Chapter 9 Christmas 1998.
The first half of December passed slowly, Patrick stayed with me the entire time and made money working part-time at the Wilmette Theater, in the downtown business district. The guy that hired him and the other cleaning guy lived in Evanston and drove by our place on the way to work so they hauled Patrick back and forth for free, I think they liked him too. I have yet to meet anyone that disliked Patrick after meeting him the first time.
He had a charm and beauty that could easily be seen across the room, it sort of reminded me of a young actor (Christopher Atkins) in the 1980 movie Blue Lagoon, except Patrick did not have curly blonde hair or tiny titties.
During the second week of December I was home and Patrick was working the day shift at the theater, while he was gone someone pounded on my door, but it was weird because when I opened the door, there stood Patrick. It took me a few seconds to realize it was his twin brother, the resemblance was amazing, except Matt was huskier and spoke in a weird tough guy manner. Patrick had a slight metrosexual accent.
As soon as I realized it was Matt I was instantly on guard because I didn't trust him, which confused my brain since he looked the same as Patrick! It was sort of like loving Patrick but hating his reflection!
"He's not here, whadaya want?" I asked with my arms folded across my chest.
"When'll he be back?"
"I honestly don't know, he's workin' an odd shift."
"Where's that?" He asked.
"I'm not gonna tell ya, I've seen his bruises." I spoke with a serious tone and leaned towards him a little.
After he pounded on my door I think Matt backed up to the top of the steps so now he was four feet above me, which was not a good tactical position. I was mentally prepared for a struggle, Matt had some obvious muscles on his arms and chest. Lots of hetero idiots mistakenly think that gays are all cowardly wimps.
We stared each other down for a moment, then I offered to take a message for Patrick, "I'll tell him you were here."
Matt kind of laughed and smiled and glanced down the driveway which displayed one of his dimples, but his beauty didn't work on me.
Matt cleared his throat then said, "Maybe I should just wait here for him to get back?"
I came up the steps and stood near him on the driveway and told him he needed to leave. I almost said some un-friendly stuff.
I stepped inside his personal space and told him again I'd let Patrick know. Matt backed up again and said some dumb shit:
"Okay dick breath I'll go. But tell 'im I came by to see how he was."
"Text him."
Matt's reply didn't surprise me. "I don't gotny minutes or I would."
I thought to myself, 'You got money to ride the L to Wilmette but not enough to buy minutes for your cell?'
I stood there staring at his eyes, which I think made him super uncomfortable, so he turned and walked down the driveway, he turned left at the sidewalk. I stood outside shivering and watched him walk down the driveway. From behind he looked exactly like Patrick except his ass cheeks moved differently when he walked.
Then I walked out to the sidewalk so I could watch him cross the street and enter the glass L station doors.
I told Patrick his brother dropped by so he could threaten me and asked to talk to you.
"Don't tell him nuthin, he can text me."
Patrick seemed grumpy the rest of the day and showed me one of the theater customers handed him a joint, he wanted to smoke it. Since it was my first day off I said we could both do it, so we walked down by the river and out into the park and lit the joint. "The last time I smoked pot was in college, five years ago." I told him when he lit it. We passed it back and forth until it was just a tiny roach.
When we got back he seemed really high and sounded upset that we were out of munchies and frozen pizza. He wanted a salty snack and we had nothing in the house, but would go to the store tomorrow for our weekly shopping trip.
He proclaimed I did 'a shitful job of buying groceries, the refrigerator was always empty.' I offered to make him a bowl of minute rice. With lots of butter and salt it was nearly as good as popcorn, but now he was even more pissed and shut off the TV and turned on the stereo looking for some tunes to enhance his buzz.
When I told him to write stuff he wanted to keep at home he spun around and yelled at me to shut the fuck up! I guess he thought I was going on too much about food we didn't have and it was pissing him off.
