The Promise

The following story is total fiction. Any relationship to persons living or dead is purely accidental.

This story contains descriptions of love and may contain descriptions of homosexual acts, and may be illegal where you live. If you want steamy descriptions of hot sex you may be disappointed. Download and possess at your own risk

Copyright 2003 by Thorns Email: thorns_45@yahoo.com

The water flows under the bridge, swirling and bubbling over the rocks, a siren's call hinting of a better place to be. As I look deep into the green water I feel a pull, an urge. How easy it would be just a step; no hand rails, nothing to stop me, nothing that is except my promise.

It's spring; the first hint of green on winter parched fields, Mr. Sun painting the sky with his golden paintbrush. What a bunch of crap. For me although the sun is up and the sky is blue it is grey. Nothing matters or will matter ever again.

I'm on the old railway bridge; it's used maybe once a year whenever another load of scrap is dragged from the ruins of the abandoned mill.

I see the water splashing as I look down through the ties.

A pair of swallows twist and dance in the cool breeze, a lone hawk screeching in the sky looking for love. I start back to the house, two hundred and twelve steps to the shore then a quick walk across the field, pass the pond and I will be back. Nothing I was looking for on the way here, I know I will see nothing on the way back.

My house, bricks, wood, and glass stands in front of me, it looks so much smaller than I remember. The flower garden like Alan, winter killed. The deep-throated roar of the tractor in the shed startles me for a moment, Dad getting ready to do what ever it is farmers do in fields.

Cultivate, sow, wait for stuff to grow, spray, wait for it to be ripe, harvest. Farming, big whoop, a little luck with the weather and a crop comes in. I know Dad hopes I will take over the farm some day. It's an empty hope, like me.

Mom and Dad don't work as hard as Gramps did; he worked himself to death doing what he wanted, putting food on the nation's table. When Gramps died, Dad took over running the farm not doing as much work, just the few fields he wanted to handle. Dad leased most of the land to other farmers. We have a few cows, a bull, no chickens, or sheep or goats or emus or ostriches or llamas. Dad wants nothing to do with getting rich with exotic animals.

The smell of fresh bread assaults my nose as I enter the house. I go into the kitchen; Mom has already cut me a big slice, butter melting into the still warm surface. Here it comes the same every day she will ask how I am and hold out the pills and watch me take them then feed me something then ask a question to make sure I don't have the fucking pills hidden in my cheek.

"Morning honey. Did you sleep well? You know I don't like you to wander off before school. Here are your pills, and some OJ to wash them down."

I take my pills like a good little boy for all the good they do, taking a big gulp of juice to wash them down. I open my mouth and wag my tongue around to prove I've swallowed them. I grab the still warm crust and take a big bite.

"You know I don't like it when you do that. You don't have to prove you took your meds. I trust you, Jamey. Now get your things, the bus will be here soon."

Time passes like a dream I am at the lane with my pack, waiting for the bus. It seems I am always waiting for the bus. I used to wait impatiently for the yellow roof to appear over the rise. Now it's just one more thing I do to keep mom happy. Finally I see it moving down the road, five stops and I am at school, too far to bike even in good weather.

I get on the bus, my eyes searching the seats; sixth one back on the left it's empty, like I am. In a daze I find a seat. The bus is quiet; fourteen kids all looking at me, accusing me with their silent gaze. It's hard no laughing, joking, and talking, there is no one; just like the seat I stare at I am empty.

Time passes in a blur and like lambs to the slaughter we empty the bus and mill around the schoolyard until like well-trained dogs at the sound of a bell we move into the building. I find myself at my locker and fumble with the lock.

Classes blur, everything is flat, the sea of faces blends into a multicolored mosaic, and nothing stands out or will call to me again. Occasionally bells ring, then the halls overflow like a river, swirling and bubbling an eddy of bodies near rooms, conversations stop as I near then pick up again as I pass. I feel like a ghost not interacting, passing through, part yet not part it's so different now.

Lunch, where did the morning go? I know if I don't eat someone will let Mom know. Every thing tastes like sawdust; I choke the sandwich down and drink the carton of milk. I am alone, so alone. No friends. No life. I am not worth it.

I could go to the wood shop turn on the band saw and slice off my head, it's just down the hall the door will be unlocked. I slowly walk towards the shop, and casually try the door. Some guys are inside, they look away afraid to face me, the wraith. I only hear the rumble of tools. I see the way clear; one button on the side and the blade will be spinning. I hear it calling; ready to take my worthless life there is nothing to stop me. Nothing except my promise.

