Chapter 2
Eliza had been correct, I realized as we entered Rourke's. The place was fantastic. A blend of mahogany and gold, rich deep colors that lulled the customer, and invited him to relax and enjoy his visit. Soothing classical background music that created an ambiance of quiet contemplation and discussion. White table clothes and napkins, fine china, crystal, and gold silverware enhanced rather than detracted from the rooms character.
The Wilkins and their nanny had already arrived and Marcus motioned for us to join them as we entered. I was still a bit distracted, replaying the discussion Aaron and I had just had, when we reached the table. I must have been on auto pilot, because I helped Aaron get Eric situated in his high chair, sat were directed automatically, to the left of Aaron, and agreed without hesitation when Marcus suggested we try the prime rib.
"Chris," Eliza asked?
Realizing I had been ignoring the current conversation, I quickly gathered my thoughts and smiled in what I hoped was a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry, Eliza," I apologized, "I was somewhere else, what did you say?"
"I said," she laughed understandingly, " that this isn't really going to be a family inquisition. Why don't you and Aaron just chat, get to know each other, and we'll pipe up if there's something we want clarified."
I nodded in agreement, then turned slightly so I could face Aaron expectedly. "So," I asked, "Who starts?"
He grinned at me mischievously as he turned to face me and responded, "Well since your a bit outnumbered here, why don't you?"
I thought something easy, not too embarrassing to start with, just something to break the ice. "Why did you decide to attend Kingsridge?" I asked. I was rather surprised at the reaction to my question. That should have been an easy one, shouldn't it? But, he reacted like I had slapped him. Looking at his father nervously, he cleared his throat. I followed his glance and noticed the look of sadness and pain Marcus was returning.
"I told you who Eric's mother was," he started, "but that wasn't the entire story." Sighing deeply, resigned I guess to whatever my reaction might be, he continued, "Linda, was a drug addict."
"We didn't know that of course. The pregnancy seemed to go off without a hitch. She was often moody and tired, but she appeared to be healthy. How she managed to hide what she was doing from the doctor, I still don't understand."
"When Eric was born, we found out about the drugs and the consequence. He was born addicted to cocaine and had some serious health problems. My heart broke as I spent day after day in the hospital watching this beautiful, gentle soul screaming in pain as his body went through withdrawal."
"He went into cardiac arrest twice," the tears flowing down Aaron's face as he told his story were a physical representation of the pain he had endured, and demonstrated poignantly exactly how hard these memories were for him to relive. "Eventually he stopped crying, not because he was getting better, simply because he was too weak for even that small action."
"I thought he was going to die, and I knew if he did, I would too. I loved him already. Deeply, completely, unconditionally. I had loved him since I knew he existed, and that love grew daily as Linda's pregnancy progressed. He fulfilled me in a way I needed desperately, and if he was taken from me, I would have no reason to live."
"I would sit near his incubator daily, watch him as he lay there with wires and tubes covering his fragile, small body, and caress him. And I talked to him. I told him about my life, how much I loved him, how much I needed him, and prayed for him to hold on. To be strong, to have faith that I would be there to protect him, to love him, if only he would stay with me."
"Somehow, he started getting better. Stronger. He finished going through withdrawal and began sleeping and eating normally. He gained weight, his color improved. As bad as it was, it became that good. He was flourishing, growing, laughing. And I was there for every moment of it. Loving, supporting, and cherishing him and this second chance. Once he was strong enough to go home, my obsession continued and grew. I had graduated not long before he was born, so I had no outside responsibilities to take my attention away from him. And I dedicated myself to him. I realize it wasn't healthy, but my devotion was absolute. I had an almost debilitating fear that he would be taken from me at any moment."
"The fear became so bad it was paralyzing. Every time he would move, breathe funny, or cry, I was certain he was going to die. I had to start seeing my psychiatrist again, and eventually she was able to help me overcome my fears. I was able to stop smothering him and allow him to grow and experience new sensations and situations, and I was able to really share his joy as he began to explore and learn about the world around him."