Then he opened the refrigerator door and gestured for me to admire the empty glass shelves. It had bottles of ketchup, mustard, and a jar of olives in the door shelves but the rest was empty.
I immediately stood up and took one step towards him, so he stepped towards me with clenched fists and I saw his nostrils flaring.
"No really, write down anything you want, we'll get it tomorrow." I turned and walked to the kitchen and smacked the Post-It notepad on the table and wrote popcorn on it because it stored well.
He walked over and flung open the refrigerator and stood there like a stoned zombie staring at the nearly empty white box then slammed it shut and stood there fuming. I was close behind him standing by the table.
I pointed out he was fine until he got high, maybe we shouldn't do it again. I grabbed the pen to add something to the notepad and suddenly felt dizzy and fell forward and rolled off the table against a chair and down to the floor. I think he actually punched the side of my head!
I was on my back on the floor, he stood there breathing heavily and staring at me like he had rabies or suddenly turned into O.J.
The side of my head throbbed and my vision as all wonky but I thought my best move was to stay on the floor and see what he did. I got mental images of OJ Simpson trying to fit into those tiny leather gloves.
A few moments later he stepped over my legs and stormed off and went to the bedroom and slammed the door. I struggled to my feet and crash landed on the sofa. One kitchen chair was still on the floor. I felt the side of my head for blood, my ear felt like it was on fire.
I'd warned him before to never hit me or we're through. I guess I had some thinking to do.
I must admit at that moment I felt betrayed and angry, I knew if we talked now I'd tell him to grab his shit and get out now. But I knew we'd just smoked a joint... so I put on my hoodie, my running shoes, my wool cap, and went for a walk outside in the cold and darkness. The snow just started to fall.
I walked down the driveway and headed east on the sidewalk towards Point Obo to calm my anger. As I walked down the dark sidewalk I had visions of stuff I said that probably made him angrier too. I think I mocked his pot induced munchies a bit, but maybe he was hungry long before we got high.
Walking down the sidewalk in the cold darkness it occurred to me that I'd been buying food for home as if I was feeding myself plus a little extra but I think I forgot that Patrick was a hungry adolescent with an endless appetite.
I walked down to the temple and carefully ascended the slippery 41 steps and sat down on the frozen marble window ledge and leaned back against the Baha'i Temple and stared at the sky, crossed my legs and tried to calm down. I think every muscle in my body was tensed up and my head hurt.
The exterior of the temple was either glass or solid white marble and was brightly lit at night. That meant the building was surrounded by banks of lights aimed upward at the bullet shaped temple. There were a few places on the outside with shadows. I sat down on the ledge in front of a window between the pillars and watched the snowflakes fall in the bright lights down in the gardens that surrounded the building.
I lowered my chin I said a short prayer, "If you're there I need help. I love Patrick and don't want to lose him. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to handle this. I guess I need to apologize too."
My eyes went back to watching snowflakes fall from the sky.
The side of my head hurt. I slid my hands up and down my thighs trying to make some friction and some heat then suddenly an image popped in my head. The L station had vending machines, and they locked the doors at 11pm (in about nine minutes).
As quickly as I could I got to my feet and scrambled down the 41 slick marble stairs and out onto the brick street and ran as fast as I could without falling, west towards the L station.
It's almost half a mile from the temple to the L station, this late at night there usually wasn't much traffic on Linden Avenue so I ran down the slippery brick street and carefully paced myself. I ran along the curb much faster than I should have, it was vitally important that I get there before they closed. I felt my heart pounding in my chest and my breathing got deeper as I ran past the grassy park beside the river then there were about seven houses which got me to the corner.
As I crossed 3rd Street I saw the row of vending machines inside the train station through the glass doors, luckily the lights were still on. I had no cash but I had my debit card. I ran up to the door and pulled it open. Luckily it wasn't locked. So I jammed my debit card in the slot and bought the last three bags of Doritos and pulled my card out. The transit guy was standing by the doors to lock them behind me.