The bells ring, and the afternoon passes like the morning, nothing can penetrate the grey cloud that follows me.

I am standing at the doors to the school, and Mom is there she hugs me and takes my hand like I am a 'special needs child', fucking retard. We get in the van and head to the doctor. Every three days rain or shine like clockwork after school or from the farm 4:30 to 5:30 pencil me in for the rest of my life.

"How are you feeling James?" Dr. Taggart asks.

"Like a ghost in a grey cloud," I answer.

He taps on some keys on the computer and scratches his chin. "When did you meet Alan?"

"When did I meet him? He has always been there."

"Where did he live?"

"With his parents, in the old bunkhouse on our farm, Gramps was alive then. It was summer."

It was summer. Alan was my constant companion we played all the time together. We were always playing forts in the hayloft. It was our secret place we could run and jump and play Tarzan or cowboys. I remember Gramps putting up a sign on the big rolling door, Boy's Club Do Not Enter.

Alan and I would explore the hay fields or hide in the corn; sometimes we would try and dig to China. The pond had frogs and we would wade around and catch them and let them go splashing each other and getting all covered in mud.

It was always a sleepover night, sometimes at my place and sometimes at his, or camping in the small tent by the pond. We learned to swim together skinny-dipping in the pond with his mom or mine near; we took baths together, and slept together in his bed or mine or in the big sleeping bag in the tent.

Alan was my blood brother; we held a secret ceremony in the hayloft. The cut on our left thumbs got infected. We were sick together and got well together nothing could keep us apart. We started school together and got in trouble together and rode the bus together. Pick a fight with one, and it was a fight with both. He was my best friend.

When we were together it was always summer.

"That's our time for today, I'm going to ask your mother to come in."

Dr. Taggart's voice startles me back to the present. He gets up and opens the door.

"Mrs. Lehman, come in please"

Mom comes in and looks at me. I feel tears on my face, and I have to blow my nose. Have I made a fool of myself? Crying just like a baby. I grab a tissue from the box on the doctors' desk.

"I think we should increase the dosage of Paroxetine by 10 mg. Remember this isn't going to go away over night. Don't feel discouraged, it could take several weeks before he starts feeling better," Dr. Taggart says. "Now James, please promise me and your mother not to hurt yourself, and remember we have a contract. See you in 3 days."

They both look at me. I feel like a dork but say it anyway. "I James Anthony Lehman do hereby promise not to hurt myself. I swear this in front of you."

We leave the office and get in the van; it will be KFC for supper. I can smell the hot oil seeping into the cardboard; she must have picked it up when I was in the office. I used to love it, now like everything else it is just food, something you put in your mouth to keep Mom happy.

Time is so funny one moment I am riding down the road the next I am at home. Before I know it, supper is on the table, and both Mom and Dad are watching me eat, one fork at a time. I have no hunger I just do it to keep them happy.

I wonder if there was homework; it doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore. I head to my room. The computer is silent, our boom box unused, our X-Box sitting on the shelf beside the old Dreamcast. Dust covers everything. I lie down on the bed maybe I can sleep. Maybe it will be summer again.

Gramps was looking after us; our Moms and Dads were away for a week. Gramps called it a rest cure, but they went to Las Vegas. Alan and I were having a tickle fight in the hayloft, we both had to pee so badly. He stood on the edge with me beside him and we counted down. Who could pee the farthest, which could pee the longest? I don't know who won because in the middle of the contest Gramps came in to the loft.

I can smell wet hay, and hear giggling. Alan always laughs when I get in trouble. Gramps is there and boy is he mad.

"Would you like to have to eat food that some one peed on?" Gramps asked. "Well the cows and horses don't like it either, this hay is their food. I am telling you boys, BOTH of you will make this right."

It took all day we had to move bales of hay and put any that may have been peed on outside the big rolling door. Then Gramps took some white powder and marked a square in the corner of the hayloft.

"You boys like to dig, well get the wheel barrow and start digging inside that square, I want a hole 5 feet deep in there."

We dug and we shoveled, we needed a ladder to get down in that hole, I hated Gramps for what he was making us do. Three days of child labour, a chain gang, we pretended we were prisoners. Gramps was the Warden, we plotted how to escape. Then he was there looking at the hole.

