This is a work of fiction. No sex this round--just "the talk"--or a version of it, anyway. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Some of the activities mentioned in this story may cause injury or transmit diseases, including HIV. Please play safe--I don't want to lose any fans!
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Powell and Me 5
Mom and Dad were waiting for me, of course. You can probably imagine the looks. "I'll heat up your supper," Mom said. It sounded like a threat.
"I'm really sor--"
"Sit down and wait for your mother," Dad said. So I did, staring at the cupboard full of Mom's fancy china while Dad stared at me. I couldn't see him at the end of the table, but I could feel his eyes. The microwave finally dinged, and then there was some rattling, and then the plate was in front of me, and then Mom sat down and cleared her throat and looked across the table at Dad. They have this way of talking to each other without talking, somehow.
"There are rules in this house, Edward," Dad said. "Dinner is at six o'clock."
"And when you're not coming right home after school, you have to call us. That's what your phone is for, Edward," Mom added sharply. It was like those interrogations on cop shows, except I was pretty sure there wasn't a "good cop" at the table.
"I know--"
"No," Dad snapped. "Apparently, you don't. It was nice of you to help this Donnie fellow, but enough is enough! From now on, you will be home no later than forty-five minutes after school lets out. Understand?"
"But Donnie--"
"Will have to deal with things on his own! I'm sure other new kids show up and fit in just fine without your help, Edward. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You're old enough to accept some responsibility for yourself, young man!"
"Dad, I--"
Mom leaned close. "We were worried sick, Eddie! Anything could have happened. I called all your friends to see if--"
"All of them?" I squeaked, wide-eyed.
"Don't interrupt!" Dad growled.
"--if they'd seen you on the bus!" Mom went on. "But they hadn't! I was worried sick. I thought we'd raised you better!"
"Mom! Really! It was a mistake! I got on the wrong bus, and I didn't have phone cover--"
"There's always an excuse!" Dad said. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and threw it onto the table. "We're tired of excuses! Do you think I can get away with excuses at work? No! I do my job and take responsibility. I fix my mistakes! I don't whine about them!"
"I wasn't whining, I was explaining!"
"I don't care! Forty-five minutes, young man. And not a second later! And no excuses!! Eat your supper!"
I pushed some potpie into my mouth and yelped. "Hot!" I grabbed my glass of milk.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Dad said. "You just shove something into your mouth without even checking to see if it's hot. You're not an animal, Edward! You're almost sixteen!"
"People are animals, Dad!" I heard myself say that while I was putting my glass down. I wondered if I was actually suicidal.
"Watch your mouth!" Mom gasped.
"I got Detention, all right? And then I -- I took the wrong bus, okay? It's not the end of the fucking world!" Oh shit, Eddie, shut up, shut up, shut--
"What did you just say?" Dad's voice was different, suddenly. It reminded me just a little bit of Powell's voice, somehow. In the Prep room, that first time we met.
"Excuse me, Mom. Dad. That just slipped--"
"Go to your room, Edward. We'll talk later." Dad, again, in that same doomsday tone.
"Excuse me," I said, automatically. I stood up and started for the stairs.
"Edward! You're a mess! What have you been doing?" Mom gasped.
I just kept walking. I honestly didn't hear anything else they said. I went to my room, stripped to my underwear and got into bed. I decided to try to read my Social Studies assignment, but the words didn't seem to make sense, so I stared at this picture of some guy, Vietnamese, I think, making pottery.
My dad walked in. "Eddie?"
"I'm sor--"
Dad sat down on the bed. "Detention? What's going on, Son?" Now, he sounded concerned. That's maybe the worst voice of all.
"Nothing really, Dad. Just a mixup."
"Eddie?"
"I was just late to Math class, and I bumped into Mister Cruikshank on the way to class, and ... um, I guess I startled him or--"
"Cruikshank?"
"The Assistant Principal. I think he was already mad at ... someone else, but he gave me Detention."
"Eddie?" The voice, again.
"That's all, Dad. Honest!"
"You didn't say ... anything like you just said downstairs?"
"No! That just slipped out. I don't know why, it just did!" I sat up.
"I just want you to understand that actions have consequences, Eddie."
"I know that, Dad. Believe me, I know."
"What's that mean? Are you in some sort of trouble?" Dad's eyes were suddenly focused on my t-shirt. "This Donnie fellow isn't ... doing anything he shouldn't be, is he?"
"No! I told you, he's just a new kid and I'm helping him get caught up." But the voice had me. I knew I was squirming.
Dad sighed and stared across the room. "Eddie, you may not believe it, but I was fifteen once. I know it's a confusing time. There's a lot going on all around you, all of your friends are ... changing in surprising ways, and so are you. Your body's changing, and you start having ... feelings. Strange feelings, strange dreams ... you get all tongue-tied around girls, for example, and you start noticing things. Things about their bodies. You're trying to listen to them, say, but all you can think about--"
"Is sex?"
