This story is fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. These stories have as their main character a sexually active gay teenager. If this is offensive to you, or if it is illegal in your area, or if you are under age, please leave now.
Constructive criticism is welcome on my e-mail.
Dermot Chapter 6, Saturday
First thing Saturday morning Dermot was awakened not too gently by a different nurse, who invaded his room, turning on lights, opening blinds, and clattering about, then kind of chuffing him along, encouraging him to get up and visit the restroom. Dermot did not appreciate this enforced wakefulness, feeling put upon from the moment he opened his eyes.
"Who are you?" he demanded, none too politely.
"I'm Nurse Hoffman. Come along now, time to do your business."
"Okay, okay. What's your hurry?"
"Don't have all day, you know. No need to dawdle," Nurse Hoffman stated.
"Whoa! Hey, watch it!" Dermot complained, as the nurse, rather than helping him ease himself from the bed to the wheel chair, lifted him and set him back down. "I ain't a sack of potatoes, you know."
"No need to get fratchety, young man," Nurse Hoffman replied, as she wheeled him across the room to his bathroom.
Fratchety? What language was she speaking? Dermot asked himself.
She pushed the control, and the automatic door opened. When she started to push the wheel chair inside, Dermot protested again.
"I can do it myself from here."
"No need. It'll go much faster if I help you along."
"I don't want you helping me along, damn it!"
"Now, there's no need to take that attitude. Here we go," she proclaimed as she wheeled him up to the commode.
"Nurse, get the hell out of here, or I'm going to shit all over the floor and you'll have to clean it up," a thoroughly aroused Dermot threatened.
"Nonsense! I'll just ...."
Dermot swung his wheel chair around, and kicked her shin with his good foot.
"Now see here, young man! That's no way to behave," Nurse Hoffman complained, but she jumped back.
"You wait outside. With the door closed. If I need you, I'll call. If I don't come out in half an hour, or you hear screams, or thuds like I fell, then you can come in. Got it?" an irate Dermot yelled.
Grumbling, the nurse reluctantly retreated. Dermot closed the door, and managed his morning necessities without further interference, but he was in a really foul mood. Hell of a way to start the day.
Emerging from the restroom, Dermot found that further indignities were in store for him. Once he was back in bed, Nurse Hoffman informed him that his chart called for another sponge bath this morning.
"Shit no! I'll do it myself!" he asserted.
"No. It's my responsibility. You are incapable of doing a proper job."
This time, Dermot lost the battle. Short of physical violence, he could not prevent the assertive nurse from carrying out what she saw as her duty. The crowning humiliation came when she sponged his loins, and he got an erection. To cover his embarrassment, Dermot became even more obstreperous.
"God damn fucking Nazi! I hope you got your jollies this morning. Get the fuck out of my room! Leave me the hell alone!"
Nurse Hoffman, in high dudgeon, completed her tasks and departed, head held high, sniffing about vulgar, unappreciative boys. She did not reappear any time soon, which was fine with Dermot. When she did, she set his breakfast on the swinging surface which served as his bedside table and departed, obviously not liking his company any better than he liked hers.
Not long after he had completed breakfast, the female intern who had visited him along with Dr. Shipley came in.
"Good morning, Dermot. How are you this morning?"
"Fucking awful!"
"Now what has brought that on? Did you get your hospital gown twisted up during the night?"
"I'm in no mood for crap. Where's Dr. Shipley?"
"Probably on the golf course. Or maybe sleeping in. He won't be in today unless there's an emergency. I'm Dr. Rygalski. I'll be looking after you today."
"Think you're up to taking on somebody like me?" Dermot groused.
"Well, until I walked in here, I was pretty confident. But you're a real bear this morning."
"It's that stupid new nurse. Fucking Nazi. Gets her jollies ordering people around. Where's my regular nurse?"
"Um, I believe Nurse Bailey is off until Monday. Even doctors and nurses get some time to themselves, you know," Dr. Rygalski reminded him.
"Shit! I'm being a real dickhead. It's not you, it's that nurse. I'm sorry."
"Well congratulations! I think that's the first time I've heard you utter those words."