I'm not sure how or when, but somewhere, some when while he was speaking I reached over and clasped his hand. I guess I wanted him to feel human contact as he faced these inner demons, I'm sure I did it to comfort him, but somehow, for some reason, the contact, his hand squeezing mine back as I squeezed his gave me just as much comfort.
"As my counseling progressed, the psychiatrist and I were eventually able to discover the underlying problems that was causing my fears. I didn't think I was worth loving. I could accept it from my family, from my son. Parents, siblings, children, they are suppose to love you unconditionally. And I needed that love. I yearned for it. And I knew Eric was going to be my only child. If I lost him, if he died, that love, his love would be gone and I simply couldn't envision any other person loving me, needing me as he does."
"So we decided I would give college a chance. At least a year. Spend that time trying to recognize that I am a worthwhile person. That I deserved love, and had the capacity to share it with someone that completes me. That is my equal."
"Why were you so sure Eric would be your only child? Have you ever been in love?" I asked.
I realized the question was dangerous when I saw the reaction of Aaron's family. Eliza's gasp, the look of pain on Marcus face, Candice's shock as she turned white and started biting her lower lip.
"Chris..." Eliza started.
Holding up my hand, I motioned Eliza to silence. Turning back to Aaron I saw the pain the question had caused. His eyes were haunted, filled with pain. He looked lost. Afraid to speak, afraid to remember. The strange feelings I had been experiencing about him intensified. My stomach was churning, and I wanted desperately to have not asked that question. But somehow I knew that he needed to tell me, somehow I knew it was important to him. To me. To us.
"Aaron," I said reaching up to cup his face and turn it towards me. "Look at me, Aaron." Staring deeply into his eyes, I tried to convey my support for him. I allowed my sympathy to show, my compassion, and I hoped, my acceptance.
"Trust me. Whatever it is, no matter how hard it may be to tell me, we`ll still be friends." I pleaded, squeezing his hand trying to impart my confidence in him, and the feelings for this gentle man I was beginning to have. This special man who had such a large capacity for love. "Trust me!" I almost begged.
"I... umm...," he stuttered. Licking his lips, he quickly reached for a glass of water, took a deep drink and re-cleared his throat.
"I was 16 when I met him," he said as he looked deeply in my eyes, looking for a reaction. I'm not sure what he saw, but whatever it was, it was enough to allow him to continue.
"He was 17, a senior at my high school, and I thought he was gorgeous," he sighed.
"I was in love with him. Real love, the happily ever after kind, the I want to spend my life with this person kind. And I thought he was just as deeply in love with me."
"I wasn't really comfortable finally admitting to myself that I was gay, but Josh, that was his name, was patient. He spent an amazing amount of time soothing my feelings, assuaging my fears, and assuring me that I wasn't evil or weird. Finally, I couldn't ignore what I was feeling for him. It got to the point that each time I did I felt I was betraying him, betraying us, betraying the possibilities of what we could have."
"But even though I was able to admit I was in love with another guy, that I was gay, I still wasn't ready for sex. I wasn't able to release my inhibitions enough to share the intimacy, the openness, the trust that required. It put stress on our relationship. Josh was frustrated, but continued to be patient."
"At some point, his gentle caring slowly evaporated and he began to put pressure on me. And I decided, finally, that he was right. That I was being silly and childish. And that we needed to share that intimacy if our relationship was going to survive, to develop into something lasting."
"So we made plans. Mom had some society function she was attending that day, Candice was spending a few days at our grandparents, and Dad would be at work, or at least we thought he would be. But he'd had another doctor's appointment, and returned early. I'm not sure why he came into my room, I can't remember the last time he had, but he did that day. Josh and I were undressed, in my bed, kissing passionately when we heard him open the door."
He paused a moment to take another quick glance at his father, taking a deep breath he continued, "It took him a second to recognize what was going on, what we were about to do. He just stood there quietly. He eyes flickered with emotion. Hurt, disappointment, finally anger."