"A good job, boys. Now lets head to the wood pile"

Alan had blisters on his hands and so did I. The pond was calling to us in the distance, it would be cool and fun but the Warden had other plans. Gramps was pulling lumber from the pile.

"Well don't just stand there you two, grab a board and take it to the hole, then come back and grab another."

The boards were so heavy it took both of us to move one. Back and forth we lugged wood, wondering what the Warden would make us do next.

We finally had all the wood in the loft. Gramps had brought in the sawhorses and the big toolbox, he measured and cut and even marked the spots to put nails. Alan and I used hammers and nails following Gramps orders. We knew he was making us build our own cell; we were going to be locked up and be forgotten. Alan was scared and so was I. What could we do? If we ran he would send out the bloodhounds and call in reinforcements. It was like that story where the prisoners had to build the gallows then watch as each was hanged by the neck till he was dead, dead, dead.

It got dark, and Gramps sent us to bed. We had the big sleeping bag and were in the loft on top of the pile. We worried and giggled and snuggled and fell asleep to the pounding of nails and sawing of wood.

In the morning it was there, a wooden cell, on top of a hole. Once inside there could be no escape. We would die and the Warden could lie and say we had run away. The Warden held our arms, dragging us to the door, Alan had tears running down his face and so did I.

"Open the door," Gramps said.

I reached out and pulled on the handle, ready to be pushed into the hole, ready to die so Alan could run.

"There you are boys, an emergency outhouse, if you have to pee or even poop please do it in here. Only if you can't hold it. If it starts to whiff too bad let me know and I'll get some lime for it. Now skedaddle, I think the frogs are lonely in the pond, you haven't been swimming in four days."

We ran like there were wolves after us, screaming and yelling and stripping. We must have scared the frogs to death. We had escaped and all was fine again. We laughed at the name, an outhouse but it was inside, so it was our in-house outhouse. Alan was first in the pond with a perfect shallow dive. We splashed and swam in the sun-warmed water. In the distance I could hear the train heading to the mill. Alan was first out of the pond but I beat him to the fence. The big locomotive made the ground tremble and we waved and yelled hoping the engineer would wave and sound the whistle. The engineer saw us and waved and rang the bell and blew the whistle over and over, laughing and waving until he was out of sight. Then we raced to the pond bare feet flying over green grass. Alan won but it didn't matter; we were together.

One night after our bath, Dad came into my room and said Gramps had another job for us and to be ready for an early day tomorrow. We whispered in the dark, wondered what had we done wrong, giggled about what we hadn't been caught at and snuggled and tickled each other till, exhausted, we slept.

"Avast me heartys, get them lazy bones up out of that bed. The sun is up and shiver me timbers not much time to hoist the Jolly Roger," a voice bellowed.

I started from the bed, Alan gave out a squeak. There was a pirate in the room! He had a striped bandana and a hook on his hand and an eye patch. He loomed over the bed his unshaven face had a big red scar.

"Get to the kitchen me mateys and eat yer fill, 'tis a long day afore us," the pirate ordered, as he left my room.

Cautiously we went to the kitchen. Mom had that look in her eye and Dad laughing at our wide-eyed faces. Gramps had taken the hook from his hand, and was waiting for us to be served. It was all pirate talk from Mom and Dad and Gramps. Shivering timbers and matey, and harr. We had Cackle Berries (eggs) and Hard Tack (toast) with Fried Pig Belly (bacon).

"Now me heartys 'tis time to build our ship," Gramps said as we finished our breakfast.

At the pond was a pile of lumber and four big metal drums. Dad and Gramps did the hard parts but we built a raft. It had everything a pirate ship needed, a mast for the flag, a plank to walk, and a chest to hold our gold.

For weeks we hunted the Spanish Main, and looked for gold doubloons, and walked the plank and swam.

My birthday is August 25; Alan's birthday is August 27. We always celebrate with a big party and a huge cake on August 26. Aunt Cathy made us a pirate cake for our birthday. We were seven and got a birthday spanking from every one, Alan's mom and dad, Gramps, and my mom and dad. We got fishing rods and reels, his was blue mine was red. Gramps gave us two copies of Tom Sawyer and my mom took away the corncob pipes he carved.

In bed after the party with our butts still sore Alan and I gave each other birthday kisses, much better than spanks. We giggled and laughed until we fell asleep.

It was nearly school time again but always summer in my heart.