Dad sighed again, turned to look at me, and smiled. "Thank you, Son. That's the word I was creeping up to. Sex. I know you know the ... the basics, of course, where babies come from, and why your ... penis gets--"
"Hard?"
"Yes. Erect. It's ... my point is, right now in your head all this seems confused, like--"
"Like everything's happening at once?"
"Exactly! Exactly. The thing is, it--where your head is at--girls get there sooner. I don't know how much you know about menstruation--the menstrual cycle? Once a month--well, the point is that girls have to deal with sex-related issues before boys--"
"Um, Dad? We get wet dreams, right?"
"Well, yes. But ... girls get ahead of boys with the emotional things. Things about boys aren't as confusing for girls as things about girls are for boys, you see."
"Things are pretty confusing for boys, Dad."
"Exactly! Things about girls--"
"And boys."
"You're not understanding me. Girls and boys--"
"And boys and boys, Dad. You know I'm gay, right?"
"What?" It was like that story where the snake hypnotizes that ... someone, I can't remember. Anyhow, I couldn't look away from Dad's eyes. And after what I'd said to Danny, it just didn't make sense not to just say it. "I'm gay, Dad."
It couldn't have taken as long as it seemed for him to hear me. He went pale. "What?" he whispered.
Three times is the charm, I guess. "I'm gay. You knew it, right? I mean, suspected it?"
Dad pulled away from me, staring. "No! Why would you think I would think ..." It was his turn to let go, suddenly. He stood, panicked. "That's stupid! You're not gay! Looks don't ... You're not gay! Don't ever say that!"
"Dad, please! I--"
"Good night, Edward." He got out of the door and pulled it tight behind him, not quite slamming it.
"That went well," I muttered. Great. I flopped back down and the Social Studies book thumped to the floor. Go be brave and face yourself, Powell. I'll just hide here in my bedroom. I wonder if Dad will tell Mom. I'll hear the scream if he does, I bet. (What if--maybe I'm not gay! Maybe it's a phase, like they say.) (Bullshit! What they say is "queer as a three-dollar bill.") That's me. And I've accepted it, oh yeah. I'm comfortable with it! It's just one part of me, like being a nerd. A queer, gay, faggot nerd! I wish I was--"Stop it!" I snapped at myself. Dad said I should stop whining, and here I was whining! Poor, poor me! Bullshit! I rolled over and let myself cry, but I wasn't sure if I was sad, or angry, or something completely different. Oh, Danny! I get it! Believe me, I get how you feel, because shit! Me, too!
I know I fell asleep eventually, because the alarm clock yanked me out of bed. I really needed a shower, but I could hear it running. Dad always showered in the morning. I usually showered at night, but last night--and it all came rushing back. I wanted to crawl back into bed, but that would just mess things up, more. I grabbed my robe and hurried downstairs.
"Eddie! Are you sick?" Mom said.
"It's not a sick--I'm not sick. I didn't get a chance to shower, last night. So I thought I'd eat breakfast while Dad was using the bathroom."
"This is why you need to call us when you'll be late," Mom sighed, and she poured me a glass of orange juice.
I gulped it down, then gasped out a "Thank you." I was just about done with my cereal when Dad came into the kitchen. He looked at me for a second. "I'm late," he announced, and Mom hurried over to kiss him before he got out of the door.
So did he tell her, or not? What am I supposed to do, now? Should I say something? Anything?
"You'd better hurry and get cleaned up," Mom said. "Or you'll miss your bus."
Upstairs. Shower. Dress. Grab my books and stuff. Downstairs. Jacket. "Bye, Mom!"
"Don't be late." She said that every morning, I realized. But this time, it felt different, somehow. I was on the bus, still trying to puzzle it out, when I realized we were at the Wilson Street stop. I stared up the aisle and saw Powell. I was pretty sure his eyes flicked in my direction, just before he passed.
"Fucking Cruikshank," Powell's buddy Horse said. "He's an asshole."
"Really?" Powell snapped. "I didn't know!"
"Told me to pull up my fuckin' pants!" Snake offered. Snake was another of Powell's crew.
"Shoulda told him to kiss your ass," Horse laughed.
Dodger was the last of Powell's crew. He stumbled toward the back of the bus, already stoned. Poor Danny, stuck with those losers. Wouldn't it be wild if one of them was hot for Powell? Or they all were? It wasn't completely impossible--one of them, anyhow. Maybe Dodger. Maybe that's why he was always stoned. I told my dad I was gay. I told my dad ... suddenly, my mind was full of that, of his face last night, and the way he ran from me like I'd just said I had rabies, or leprosy or something. I thought for a moment about taking it back, about saying I just wanted to piss him off, or something. But you can't take something like that back! And Hell! He already knew! I know he knew. It's not my fault he didn't want to admit it!