"He started yelling, accusing. He began calling us vile names: faggot, queer, perverts, and I honestly thought for a moment he was going to hit Josh. I'd never seen him so angry in my life, and I'd never known him to hit anyone. I was scared, hurt by his hateful accusations, but determined to protect Josh from his wrath. I jumped between them, still naked, and began to yell myself. I tried to explain we were in love, that what we were doing wasn't sick or evil. That we weren't twisted. But every word I said seemed like I was plunging a knife into him. He flinched at every word, and finally I stopped. I just couldn't bare to cause him anymore pain."
"He turned to Josh at that point, completely ignoring me, and asked him how much. What would it cost to get him out of town, out of his sons life. Josh just stared at him in obvious confusion so he began quoting prices. 20,000. 30,000. 40,000. I was stunned. He just didn't understand, we were in LOVE. Josh didn't care about the money, he cared about me. At 250,000 I discovered I was wrong. Josh did have his price. Refusing to look at me, to acknowledge me, he accepted my dad's offer. He agreed to be out of town as soon as the money was transferred to his account, got dressed, and walked out of my bedroom, out of my life and out of my heart."
"I was devastated. It wasn't a business transaction to me, it was a betrayal. A betrayal of the trust I had in my father, and of the man I thought I would spend my life with, and I couldn't understand why. I became depressed. Suicidal. Mother got me into treatment. Got father into counseling. But it wasn't helping me. My feelings for Josh had been real, and were all consuming. He didn't corrupt me, didn't make me gay, it wasn't a phase. It was me, it was who I was. And my father couldn't accept it. The person who I thought was my boyfriend abandoned me. I just had no will to live. I think if Linda hadn't gotten pregnant, if Eric hadn't come into my life, I would have eventually succeeded and committed suicide. I wanted death, the pain was unbearable, I yearned for release."
"Eric saved me, he gave me a reason to live. But I still hadn't resolved my feelings of self loathing. I'm not sure I ever will."
He searched my face as he finished his story, searching for the condemnation he was certain would be there. "I'll understand," he finally said, "if you don't want to be my roommate. I'll find another place to live." The pain as he made that statement, as he confessed his expectations of my reaction to his confession tore at my heart.
I reached up gently and wiped the tears from his cheeks, from his eyes, and gently turned his head so he would look at me again. "Aaron," I said, "I'm not Josh, I know you don't really know me yet, but I promise, you can trust me. I'm not going to run, no one's going to buy me, and nothing... NOTHING you tell me will ever force me to abandon you." I'm not sure why I said that, but I knew as I did that it was true. That something was happening between the two of us and he could trust me, depend on me, lean on me, and I could do the same with him.
Stroking his cheek on last time, I watched as our waiter brought our order to the table. Dropping my hand to my lap, I made a decision. Actually it was the look of disgust I saw in Anne's face that helped me make my decision. I had to return this man's trust. He deserved to know he wasn't alone, that I could empathize with him, but more importantly I could trust him as completely as he had trusted me. He needed to know that although there may be Anne's in the world, people that would judge him, condemn him, or hate him, he wasn't alone. There were other people like him.
"My mother was 30 when I was born," I began our gazes still locked together, mine willing him to focus on me, to listen to me, to forget his pain for a moment and really hear what I had to say. Once I was sure I had his attention, my eyes glazed over as my vision turned inward, as I forced myself to relive my life, and share those experiences with him. "My father a year older," I finished.
"I'm not sure why they waited so long to have children, I never asked. I think, probably, they didn't plan to have me. I'm sure I was an accident, an inconvenience, and they resented me right from the start."
"As far back as I can remember, I feared them. I don't think I ever loved them. I remember being happiest when my father was working late, and my mother would finally pass out after drinking herself senseless. We lived on the outskirts of town, on a broken down farm. The land seemed a metaphor for my childhood. Bleak, colorless, and lifeless. Every year my father would try to scrounge a crop from the land, but the harvest was never enough to support the farm, the family, or my parents addictions. He had to supplement our income as a factory worker. And he hated it. Hated the long hours, and resented the money he had to re-invest to maintain our home."