Dermot started to respond sharply when he caught sight of Dr. Rygalski's face. She was laughing at him. He saw it in her eyes.
"Yeah, well, that's no way to wake a fellow up," he grumbled, but he could not suppress a smile. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?" she replied innocently.
"Get me to feel better when I want to be a grump."
"Oh, I'm training to be a psychiatrist. I've had lots of classes in Psychology. Besides, you really do remind me of my little brother. He says I'm a witch."
"Poor little brother. I'll bet he never gets away with anything."
Dr. Rygalski laughed. "He's used to me. Most of the time, it's a draw."
The good doctor carried out her examination of Dermot while this conversation was going on. After checking his leg, ribs, wrist, and head, she removed the bandages over his right eye and peered into it with her instruments.
"What's the verdict?" Dermot enquired.
"You seem to be coming along very well. Unless I am mistaken, by Monday you should have this bandage off your eye for good, but the ophthalmologist will make that decision," she said, replacing the bandage.
"What about my other things?" Dermot rather clumsily asked.
"Most of your 'things' are coming along very well. We never had any worries about the broken bones. They were clean breaks, and kids are always breaking bones, although usually not all at once, like you. Leave it to Dermot to do a really swashbuckling job on himself."
Dermot giggled. Somehow, Dr. Rygalski did wonders for his mood.
"No, what concerned us from the outset was the collapsed lung and the eye, along with potential brain damage from the gash on your head. Like I said, the eye seems to be coming along nicely. You most likely will not suffer any loss of vision. On Monday, too, you're scheduled for x-rays to check on the lung again. I'm afraid, though, that your head is hopeless."
"Hopeless!"
"Yeah. We can't help much when a patient comes in here with as screwed up a brain as you have."
Dermot gasped, then threw his pillow at Dr. Rygalski. He had to throw left-handed, so he never hit anything.
"Now, now. Don't get violent," she admonished with a big smile, as she picked up the errant missile.
"Hey, if you're a psychiatrist, can I ask you a question?" Dermot asked.
"You can ask me a question even if I'm not a psychiatrist," Dr. Rygalski responded.
Dermot considered that statement. Then he rephrased his question, "Since you're studying to be a psychiatrist, may I ask you a question?"
Dr. Rygalski smiled. "Shoot."
"Okay. You know I'm gay, right?"
"Actually, no, I did not know that."
"You didn't?"
"No. That is not a medical condition, and there is no place on your charts for sexual orientation."
"Oh. I thought everybody knew by now. Mr. Lyle knows. And Sgt. Flaherty knows."
"Well, neither Mr. Lyle nor Sgt. Flaherty has entrusted me with that bit of information. What did you want to ask me?"
"Oh, yeah," Dermot recalled himself to what he had in mind. "Well, anyway, I am gay. So, why is it I get a boner when a female nurse gives me a sponge bath, especially that granddaughter of Atilla the Hun?"
"Um, before answering your question, may I be picky about a bit of historical trivia?"
"I love historical trivia," Dermot responded.
"I remember Dr. Throckmorton in my freshman history class making a point that it was Attila, not Atilla. Accent on the first syllable - AT-til-a, not a-TIL-la."
"Oh. But everybody says ...." Dermot trailed off. He remembered what Lando said the day before about his information about Maryland. "Okay. Thanks. I'm glad to get it right."
"Now, about your real question, the greatest sexual organ is the brain. If you are gay, as you say, then your brain is wired such that you are sexually aroused by other males. I take it you were not sexually attracted to the nurses who were bathing you?"
"Hell no. Especially not that storm trooper this morning."
"So, your brain is gay, but a secondary sexual organ is your penis. You might think it's the main attraction," Dermot blushed, "but it really is secondary. And your penis cannot think. All it does is respond to physical stimuli. When the nurse was sponging you, she washed the area of your lower abdomen, and your penis responded to the purely physical stimulus. If a dog licked you there, you'd get the same response from your penis."
Dermot chuckled. "Yeah, she really was a dog."
"Now Dermot, I did not say that! You're wicked!" Dr. Rygalski protested.