I almost could have stopped and talked to that guy but my mind was focused on feeding my hungry roommate.
With three bags of chips and a pounding headache I quickly walked home. The snow was falling harder now and the sidewalk was very slick. On the walk home I heard the snow squeak under my shoes and realized my anger was gone, I glanced down the street at the huge white temple dome in the night sky and quietly spoke out loud, "Thank you."
Finally, I turned on our driveway then down the steps and into my little basement apartment. After being outside that long in the cold night air it felt hot on my face being back inside. I took off my hoodie and kicked off my shoes and set the bags on the table and opened one of them. I sort of liked the taste of Doritos but I never ate them because of what they're made from.
I stuffed the two unopened bags under my shirt in back and tucked it in and held the open bag in my left hand with the top folded over a few times. I put one large chip between my lips and silently opened the bedroom door and stepped inside and shut the door. Patrick was on his side in bed with pillows around his face, he held one tightly to his chest. He was facing the wall and never reacted to my presence but I could tell he was awake and I'm sure he heard me come in.
I tiptoed across the room and silently sat on the bed by his butt and reached up and loudly ate the chip. Patrick instantly spun around and sat up, "Asshole, where'd you find that?" He demanded. I sat there smiling and slowly munched on that chip to make the most munching noise I could then raised my other hand and held out the bag. He grabbed it and munched them one after another and acted like his life had just been saved.
He made a few yummy sounds as he stuffed chip after chip in his mouth and with a mouthful of chips he asked again where I got them. Mocking him I imitated his voice and mumbled "Vending machine." But it was too crunchy to understand what I said.
He raised the bag and shook the crumbs into his mouth and while he ate the crumbs I reached behind and pulled out a totally full bag and set it on his stomach. Patrick told me I had snow on my shoulders then he looked down and saw another full bag.
Patrick looked at it, smiled and looked in my eyes and ripped the bag open and ate every chip one at a time, but never stopped stuffing them into his mouth. His severe case of munchies was finally satisfied. I sat beside his hip watching him stuff his face. I got thirsty watching him eat that many Doritos.
When he raised the second bag to dump the crumbs into his mouth I reached back and pulled out the last bag and dropped it on the bed.
Patrick looked at it and at me and reached up and gently rubbed the side of my head where he hit me. A genuine sign of sadness appeared around his chin. His lower lip and chin started to quiver and then he broke out in tears and cried. Patrick reached his arms out and pulled me into him and held me tightly. He buried his face in my shoulder and begged for forgiveness.
I rubbed his back then he leaned back and looked in my eyes and with tears dripping down his cheeks he told me that he saw images of fights between his parents. His crying increased as he struggled to talk and tell me that he saw his father brutally punch his mother in the face over and over, the blood, the screaming. He said he was only about seven then but ran from the house out of fear for his life.
Patrick wept like a child and said he was sorry over and over so I pulled him back into me and held him tightly. Patrick moved his arms a few times and tightened his embrace as his cries slowed to sniffles.
Finally he pulled back and raised the bag, opened it and offered me a chip. I picked one from the bag and munched it. After that one he hand fed me several more until I told him to stop. Now my mouth was dry and orange and tasted wonderful but that was my limit on sim food.
While I chewed he asked where I found them, I said I ran from Point Obo to the L station when I remembered they had vending machines.
"You mean you went outside in a winter storm at 10:45pm just to buy me Doritos?"
"Actually I went outside to think for a while then remembered the machines and ran to the L station, it's only two blocks."
"Bradley, you are one crazy mother fucker." He laughed and said thanks for getting them. I moved the bag on the bedside table and climbed on top of him and we kissed for a while.
I moved over on my side as we kept our mouths together, sharing Doritos flavor. Both of us also probably had bad cases of cotton mouth.
We got under the blankets together and Patrick told me what I did for him tonight was the most selfless act he witnessed in his life. I could hear it in his voice when he said that he was on the verge of tears again.