"We never had family meals, discussions, or trips. Mother drank her dinner. Dad snorted his, and I would scrounge up cereal, soup, or toast. For the first 8 years of my life, I simply didn't exist for them. They ignored me as much as possible. There were days I would go without food, because they couldn't be bothered to buy any. I can't count the number of times I would cry myself to sleep because I was hungry, cold, or lonely."
"We had this old, massive, claw foot bathtub. It was amazingly deep with a backrest that was angled very nicely for sliding. Baths were my favorite time of day. I would fill the tub about a third of the way and spend an hour sliding down that backrest."
"It allowed me an escape, it was my sanctuary. In that small room, playing in the tub, my family was normal, I was loved, and the world was a beautiful and wondrous place."
"When I turned 9 everything changed. I'm not sure why he came in that day. The tub was filled, I had just climbed in, and was about to began sliding when the bathroom door opened. There wasn't a way to lock it when you were in there, the locks all required those old skeleton keys, and they had been lost ages ago. I was surprised and shocked that he was there. I couldn't remember the last time he had come in while I was bathing. It seemed to be an unspoken rule of our house, bathroom privacy was sacrosanct."
"He was looking at me strangely as he entered; I assumed he had heard the splashing and noise and had decided to put an end to my fun. I sat quietly in the water and grabbed a wash cloth. Soaping up, I began washing my arms, peeking surreptitiously at him as he brazenly examined me. He just stood there for a while watching me bathe as I got more and more nervous. Finally, he ordered me to stand up. I did so reluctantly and watched in fear as he approached the tub. He grabbed the bar of soap from me, kneeled down, scooped some water in his hands, lathered up, and began washing my legs."
"I was too scared to say a word. I just stood there frozen as his hands moved across my body. I started crying when he started massaging my genitals. I still hadn't made a sound, I just stood there crying silently as he stroked me. Staring intently into my eyes, he stood up, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and slowly lowered them. Taking my hand in his he guided it to his penis. He began moving my hand back and forth. I don't know how I knew it was wrong, but some instinct cried out deep inside me telling what was happening was wrong."
"Eventually he moved his hands to the back of my head and began forcing it towards him. I knew what he wanted me to do. I just couldn't. I hated him. I hated my life. I hated that he was forcing me to do this. I was crying uncontrollably now. Great racking sobs of pain. Begging him, pleading with him not to make me do it. But he ignored me. I was 9 years old. He was bigger, stronger, and my father, what was I suppose to do?"
"I did what he wanted. It didn't take long, I had barely taken it in my mouth when I felt him shudder, when I felt it swell, and he filled my mouth with his sperm. As he released me, I collapsed into a ball in the tub. He said the first thing to me since the entire incident had begun. Warning me not to tell anyone what had happened. Warning me I would regret it if I did."
"I should have listened to him. I should have realized he wasn't making an idol threat, but I didn't. I waited until he went to work the next day and told my mother what had happened. Her reaction surprised me. She began beating me. Yelling at me. Calling me a liar, a faggot. She screamed at me to admit I had made the entire thing up. That I was sick and deviant. She hit me and hit me. I honestly thought she was going to kill me. So I recanted. I told her I made the entire thing up."
"She sent me to my room, and I retreated there quickly, laying on my bed in a fetal position for hours, tears and snot running down my face. It was then that I recognized the truth. In this entire world, not one person loved me. Since everyone else was loved, then the fault must be mine. There was something about me that wouldn't allow people to love me."
"I heard my father come home at one point and tensed up, certain that I was about to be beat again. But no one came to my room, no one yelled for me to come out. I finally fell asleep, exhausted, emotional destroyed, and certain I would be better off dead."
"I woke the next day to find him standing over my bed, looking down on me. Motioning for me to follow him, he left the room. I got up slowly. He never said a word, just continued walking out the back door towards the barn, checking periodically to make sure I was still following him. He led my through the barn, to the small building we used for slaughtering the chickens and hogs we kept."