"Since you're here, I've got another question," Dermot continued.
"And what might that be?"
"I'm reading this book," he said, indicating the Sayers mystery, "and there's a character who has shell shock after World War I. He's constantly irritable, and he sometimes loses his senses and wanders around without knowing what he's doing, and he can't seem to stick to anything for long. How accurate is that?"
"Hmmmm. I seem to remember something about shell shock in a class. Let me think for a moment. Okay, got it! What was once called shell shock is now called combat stress reaction if it's a mild case, and posttraumatic stress disorder if its severe. From what you describe, it sounds like the character in the book has a severe case, but it's completely believable," Dr. Rygalski assured Dermot.
"Good, 'cause I like this writer, and I want to think she got things right."
"Glad I could help, Dermot. Anything else?"
"No, that's all for now. And thanks, Doc. I appreciate it. And all the other information, too. Geez, I'm accused of being tight with information, but normally you guys are worse than me."
"Oh, come on, Dermot. Nobody is worse than you," the physician teased, as she prepared to depart.
Dermot's spirits were raised considerably by this visit.
They were raised considerably more when Lando appeared after lunch. As he promised, this time he had the film version of ROMEO AND JULIET, and he had, indeed, checked with Nurse Bailey the previous time, and knew that the television in the room had the capability of playing his DVD. He likewise brought a book, also as promised, and handed it to Dermot.
"Here. Educate yourself about the founding of Maryland, so you don't go around spreading false information in the future," Lando taunted him.
"Like I said, I'm willing to learn," Dermot responded. He looked at the book. A black and yellow cover proclaimed ENGLISH AND CATHOLIC: THE LORDS BALTIMORE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. "Oh God, more Catholics," he moaned.
"You knew that, dum dum. Read it anyway," Lando ordered.
"Yes, sir," Dermot responded, giving an awkward, left-handed salute.
Lando giggled.
Dermot studied the book more closely. The author, John D. Krugler, was a professor at Marquette University, which he kind of knew was a Catholic institution, so he immediately decided this would be a biased account. Then he checked, and found that the book was published by Johns Hopkins University Press in 2004. From his days of reading in the public library, Dermot was fairly sure that was a respectable publisher, and the book was fairly recent as histories go. Well, he would get around to it, maybe after he finished the mystery. He could not disappoint Lando.
"Why are you so interested in Maryland, other than being Catholic, I mean?" he asked.
Lando giggled self-consciously, in a way Dermot had not seen before. He was a little embarrassed by the question.
"My mom is big on joining things, like the DAR and stuff. She's really into genealogy. Her mother's family name is Fenwick, and she claims they came over with the first settlers, on the 'Ark' and the 'Dove,' the first ships. Besides, she says we're descended from the first Lord Baltimore through his second son, Leonard Calvert, who was the leader of the first colonists. She got us all to join an organization called the Society of the Ark and the Dove, and she goes to Maryland once each year for some kind of meeting."
By the time he finished this, Lando was mumbling. He had picked up a towel from one of the chairs, and was twisting it around in his hands. He looked really red in the face.
"Why are you embarrassed by that, Your Royal Highness?" Dermot prodded. "Seems like the sort of thing some folks brag about."
"Yeah, but it sounds so dorky. Like we're some kind of nobility or something. That's so not cool, man."
"Well, if you don't want to be a prince, I'll just call you Sir Lando," Dermot joked.
Lando threw the towel he had been twisting while reciting his pedigree, striking Dermot right in the face.
"Shitass!" Dermot exploded.
"Now that's a title I can relate to," Lando rejoined.
Thinking they had exhausted that topic for now, Dermot suggested that they watch the movie, so Lando arranged the lights and blinds, and got the DVD player to work. They spent the next few hours immersed in the tragedy of the Montagues and Capulets, and Shakespeare's marvelous language. As he promised, Lando not only gave Dermot advance warning of the scene where Romeo showed his ass, but they played it back and forth several times, laughing up a storm by the time they finally allowed the story to continue to its tragic conclusion.
