged. Perhaps a dozen boys were in this part of the Hut, some obviously awaiting the showers, all now staring widely at Jim, Karl and me. Jim froze and started to shake, but George calmly refastened the previously-unknown door turning it back into part of the wall and said, "Nothing to see here, boys. This young man just mauled a bear. We're working to revive the bear but it should be fine after a nice rest. Nothing to see here." Several boys laughed and others goggled, but Jim lost his shaking and blushed shyly as the five of us exited the Hygiene Hut.
Three offices, one for George, one for Doctor Eaglas and one for "The Doc" formed the far side of the Hygiene Hut. We went around the corner, noticing that someone had laid down pallets to create a sort of impromptu boardwalk. Doctor Eaglas hustled us into a nice, rustic room well-lit from windows running the length, high just under the eaves. A desk, a small table with chairs, a couch and two armchairs completed the furnishings, along with shelves attached to the wall with innumerable books. My quick glance saw a lot of textbooks and such, but also the distinctive spines of Hardy Boys mysteries and a number of paperbacks. Needless to say, the four Tolkien tomes were instantly recognised by both Karl and I.
Doctor Eaglas settled Jim on one end of the couch and us at the table. He sat in a stuffed chair next to Jim. "Over the next few days, Jim, we're going to talk a lot just to make sure you're fine. You are one tough and strong young man, but everyone needs to talk about it when bad things happen. Just like soldiers at war, we need to make sure you understand that you are going to be okay.
"Now, you might not remember, but Major Bachgen introduced me the first night. What he said about me was right. NO ONE will ever know what you say to me unless you tell them. I don't tell the Major. I don't tell George. I don't tell other campers, councillors or the police* or even your parents. What you say never leaves this room. You understand me, right?" Jim nodded.
[*AUTHOR'S NOTE: A decade later, failure to report something like what happened to my friend Jim would be vilified as a cover-up; a decade after that, it would be a felony. At the time, and to my own mind in retrospect, every adult at Camp Sinnemahoning wanted one and only one thing -- to help Jim and do what was best for him then and in future. Were they right back then and wrong now? I don't know. I do know that Jim grew into a really amazing and caring man.]
A knock sounded at the door. The short, stuffy man that the Major had introduced as The Doc coughed politely and came in. He was stocky and almost prissy. The best way to describe the man I met as The Doc at Camp Sin is an image from much later in my life; he was a scruffy version of Hercule Poirot as played decades later by David Suchet. He spoke with an appropriately-stiff and high-pitched voice.
"I am Doctor Akatadexia. My first name is Epilektikoi which is no better. Now you know why everyone calls me The Doc. You can do that to. You are Jamie..."
"He's Jim, now, Doc," there was a twinkle in Doctor Eaglas' eye as he said it.
"Of course. You are Jim Conner. You have been injured. I can see bruising already upon your face and George tells me you otherwise may be injured. We will go now next door to my exam room."
Jim's eyes flew wide and he looked for me and Karl in panic. The Doc was smooth if a bit snippy.
"No, we must be alone. You are to be examined medically. You have done sports, no? You would not want your friends with you for such an exam?" Jim blushed and shuddered at the thought. "We may have to be even more thorough since I am to believe that you may have been injured in very sensitive places." Jim's blush moved towards purple. "You will excuse us gentlemen. I will return with your friend and our patient shortly." He collected Jim in his wake and swept out the door and into the drizzle.
Doctor Eaglas turned to us. He simply stared as we both got more and more uncomfortable. We knew that a dressing-down was coming, just not how bad it would be. Finally, he broke the silence. "Men, you did really good today." Karl and I looked at each other, shocked. We both felt we had deeply failed our friend. We didn't protect him in the first place and when we tried to help, Karl terrified him and I made him scream. The doctor could see the reasoning.
"No, you did. I saw some of what happened in the Mess Hall. You, Mr Kennedy, stopped one friend from getting in more trouble and got Jim out of harm's way quickly and effectively. You, Mr Mueller, were about to go to town on a couple of bullies that hurt Jim. Don't think that he won't remember that. There is very little as important to any man than to know other men care for him and have his back." Doctor Eaglas nodded.
"Yes, you both did good and acted like friends, and frankly as men far in excess of your years. Sadly, no one but the three of us and Jim will know about it all. I wasn't kidding that nothing that happens in this office leaves it. Now, I can't force you to do what I say when you leave, but I think you know what it would do to Jim if what happened to him became the thing to define him. You understand me?"
We both nodded. I cleared my throat and spoke for the first time in what felt like days. "Jim is a good kid, um, man. He'll bounce back. He will. And we'll help." Karl just nodded. I could see tears drip from his down-pointed nose.
"Okay then. I think Mr Mueller needs a few minutes, so I'll start with you Patrick." He obviously saw the alarm in my eyes. "What? You think that Jim is the only one who needs to talk about this? The only one hurt? No. Each of you was hurt by what those two did! To help Jim, both of you need to talk. Both of you need to release the pain. Let it out so it can heal. You man enough to handle that?"