"Frankly, I thought he was going to kill me, and at the time I really wish he had. As I entered the building, I saw my dog, Trix. His head was in a jury rigged pair of stocks. I knew what was going to happen. Trix was my only friend, the only creature that I loved completely. He made me sit there and watch as he butchered him, as he skinned him alive. And the entire time he was working, he told me that it was my fault. Because of me, because of my love, because I had told, Trix had to die."
"Things were different after that day. My father never approached me in a sexual way again. I'm not sure why, maybe he felt that in some manner my mother had believed my story. Maybe he thought I would say something to someone at school. Whatever the reason there was never another sexual encounter. But the beatings became constant. A way of life. I don't think a week went by when I wasn't beaten at least once. I was in constant pain, one huge bruise for the next six years."
"I withdrew into myself. I severed any friendships I had. I was just too ashamed to allow anyone to know what was happening to me. Too afraid that if they found out, they would wind up in the slaughterhouse. I became timid and fearful. Jumping at shadows, certain each night when I went to bed that I would be killed in my sleep."
"I was 12 when I realized I was gay. Of course, once I had made that realization, I reviewed the sexual molestation I'd had with my new reality. I thought my father always knew. I was absolutely certain at that point that what had happened was my fault. That somehow I had wanted it to happen."
"When I entered high school, I realized that there might be an escape for me. If I could survive until graduation. If I could do well scholastically, I could get away. I could go to college and never have to return to this life, this place. I became obsessed with my studies, and I discovered the joy of running. The endorphins it could release. The sweet solitude as my muscles stretched and burned under MY control. It was addictive."
I was completely lost in my memories as I recounted my story, but somehow I was also aware of what was going on around me. I was conscious of the waiter refilling glasses, clearing our meals. I was aware of Aaron's tears as he shared my pain, of Candice's guilt as she reconciled my life with her hurtful words from earlier, of Marcus and Eliza's looks of sympathy, and of Anne's mocking glances. I cataloged these actions and reactions, and continued my tale.
"I was resigned to my life. Never happy, always afraid, and never strong enough to change my circumstances. Until my mother got pregnant again. She gave birth to my baby brother after I had turned 16. She probably shouldn't have tried to carry him to term. She was 45 and an alcoholic. She never stopped drinking during her pregnancy, but Benjy was perfect. I was certain my parents were going to abandon him. Put him in the foster system so they wouldn't have to be bothered. But they didn't. I think when all is said and done they were more worried about how they would look to the rest of our small community."
"I was terrified of him to begin with. He was adorable, but I was afraid to touch him, to get close to him. Afraid that if I allowed myself to love him, my parents would find a way to corrupt it. Too turn it ugly. Too take it away from me. But he didn't allow me to ignore him. I think somehow he sensed how much I needed him. How desperate I was to have someone to love."
"When he finally came home, he started to cry. I have to admit mother did try to comfort him, it actually surprised me. I'd never seen her in maternal mode, I didn't think she was capable of it. But she did make the attempt. Benjy would have none of it though. No matter what she did, how she tried, he continued crying. In frustration, she handed him to me one afternoon and told me she had to get out, to shut him up."
"He stopped crying the instant she handed him to me. She started at me stunned at that development. Watching to see how long it would be before he started again. He never did. He just looked at me with those trusting, innocent eyes that babies have, then slowly went to sleep."
"Have you ever really looked at a child's eyes? They are so wide and full of wonder and delight. They haven't learned to mask their emotions yet, so when they look at you, you can see what they are thinking, what they are feeling. The eyes are the only human organ that a person is born with that are completely mature at birth. They stay the same size for your entire life. It's why they look so big, so wonderful in children. And those eyes, I think, are the reason we are able to connect so easily to them, to love so deeply. They look at us so trustingly, that intensity compels our love and dedication."
"On Benjy's first birthday, dad got really high. I'd come to learn over the years that when that happened, chances were pretty good that I was going to get a beating. He had been watching me, watching how I interacted with Benjy, and it was scaring me. He watched as I held him protectively, smiled sadistically at me, and asked me if I thought Benjy was good looking."