He stopped mid-sentence and asked me, "Did you say you were at the temple, sitting outside on the marble thinking about stuff, in the snow, and 18 degrees, then ran all the way to the L station to buy me three bags of Doritos?" I just said, "Uh huh."
He raised his hands to his face and cried again and lowered his face against my shoulder and softly wept for a bit.
We lay together with our foreheads almost touching.
We were in bed with the lights off but still awake. Patrick said something that surprised me. "Every day since I was born if I got someone really mad at me they always got even, hit me back, or did something to get even. After I hit you, you responded by showing compassion. I've never seen that before." He sighed and said, "You have no idea how important.... Brad, it could take me weeks to stop thinking about this." I patted the back of his hand and tried to fall asleep, it wasn't as big a deal to me, but I guess a show of forgiveness was new to him. He must not have paid attention in Catholic school!
I woke up around 2am to pee, I looked outside at the driveway and could see it was snowing hard and my car was covered with four inches of heavy wet Lake Michigan snow. It was big flakes that fell silently and turned all the trees and bushes white. As much as I disliked winter I liked watching the snow fall.
We slept back to back the rest of the night.
At 7am it was light enough outside to do the driveway. While I was outside Patrick came out and shoveled the sidewalks from their kitchen door to the driveway and along the garage doors. Then he did our steps and went back inside. For the snow blower all I had to do was fill the gas and turn the key and walk behind it.
Back and forth, I walked up and down the driveway about ten times then it was done. I also made one pass down the sidewalk in the front yard, but the tow plowed all the sidewalks with a small tractor and a wedge shaped plow pulled behind the tractor like a sled.
By 9am the snow had stopped falling and the driveway and sidewalks were done.
I went outside and brushed the snow off my car and started the engine to warm it up. Back inside I asked him to get ready to go, we had groceries to buy.
We spent over half an hour in the store loading up the cart. It turned into a $190 purchase and seven bags of stuff. It was much easier when it was just me, but with two mouths to feed this was the first time I really had to consider his tastes too, so we picked foods together and got a lot of frozen vegetables, dried beans, and rice.
I also did some education, teaching him to turn items around and read labels. I wanted to avoid sugary food, or food with fake sweeteners that just made you hungrier. I also got him to start checking for labels that said an item contained genetically modified ingredients.
He asked me to explain it and I said it wasn't referring to types of corn being cross pollinated to improve growth, the thing I objected to was DNA segments from insects or manmade fragments being inserted into plant DNA. I wouldn't eat stuff that contained fake DNA. Especially considering how reluctant they were to list that on the ingredients. The best way to avoid that stuff was to avoid the cheapest crap on the store shelves.
On the way home we listened to live radio play by play of the football game in Chicago, Bears hosting Buffalo in Soldier Field. In the second quarter the score was 3-3. Both teams were used to playing in a snow storm, especially Buffalo.
Back at home I carried in the bags while he put stuff away. He also turned on the game on the TV, I muted it at half time.
Now that we were fully stocked again I baked a pizza, one we could customize with nearly double the toppings.
When I opened the refrigerator I saw it was mostly full, and in the freezer too.
Our dinner was ready during the third quarter so we sat on the sofa with pizza and beers and watched the rest of the game, which wasn't very good. It looked like nobody wanted to play in the blustery cold. It got rather cold in Soldier Field since it's on the lakefront, but hey, we're Chicagoans!
We agreed on a bet on the final score, 3-6 Bears would lose. He took Bears to win. And the loser of the bet had to blow the winner, as instructed.
I won, so did Buffalo by one field goal that hit the upright but still went through. He got on the floor between my knees and ate a load from me. I ran my fingers through his hair and watched him work it. My boner was all shiny, slick, and wet as he worked with his right hand and mouth. About half of it landed on my stomach, he got the rest. But like always before he could swallow I pulled him up to me and we shared it between our mouths.