So: I was out to my dad. And probably to Mom. He'd have to tell her. I mean, she'd know something was up, and she'd push and poke until ... They wouldn't throw me out, or anything, or make me go to one of those therapy places. Would they? It's not the end of the world, after all. That's what I told Danny, right? That it was just ... that cafeteria food still sucked, and ... I snickered, remembering us yesterday. I could live in the boathouse, if they threw me out! For the summer, anyhow.
Summer. What do we do when school's out, me and Danny? I'll be sixteen at the end of June. Dad will probably have some sort of stupid summer job lined up for me, maybe. I wonder if World's Worst Pizza would be hiring. All of a sudden, my head was running off in all directions at once. I couldn't wait to get to school, where everything was all tidy and sensible and stuff.
I ran into Alan Nordman after first period. "Hey! Eddie! How's it going?" he smiled.
"Fine."
"Oh-oh. What's up?"
"Nothing. I just told my dad I was gay, is all."
"Holy shit!" Alan's face was suddenly really close to me. "We should--you want to talk?"
The words didn't come, so I just nodded.
There's this equipment room next to the gym. It's locked, but Alan got a key, because he was captain of the wrestling team, I guess. So at lunch, he took me in there, with all the stuff that smelled like the gym.
"You came out to your dad?" he said. "What'd he say? Did he freak out, or--"
"Sort of. He practically ran out of my bedroom."
"He didn't catch you with--"
"Nothing like that." So I explained. Everything. Even about me and Powell. I just poured it all out, like I couldn't stop. Well, I guess I couldn't, really.
"Wow." Alan was quiet for a while. "How're you doing?" he asked, quietly.
"It's ... I'm kind of numb, I think."
Alan nodded. "It's a lot to take in. My dad was ... he's okay, sort of. But he hasn't been to a single match, since." He nodded toward the stack of wrestling mats. "He says he told my mother, but the way she acts, it's like ... Maybe she didn't hear him, or something. And Dan--Powell doesn't know?"
"Not yet. I mean, he didn't know he didn't know--that my dad didn't know, I mean. And I promised him- -Danny, I mean--that I wouldn't tell anyone about us. Especially you."
"I sort of knew, though."
"Was it that obvious?"
"No, nothing like that. But you didn't come to school after the library incident looking like somebody'd beaten you up, so I figured ..."
"But what do I do now?"
"Nothing's changed, really. Powell doesn't have to know about your dad, or me. And I'll be out of here, come June. Graduation."
The bottom sort of dropped out of my stomach. Until that instant, I hadn't realized that Alan was so ... important, somehow. "Shit."
"There's a rumor that they're going to set up a gay support group, like another after-school club, next year."
"I'm not holding my breath for that!"
"Me, neither. But if they're at least thinking about it ... we're not the only ones, you know, you and me and Powell."
But we were, in my head, the three of us, like the three musketeers facing a firing squad of Mister Cruikshanks, or something. And one of us was leaving. Some birthday present.
"Eddie? You just got awfully quiet."
"I don't ... what am I supposed to do, Alan? I wish I was in love with you, but I'm in love with Danny. I'm his Alan, and I don't know what to do!"
Alan smiled. "I imagine Danny Powell can defend himself."
"I'm not so sure. He's got this whole image, you know? With girls all gaga over him? Some of them, at least. And his friends. They'd beat the shit out of him if they knew!"
"Maybe. Maybe not." Alan leaned forward. "How well do you know them?"
"I don't, but ... You saying I should spend time in a lockdown with them, too?"
Alan smiled again. "No. But you are rushing to judgement, at least a little, aren't you?"
Horse? Snake? Dodger? Well, Dodger might be okay with it. Get him stoned enough and Dodger'd be okay with anything, probably. I shook my head. "Maybe, but I don't think I want to find out. At least not the hard way. And what about my dad?"
"Give him a little time. It took you a little time to get used to the idea, right?"
I nodded.
"He loves you, Eddie. He may be freaked right now, but he loves you."
"Love. I'm not even sure I know what it means, all of a sudden."
"Basically, it's caring. Not just a little caring. A lot of caring."
"And sex?"
"That's lust," Alan laughed. "Nothing wrong with lust. It's just your body doing its thing. Lust is all about you. Love is about the other person."
"Oh," I said, as if I understood.
Alan gave me a little hug. "Just give it a little time, Eddie. One way or another, it'll work out."
"One way or another," I muttered. "Right."
The ambulance and the police car showed up after lunch, and everyone on that side of the building was pressed to the windows. The EMTs carried someone out on a stretcher, and then two cops came out, with Powell handcuffed between them, and put him into the police car, and I managed to get to the bathroom before I puked.