Michael's' Secret Love Chapter 3 4/8/00
Written by: Justin Case ---------
Disclaimer: This story is about young gay love. It contains graphic sexually descriptive material. If you are here, you have been through the main page, and the disclaimer there. Now you are here, be ever mindful that this material may be illegal where you are. If you are a minor, you should not be here. Each state has its own laws. I am not a lawyer, and do not know the laws of each state. This site reaches around the world, and I certainly do not know the laws of where you are when you read this. If you shouldn't be here, scram. If you find the material offensive, I have yet to figure out why you got this far. This story is purely fiction, with some truth sprinkled in, the truth as I see and say. If it has any similarities to actual persons, places, or events, it is pure coincidence.
Words from the author: It's me again. I am so happy to have you with me. I am asking myself, where is it we are going on this journey? I answer, wherever it takes us. Wherever we end up. There are messages hidden between the lines. I ask you to delve into the blank spaces, the left out words, and think. THINK!!! What is it I am trying to tell you? Do you know? Do you care?
It is simply put here before you: Ours is a troubled sect of society. Ours is a sect in pain, and suffering. We cannot talk about how we feel, for we will be chastised, and ostracized. We cannot expose our emotions, nor our love, without fear of retribution. The government, while professing to be by the people, and for the people, is taking the "hands off" approach. I call it the Okie dokies; you know, if you stir the pot, you are swept away, like dust in the wind. The "Good OLE Boy's" Okie dokie you from existence. They have the power.
Rise and be counted, better days are coming! We must be proud, we must unite, we must be heard, loud and clear. We are creations of God, not government, not society, and certainly not by fellow man.
Go forth with love.
The auditorium was in a state of ferment. There was the Bonnie Eagle High School Band, and the Chorus. There were the adult advisors, and the other students as well, to watch and judge. Mr. Stomley was the head advisor, the Director of the show. He would have the final say, the buck would stop with him.
My stomach was in knots, I could feel the banging in my brain. I was beginning to get a headache. Not a full fledged headache, the kind that mildly throbbed, just to let you know it was there. I had sat stiffly in the seat, James to my right. James was a bundle of nerves. He couldn't stop his damn fidgeting. Eugene sat all the way across the room. I could see him looking at James and me out of the corner of my green eyes. God, I despised him, it was beyond loathe. The funny thing was, he never did anything to deserve my contempt.
Mr. Stomley was a big man. He stood almost six feet six. He had long brown hair and a short well kept beard. He had brown eyes, and they were set deep into his forehead. His nose was the most prominent feature on his face. It was long, and had a lump in the midst of it. Shaped like a hook, an upside down hook, with huge nostrils. His lips were slight, and the beard made them look nonexistent. His teeth were stained from the nicotine of the three packs of cigarettes he smoked daily. His breath was always labored, and heavy.
Mr. Stomley walked up the stairs at the right side of the stage. His walk was defined by his long, lanky legs. It was a walk that only a man of his size could mimic. He took center stage. He raised both his hands. The room fell silent. He looked around, finding his words, finding his place.
"Good afternoon, boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen. We are here to determine who will lead the Chorus. We are here to decide who will sing the encore solo. This Spring's Concert will be a medley of songs from the musical the Drama Club put on last month. The parent advisors, and myself, have decided the encore will be "Where is Love", the theme song from "Oliver". We have decided to have it sung in tenor, by a young man. Today we are proud to have three of our juniors try out for the solo. They are: Michael Martin, Eugene Bellevue, and James Libby. Only one of these boys will be selected. Each boy will sing before you today. The order in which they perform was chosen by the drawing of straws. Your applause will decide their fate. Your applause will pick the soloist. Without further ado, I give you our first young singer, James Libby." Mr. Stomley's voice boomed through the room, reverberating off the walls.
James was visibly shaking. He looked over his shoulder at me, I gave him a faint smile, and looked him in the baby blues. He knew what I said. He sauntered to the center stage, the house lights dimmed. Mr. Stomley took his seat at the piano.
"Where is Love, key of C," Mr. Stomley said from the piano, located in orchestra's pit, stage right. The tinkling of the keys was all you could hear.
"Wheeerre is love, does it fall from....." James's loving voice came out from the depths of his diaphragm. Every note was on, every beat was correct.
He had the tempo. He swept me off my feet. His voice cast through the room, like a ray of sun, light and lambent.
The applause was thunderous, I felt my seat shake. James bowed, and exited stage left. He walked down the stairs, with confidence. He had done his utmost best. He was proud of himself, and he said so with his eyes, locked on mine. I could hear him.