Like I said before I have a sexual dilemma, when someone blows me and makes me come I got such a strong sense of affection for them it's a struggle letting them work or lifting their face so we can kiss. I often kissed the tops of their heads when my dick was in his mouth.
After dinner I set out the suitcase, we'd share one since the place we were headed didn't require much clothing. We already got shorts which were nice enough for the restaurant and dried quickly, even in the humid Caribbean air.
We had one more day together before my work week started so he switched with me to night shift life. It' sort of like living in India but working in Chicago.
During one meal together Patrick admitted for the past few weeks after I left for work he sometimes went upstairs and had dinner with my parents and they were very kind to him, especially my mom.
That week I got called into Administration at work on Thursday morning. They wanted to talk turkey about the offer they made for me to head-up a small private hospice unit. This time he even showed me blueprints of what they planned to build. It was in the same building I worked in now, but one floor down. I would work day shift and manage the department, interview, recommend hiring, staffing, payroll, and ordering. I'd get a decent raise that would put me over $110k a year, but I'd lose some when I lost my night shift premium. The catch was I had until Jan 15th to submit my acceptance in writing.
During my walk to the L station after work on Friday morning I was shocked to see Patrick standing outside on the sidewalk waiting for me in Evanston! We rode home quietly holding hands all the way to Linden Avenue.
That morning we finished packing and at 8:30am there was a knock on the door that opened from our kitchen into the basement. My father was there and being a man of few words, he said they decided to recommend I take the new job as a Hospice nurse director. I thanked him and we'll see him Monday morning out in the driveway at 3am for our ride to the airport.
He paused and turned back to face me and added, "Your mother and I agree the best choice for you would be to enroll in a master's degree program as soon as possible because any department manager with a bachelors degree will soon be replaced once the bean counters get a look at the books. If you're enrolled in classes it's almost as good as having the degree."
I thanked him for his expert advice.
"See you at three!" I shouted as he trudged up the basement stairs.
On Saturday morning I went upstairs and explained everything to my parents and asked for grownup advice. I even used a sheet of paper and a marker to illustrate the differences in responsibility and pay, hours and how I'd no longer be an ICU nurse. I also had to explain the legal problems with Hospice and how involved Medicare was in that program, which meant rules and guidelines. They decided to sleep on it too! I told my father the bottom line change in pay would be a $20k increase and less liability.
One of the problems with Hospice was some family members of the patient had hidden agendas when there was inheritance involved. The hospital was not the proper venue for relatives to battle for control over the estate, but it happened.
Our trip started like the others, we got an airport limo and loaded our luggage in the trunk and drove straight to O'Hare from our driveway. It was snowing when we left the house (3am) before sunrise.
We flew from O'Hare to Miami, then a shorter flight in a propeller plane from Miami to Nassau in the Bahamas. We went by taxi to a commercial pier that was home to a high speed catamaran for a four hour ride to the British Virgin Islands (BVI) port city of Road Town. From there we got on a smaller boat and went to the small bay village of Bight Bay on Norman Island. We docked against a pier and stepped up onto that structure and walked ashore (6:30pm) where we were welcomed back by smiling resort staff.
We rented two huts beside the bay, they had twelve units all within a two minute walk of the restaurant. Only the inner most part of the bay had a sandy beach, that's were where the restaurant/bar was located. I read a description online that said the resort used to have its own restaurant but it burned down so they purchased the one on the beach and it became part of the resort. The burnt down restaurant was rebuilt over a period of years but was now just an activity center. It said the resort was originally a small British Naval base during WW2.
Starting with the airport limo ride to O'Hare my parents seemed to fall under the spell of Patrick, he charmed them the entire time and they got him anything he wanted at the airports and on the flights. I kept my mouth shut and just watched them try to out bullshit each other. It seemed to work, which was fine. I thought they might not be as easily swayed by his charms if they saw him with my dick in his mouth.