"I was furious, and I stood up to him for the first time in my life. I told him, calmly and dispassionately, that if he touched Benjy I would kill him. If he touched me again I would kill him. If he yelled at Benjy I would kill him. And he believed me. Maybe it was the look in my eyes? The tone of my voice? Somehow he knew I was at the breaking point."
"I also realized at this point that I had to revise my plans. I had to find a way, when I left for college, to take Benjy with me. I was older now, more aware of the illegality of my parents actions, so I made preparations. When they would finally pass out, I would photograph, document, and stash a part of whatever pharmaceuticals might be on hand. I researched and drafted a set of legal papers that if signed would give me legal guardianship. I figured I would try blackmail. When I was ready to leave, I would show them copies of the photographs and logs. If it failed, if they refused to sign away their parental rights, I would place the drugs I was stockpiling in strategic locations and notify the police."
I paused a moment in my narrative to study Aaron's face. I saw the hurt, the empathy, and the understanding I was hoping for there. He knew. I was absolutely confident that he knew, I would do anything to protect my brother. Perhaps I should have taken a moment to try to understand the connection we seemed to be developing. The almost telepathic way we were communicating. But I didn't.
I did notice that he was the one holding my hand now. He was the one trying to impart his strength through our touch. He was the one reaching up gently to wipe my tears. He was the one stroking my cheek tenderly. And these gestures to soothe my inner turmoil were strangely effective. I leant on him, on his strength, and it allowed me to continue.
"Our lives were amazingly calm and uneventful my senior year. Benjy grew happy and loved. I worked lunch hours and study halls for the school to earn money. I continued to obsess over my studies. When graduation came I had earned valedictorian honors. I was elated; I could pick any college. I had scholarship and grant offers, enough to allow me to pay for living expenses off campus."
"The day of graduation, I had to arrive early. My parents and Benjy would arrive separately. But they never made it. I thought, the entire time I was giving my speech, that they had missed the ceremony on purpose. I was certain that they were trying, once again, to hurt me. I was wrong."
"The semi-tanker that hit them was carrying gas. It exploded on contact. They never had a chance. My father, mother, brother all killed. A second. That's all it took, a second to wipe out my entire family."
"I was numb when I found out. Unable to grieve, unable to let go. I withdrew into myself again. Locking my feelings up. Refusing to recognize the truth. I think I was close to madness then, closer than I had ever been."
"I probably would have plunged over the edge, taken that fateful step into the maw of despair and insanity, if a representative of the trucking company hadn't visited me the day of the funeral. Visited me and offered me 100,000 dollars for my parents lives, and not one cent for my brother. He stood there, cocky, certain that I would be grateful for any offer. A back wood's hillbilly too stupid to know when he was being screwed. Instead I was furious. He had the audacity to tell me my brothers life was worthless!"
"I buried my family that day, and began researching. I looked for the most successful wrongful death lawyers I could discover. I researched the company's business practices. I researched how often they were assessed fines for breaking government regulations. I delved into repair expenses and policies. And I got lucky. I received an anonymous internal communique, a memo that documented the repairs that had been ignored on the tanker, and the illegal policy of forcing truckers into doctoring logs so drivers could operate longer hours than allowed."
"The jury deliberated for all of 30 minutes. When they came back they awarded me 150 million. The trucking company appealed, and my lawyers told me that we were almost certain to win ultimately, but that the company would and could keep the case in litigation for years."
"I reapplied for school and scholarships, and began to move forward with my life. I hadn't heard of Kingsridge University at the time, but somehow they heard of me, and began actively recruiting me. Eventually, I decided the school would suit me and signed my letter of intent."
"My lawyers were astounded when the trucking company decided to enter into settlement discussions, instead of pursuing the appeals, and three months ago they agreed to pay 75 million, admit publicly to liability, and agree to have outside auditor's review new policies for repairs and staffing. Ironic isn't it? A second, that's all the accident took, I lose the only person that has ever loved me, and gain a fortune I didn`t want."