Okay, cheap taunt to poke a 17-year-old's masculinity, but it worked. I felt steel in my spine and my voice was suddenly stronger. "Yes sir."
"Alright then, Karl. I'd like you to sit on the bench outside. It won't be long." Karl shuffled out like a man off to the gallows and I turned back to the doctor. "Come over here and relax a minute. Let's just chat."
I moved to the other overstuffed chair, opposite from the doctor. He asked a few questions and suddenly I really was chatting, happy to be talking to someone, anyone. With a deft hand that amazes me to this day, he worked me round to what had happened this morning, then back to the first time that Karl and I had "met" Jim, that first attack of The Buggers. He didn't make notes and his voice was always warm, neutral, interested, friendly. It just all flowed out. Tissues were involved to a great extent as more than words flowed from me. After fifteen minutes or so, I felt like a balloon of evil inside me where I'd kept the horror was slowly drained (or nearly so; there were pocket of my own shame and fear that were left untouched).
"You're a good friend, young man, to both of them. Blow your nose and ask Karl to come in, and we'll be done by the time Jim finishes with The Doc."
I found the waiting so much worse than the talking. I second-guessed every word I said and I fretted over every one I didn't. I worried about whether I'd hurt Jim or Karl. I worried about what I'd felt for and about each of them. How I'd treated them. How I'd acted or failed to act. How I felt about Karl. What I felt about Karl. How I got breathless around Karl. How I thought and thought about Karl. Felt, Karl. Thought, Karl. Felt, Karl.
I had gotten into a loop and nearly crapped myself when the door opened to my right and Jim came out, dressed in fresh clothes complete with waterproof windbreaker, with The Doc. Jim was steady if a bit grave.
The Doc knocked and waited a few minutes, exuding impatience but understanding that Dr Eagals' speciality was not one that could be rushed or interrupted. Karl finally emerged and joined Jim and I on the bench. None of us spoke. We each just stared at our shoes and kicked our feet, afraid to speak. All of us jumped again when The Doc came out and Dr Eaglas asked Jim to join him, telling us that he'd ask for us shortly.
Karl and I watched the gathering rain as it moved from drizzle to drops to splashes in puddles. It was as if the universe had decided to accept and reflect our mood. Hushed, dreary, dark, cool, damp. Each of us started to speak and fell silent before the words formed a couple of times, and we caught each other glancing occasionally out of the corners of our eyes, but could not really think of anything to say.
Dr Eaglas opened the door far sooner than either of us expected, taking maybe half the time he'd spent with us. We moped in, unable to meet Jim's eyes, both thinking that, regardless of the doctor's words, that we'd failed him.
"Men, we need to make some decisions. Jim got beaten up pretty good by the thugs who are already one their way to meet their parents." All of us perked up a bit. That WAS good news. "But all three of you need some healing, and Jim needs plenty. Jim has made clear that he has several friends here," Karl and I dropped, "but none like you." From desolation to elation like a light-switch. "You told me you would help. That still true, gentlemen?" We both nodded spastically.
"So, first thing. Jim lives in Cabin Four. They are younger than you, but it's not that uncommon to lodge boys of different years, like you and Karl, together with younger friends."
"No." I was shocked to find the voice that had spoken was mine. "Jim should be with us in Tent Ca... Tent Nine." Jim was looking at me in awe and hope, and Karl in admiration.
"That would be very irregular, and very cramped. Why...?"
It was as if Karl and I were reading from a script. In perfect unison,
Karl: "I need to be there to protect Jim. I am not going to let him be hurt or bullied." Me: "I need to be there to help Jim. I am not going to let him be alone or bullied."
So maybe not the exact same script. The doctor, eyebrows all the way to his hairline, stared from one of us to the other. Jim's quiet voice quavered a little. "I can't. I won't let you. I'll be in the way."
This time we were in near-absolute sync,
Karl: "Bull! I won't let you out of my sight and that's final!" Me: "Bull! We won't let you out of our sight and that's final!"
The doctor's lips were pressed so hard together that I thought he'd bust with the effort to suppress a laugh. He managed, barely.
"Well. Okay then. Hmm. Actually, I just recalled something. Yes, I might have just the thing. Wait here a few, if you please." Dr Eaglas left us.
Jim's small-scared-rabbit voice was back. "But why?"
Karl spoke first, "Because," his voice steady, deep and commanding, "it is what you would have done for me or Patrick. It is what you would have done for a stranger, and that makes you better than either of us. You are twice the man we are and there is nothing, NOTHING that I am going to let hurt either of you, ever."
I found that I was crying. Jim, quivering like a leaf, came between us and grabbed our hands. "Y, you. You are the best friends I ever h, h, had." Then we were all crying. When the doctor returned a few minutes later, we were back in our seats but I am certain that a man who'd dealt with so many tears from so many boys and men knew precisely what he'd missed. The nearly perky sound of his voice confirmed it.