When it was over, both boys were sobered, considering the emotions displayed on the screen. Teens in the past seemed to have as much trouble as teens today in getting their elders to let them lead their own lives. Lando had actually shed tears, which he was trying to wipe away without being conspicuous about it.
Noting this, Dermot joked, "Hey, it's okay. Us gay boys are allowed to show emotions."
Lando smiled. "I've watched this at least six times, and I get all weepy every time."
"Powerful stuff," Dermot agreed. "It's even more powerful on this DVD than when I read it in the library. And I love the sets and costumes."
"Yeah. I think it won all kinds of awards when it came out, but that was a long time ago." Consulting the DVD jacket, he continued, "1968. Amazing that something that old can still hold up so well," the teenager said. Lando hesitated, then plunged on, "I checked out the director on the web. Franco Zeffirelli is gay," he noted Dermot perk up, then he added, "and Catholic."
"Oh, Geez. First a book, now a film," Dermot complained.
"No, first my dad," Lando insisted. "Can I ask you why you're so biased against us Catholics?"
Dermot considered the question. He did not like the term 'bias' to describe his attitude, but he felt he owed Lando some explanation, since it seemed to keep coming up.
"I told you about getting kicked out back in May, right?"
"Yeah," Lando assented.
"Well, first I went to my friend's house. The guy I was kissing, you know. But he was scared shitless. Told me to go away, and if his folks found out, he'd be kicked out, too. So, the guy I thought was my boyfriend just abandoned me as soon as there was trouble. Great!"
Dermot paused. Lando was not sure what this had to do with being Catholic, but he knew Dermot was having a hard time reliving this experience, so he waited until his friend was ready to go on. The invalid gathered his strength, and continued.
"I wandered about a bit. Spent the night in a shelter in a park. Next day, as I was walking around, I came up to this church. I recognized it was St. Pius X Church, so I decided I would ask for help there. I found the priest's house, and knocked on the door. There was this old priest, who looked like he was upset that I disturbed him. But he invited me in when I told him I had problems and needed help. I guess I looked pretty pathetic. No broken bones or anything, but I did have some bruises from where Uncle Steve and Zach beat on me. We sat in a kind of living room, and I started to tell him about getting kicked out. He was kind of sympathetic until I got to the part where I admitted my uncle kicked me out because I was gay, and had been kissing another boy. Then the priest kind of went ballistic. He started going on about how being gay was an abomination before the Lord, and was unnatural and disordered. I remember those words, 'cause I thought it was a weird way of saying anything. He got real worked up, and was kind of yelling at me. I tried to leave, but he blocked my way, and kept it up for what seemed like hours. Must have really been about twenty minutes or so. He kept saying I had to repent and seek forgiveness. When I said I could not repent of what I was, he blew up even more, and told me I was the spawn of the devil, and grabbed me by my arm, and pulled me to his door, and shoved me out. The last thing he said before slamming the door on me was I was not to come back until I was ready to repent."
This recital left Dermot both angry and wrung out. He was crying hot tears of wrath. He turned his tear-stained, blotchy face to his friend, and stated through clenched teeth, "When I really needed help, your precious Church told me to be ashamed of who I was. I had to give up being me in order to be acceptable. That's why I hate it."
Lando was also powerfully moved by this recital of woe. "I understand. I'm embarrassed for my Church when things like that happen. I know saying I'm sorry doesn't change anything. I'll try not to bring it up."
"It keeps coming up with you Lyles, doesn't it?" Dermot asked, with something like desperation in his voice.
"Yeah. I don't know what to do about that. I know what you mean about being gay is who you are, or anyway a big chunk of who you are. I am gay too, and had to come to grips with that. But being Catholic is part of who we Lyles are, too. I don't want to make you uneasy, Dermot, but I can't deny who I am either."
The two boys looked at each other. Lando came over to the bed, and leaned in towards Dermot. They put their arms around each other's neck, and held each other. Their foreheads touched. They cried.
"Montague and Capulet?" Dermot asked.
"Let's hope not," Lando replied.
After some time, Lando and Dermot detached from each other. Lando said quietly, "I'll be back." He left.