Mr. Stomley never left his piano bench; he announced Eugene from his place in the pit. Eugene Bellevue rose from his seat, he walked up the same stairs James had just walked down. The spotlight ushered him to center stage, the same way it had guided James.
"Where're is love----" came forth from Eugene's mouth, he hit a flat, the freaking guy hit a flat. I felt bad for him, and good. I never understood how I could hate him, and feel sorry for him at the same time. He stopped singing. What the hell was he doing? YOU NEVER, NEVER stop, every performer knows, you continue like nothing happened. I could see the tears form in Eugene's eyes, I felt some form in mine. Why was I so upset? Eugene ran back stage. He just disappeared. Oh man, he was hurting, and I felt his pain. I couldn't figure out why. The entire audience fell completely and utterly silent.
The house lights came up. Mr. Stomley rose from his perch. His voice cut through the silence. "Ladies and gentlemen, take five."
"Are you all right, Michael?" James's sweet voice whispered into my ear.
"Yeah, poor Eugene." I said, still shaken by his bad fortune.
"MMM, I know," James said, short and to the point. It spoke volumes only I understood. He secretly reached his right hand down to my left hand, and gently patted it.
It hit me, like a freight train running down the tracks. I felt my nerves. Every single nerve in my body was racked with tension. My head began to pound. I had to compete against my lover. It had come down to him or me. I was feeling faint. I wanted to run with Eugene and disappear. I didn't, I was frozen in my position, I was frozen with fright.
Mr. Stomley returned to his position at the piano. He stood near the instrument, cleared his throat, and said, "If I could have your attention... PLACES!" His voice barbarous, while it boomed through the audience.
Silence fell, like a guillotine cutting through its prey.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Michael Martin," Mr. Stomley stated.
My turn had come. I rose from my chair. I walked to the stage. My time had come. I took my place on center stage, the spot was on me. I looked out to the audience; blackness was all my eyes depicted. Solid black, the great white light blinded me.
The piano notes hung in the air. They reached my ears. My moment of truth had come. I sang like never before. I didn't know where it came from. I heard the back door to the auditorium open as people from the hall came to see who was singing. The only thing that came from me were the words, and notes. My mind was a total blank. I could hear myself. "Was that really me?" I thought, and kept singing.
I heard the applause. It got louder and louder. I heard feet stomping, and chairs being used for sounding devices. Whistles, and screams. I was standing there center stage, drained of all strength.
"Well, by popular demand, we have a winner. I give you Michael Martin, The Bonnie Eagle Chorus Soloist for the Spring Concert." Mr. Stomley's voice echoed off every crevice in the room.
I walked from my place. I had to get to James. I hoped he was not hurt. I reached him, and just as I was ten feet from my secret love, we smiled. We smiled at each other, we looked into each other's eyes. We knew what we were saying. "I love you."
We left shortly after. We walked home together, slowly. We had the whole night ahead of us. James told me how proud of me he was. He told me how happy he was for me. He told me he wanted to be with me forever. Every statement he made was short, sweet, and to the point.
"I feel real bad for Eugene," I said to James.
"Yeah, I know. Me too," James said with concern.
"I'm going to call him later and tell him how I feel. I mean, he's never done anything to us. Why do we hate him? I forget," I said and really felt the words.
"We just do, and the feeling is mutual," James said, so pointed. "Hey, my folks are out tonight. You wanna come by?" he continued.
"No, I just want to go home and stay in my room," I said, and didn't know what I was really feeling.
"Can I call you later?" James asked, looking hurt, his baby blues looking at me.
"Sure, James, you know that. I mean, why do you ask? I love you," I said, and fixed my eyes on his. I looked into his face and smiled. In the back of my mind I was bothered, bothered by something.
We got to James's house and separated. I continued on to mine. Thinking about the stew we were going to be eating. My thoughts travelled to Eugene. I was suddenly consumed with thoughts of pain for Eugene. I would call him right after dinner. That's what I would do. Yes, sir. First, I had to tell my parents the great news though. I had to dazzle them with my abilities. I wanted to share my luck with them. I could feel the pride of myself building.
I cut through the Shannucks' yard. I walked into the house.
Well, that's it for now. Hope you liked it. I try to entertain you with the messages. Many of you read between the lines, your e-mails tell me where you think the ride is taking us. I like to fool us all. I never know where we are going until we arrive.
If you have comments good or bad, email me Justin69SK@aol.com
My special thanks to all of you for your kind letters.
My very special thanks to my dear Editor. Without Ed, I would be fumbling the commas, and quotations. I want you to lay off the pie from the resuraunt, though, and give my best to all your friends. I hope to see William on stage.