"Excellent! All settled. You have to do something, though. Go back to Tent Nine and collapse the cots."
We looked at him bewildered. "Um, how?"
"Don't worry, men, no one knows. We found that the actual instructions invariably end up with snapped fingers and frequently an embarrassing groinal strain. Now we just have each young man make it up as he goes. It seems safer."
Suitably dismissed, we left the office to find the rain had turned into dismal and desultory dribbles. Unlike drizzle, with fine and misty drops that, in poor light, might look ethereal or charming, this spitting, pissing shit just looked wet and miserable.
We found out later that the horrors of our day had a silver lining. The rest of the boys had spent the wretched morning carting and laying out pallets, the ersatz boardwalk we'd noticed earlier near the Hygiene Hut, across all the main paths. Most of the campers were either soaked, grumpy, muddy or miserable (many were all four). We, in contrast, had only had a half-dozen yards from the nearest pallets to Tent Canvas Hell in the wet, and it was through some leaf mould so we actually got very little raw mud on us.
Karl and I stripped the sleeping bags off the cots whilst Jim crawled beneath and called commentary out on what seemed attached to which other parts. We set to work. I'd love to describe the raw, Three Stooges comedy of the event, but I honestly have no idea what we did. At one point, Jim got trapped inside one of the cots when it folded in half unexpectedly, leaving him wrapped like an army-green victim of Shelob. True to the doctor's warning, both of my hands got SNAPPED at one point; at another, Karl spend several minutes speaking in a high soprano and clutching his most treasured body parts.
Eventually, we did manage to beat the cot monsters into submission. Jim forcibly prevented Karl from setting them alight (I was a neutral party but not at all opposed), mainly by reminding him that the tent would go with it and he'd end up back in a cabin filled to overflowing with bored-stupid 15-year-olds. He whispered a smiling aside to me, "Anyway, the cot was the first non-relative to ever give me a real hug!"
Two of the leaders arrived with a tarped-covered something and told us to go gather Jim's kit, then head to lunch at the Mess Hall. Karl and I had grabbed our own slickers, but we ran across the boardwalks to Cabin Four on the theory (incorrect) that we'd hit fewer raindrops that way. When we arrived, the Cabin Four leaders were trying with little success to interrupt a pillow war. There was little laughter but a lot of cursing; apparently one group had lobbed some fatal and emasculating slurs at the others and it was now a match to the death. Oddly, none of the boys seemed to know who was with which group, nor even what group he himself represented. There were, therefore, about 20 boys and 30 sides to the battle.
We quickly gathered and escaped with Jim's kit, doing up the bag and accoutrement on the sheltered porch out front as we listened to pillows gradually give way as the weapon of choice, replaced by packs and sleeping bags. By this point, all three of us were laughing, part in superiority to those "silly boys" and part in simple comradery united against the rain and the rest of the world in general.
We arrived at the Mess Tent just as the triangle announced lunch. Apparently, the oppressive rain had also doused Chef's evil genius. There were wienies and brats, grilled and delicious, with various 'fixins' including a sauce that is widely called chili but bears no resemblance to the yummy stew of the same name and inedible without a dog beneath. Tater tots were the primary side, with an obligatory salad, now drenched in an unidentifiable, creepy-red dressing. The 'hot' option was a beige sludge purported to be 'chicken casserole' to the horror and shame of chickens everywhere.
We finished and made our way to Tent Canvas Hell. On the way, Jim (inevitably) asked what I almost said before I called it Tent Nine. I blushed furiously and explained that my first day was less than stellar and I mentally dubbed it Tent Canvas Hell. Karl collapsed on the boardwalk against a tree in giggles at that, and Jim started whooping with delight. I just blushed harder and smiled. When Karl regained control of his diaphragm, he said, "What a frigging perfect name. Tent Canvas Hell!"
We giggled our way back to the tent and stood, agape, at the change. A thick pad or mattress, arm green and lumpy in odd places, perhaps two inches and just the height of the Tripping Bar, filled the space from side to side. Karl's kit was shifted to the back and left, mine to the back and right. The centre obviously had been left for Jim. Cots, a couple feet above the ground, had left us with barely a foot between Karl and I. Take that height away, and there was easily room for three bags abreast. We stood and stared.
The other transformation was the perception of depth. The cots had been about seven feet long, leaving a little room for our kit at the back. The lumpy green mattress, though, was less than six feet in length and pushed back against the edge of our kit, leaving a foot or more of 'balcony' at the front of the tent. As one, we pivoted and sat, asses on the mattress and legs just sheltered by the tent, staring out into the dreary rain, Karl on the far side with Jim between us. Without conscious thought, Karl and I draped an arm each over Jim, who seemed to bask in our attention. We said nothing, watching and oddly content with what had brought us to this point.
Author's Note: These boys seem to have saved each other. Is this where the story should end, each at peace within himself? Or does Patrick need more? Let me know. Karl, Patrick and Jim seem to be writing this story; let me know if I should ask for them another chapter.