We were shown our cabin. It was actually a corrugated steel roof with palm fronds (leaves) covering it and partially on the inside walls. Our cabin had two full beds, one dresser, a sofa, ceiling fans, a sink, toilet, and mirror and a few electric lights. There were oscillating fans we could move around that stood on pedestals, and a console shortwave radio but the room had no TV and no AC. It was near the water and had screens over the windows and doors.
When the huts were built the ends would have had wood walls and doors but they were remodeled so they now had a wall of glass at both ends, all the windows opened and were covered with screens to keep the parrots out.
After so many hours in cramped seats and waiting in boarding areas we decided to hit the beach, so we changed into our suits and ran to the beach, which was about 100 feet from our cabin door. I think my parents went out for dinner (alcohol) near the beach.
One of the resort staff told us to not walk across the beach but to walk out the pier and climb down the ladder to get in the water. If we walked on the beach (between sunset and sunrise) we'd be attacked by the Noseeums. Those were giant mosquito-like insects that drank blood and left horrible bruises that lingered for months and were itchy the entire time. If we got bit today in late December every bite would still be bruised and itchy in April.
We carefully climbed down the pier ladder into the water and swam over near the beach. We hung out in chest deep warm ocean water but were not the only people out there.
Out in Bight Bay were nine large sailboats at anchor. All of them had lights on but none had wild parties. They all had wind generators and we could see people moving around through the windows and some folks on deck. It seemed lots of cooking was going on outside with propane stoves or charcoal grilles.
In the water were a few other couples, we were the only one that was two younger men. All the resort staff we saw looked African descended and all of them looked young, and they all had British colonial accents.
I pointed out my parents at the bar eating dinner and getting drunk. We heard my mom's cackle as she got drunk, laughed too loud, and made an ass of herself.
I decided to move closer to Patrick (behind him). I slid my hand down his suit and rubbed his butt crack and his hole, we were in neck deep water so nobody could see us. He said he felt unsafe in the water not being able to see what might be swimming around our legs and we'd never know what attacked us.
In the distance to the west we saw a very slow moving thunderstorm dropping lightning bolts into the ocean. It was a fantastic light show but the thunder was just a soft rumble in the distance.
We stayed in the water until my parents left the bar and walked back to our hut, we swam back to the pier and climbed out. The Noseeums only lived in beach sand near the water.
We got dried off and changed into nicer shorts and tank tops and took the walkway and ordered dinner. We ordered baked snapper and what they called Island Salad, which was a macaroni and bean salad with an Italian dressing, sort of like a three bean and pasta salad, which was nice. The Snapper was wonderful. We had wine and water to drink. The kitchen staff were all older females and the service was excellent. While we waited for our food to arrive we took turns standing by the table to double check for Noseeum bites but both of us were clean.
Everywhere we went there was always a slender man wearing a black and blue cop uniform nearby, they just stood around watching but not talking or doing much of anything except watching for lawbreakers. I guess at this place the main risk was rowdy drunks at the bar getting out of hand. But in the past the main problem was Paparazzi taking photos of the celebs that sometimes anchored in the bay.
While we ate I pointed out the distant lights from the US Virgin Islands, the closest one to us was Saint John. The storm looked like it was moving towards us with a rather impressive show of lightning as big fat bolts of energy jumped down to the ocean and lit up the clouds like it was daytime briefly.
Mother Nature always puts on the best light shows!
I've been to the Caribbean islands many times since I was a kid and the one thing that I noticed was there really wasn't much on them that was very old. They all looked like they got erased down to bare rock about once every few hundred years.
The waitress returned with our dinners and I was super hungry, Patrick looked a little bewildered by all the new surroundings. The change from Skokie to a tropical island on the Caribbean can be mind blowing for some. Everything was different here.
Contact the author: borischenaz gmail
Remember: this rough draft version is also 100% fictional.