Daylight comes through my window, in another time I would be next to Alan, but I was alone, so alone. The house is quiet I move like a ghost through the kitchen. I retrace my steps from yesterday and yesterday's yesterday. Slipping through the yard, I walk past the pond, our raft sitting lopsided on the shore, through the field to the fence.

I walk along the railway tracks towards the bridge, the rust on the rails thick and the ties starting to rot. Everything is so different from summer.

The water flows under the bridge, swirling and bubbling over the rocks. As I look deep into the green water I feel a pull, an urge. How easy it would be just a step; nothing to stop me, nothing that is except my promise. Why do I come back? Why do I look to see what is no longer there? I start back to the house, two hundred and twelve steps to the shore then across the field, pass the pond and I will be back.

Mom will be up and worried, a handful of pills waiting for me. How can chemicals make the pain go away? It's not my head that's hurt, it's my heart, I am empty, a void, a hollow shell of what I was.

Time is so slippery before I know it I am back in the kitchen. She is there the fake smile on her face. The weekend the hardest to take, there are so many empty hours so many places of memory.

"Morning honey. Did you sleep well? You know I don't like you to wander off. Here are your pills, and some milk to wash them down."

"Mom stop it. I'm not going to kill myself," I say, "remember I promised?"

I take the pills, and open my mouth. "All gone; I'm going for a walk."

"Be back for lunch please, it's pizza"

Back outside I wander around the farmyard, I know Mom and Dad will be watching, spying, keeping me from hurting myself. That's a laugh; I can't be hurt any more, I am full of hurt.

At the hayloft, the sign Gramps put up is fading. I rub the sign, dry flakes of paint stick to my hands, red pigment like blood on my hands. I enter and the smell of hay hits me. It smells like summer.

School is out another summer is here. I jump on Alan from the top of the loft. We wrestle and tickle and laugh so hard we have to pee. It's a race to the in-house outhouse, we laugh at our joke. Fighting and pushing, we play Cross Bones Jones, the pee game, crossing the streams like we are sword fighting.

Tonight we are in the tent by the pond tomorrow is our birthday party. Eight years together. "I love you." I said it and he said it we said it together and hugged.

Where did the summer go?

I wander back to the house; Mom is looking at me through the window. Alan loved pizza the more cheese the better. I loved the sauce thick and red with a hint of spices. Pizza will never be the same again.

I eat because I have to. The pizza is the same, but no taste. I could be eating library paste and it would have the same effect. It fills my stomach but can't fill the hole in my life. I finish and go to the living room and stare out the window.

Time plays its tricks again, I blink and it's dark. I head to my room that's what you do in the dark go to bed maybe I can sleep. Maybe I can dream of summer.

Alan's mom tucked us in, school nights we could play after homework, but weekends were sleepover. His dad was upset over something; we could hear him arguing but the words were muffled. The next morning we were up with the birds, and off to the Big Shed.

It's dark and smells of oil and gas. Rust on equipment old before we were born. If you look in the corners and hanging on the walls horse collars and wire and pitchforks and stuff. Glass bottles filled with things long forgotten. We were never allowed to play in the Big Shed it was too dangerous.

Gramps said he would teach us to drive and we were waiting at the old red tractor. He showed us how to check the oil and how to use the brakes. He took us to the back field and said "Take turns," waved and walked away. We drove Old Red all morning. After a quick lunch Gramps showed us how to shift and told us to have fun.

It took both of us to shift, Alan worked the clutch I worked the brakes. I think we wore a path all around that field. We were driving. Every weekend after that it was Old Red and a cart, learning by doing, backing all around the back field or weaving between rocks.

By summer Gramps had us helping the entire time; haul this load here or move that wagon there. We would laugh and wave to mom or Alan's dad.

For our ninth birthday party Mom made a cake in the shape of a tractor, Gramps gave us each our own bike mine was red Alan got a blue one.

We got our birthday spankings from everyone. Uncle Dwayne, Alan's dad, really hit hard thank goodness his was the last.

After the party we were in Alan's room just getting ready for a pillow fight when his dad came in. He looked mad and said we were too old to sleep in the same bed. He threw the big sleeping bag on the floor and slammed the door closed. I shrugged and got down off the bed and into the bag Alan followed me down. We giggled and laughed and tickled each other but were not in the same bed.

Sunday, the day of rest, if I can't sleep how can I rest? The sky outside is grey, like my life. I have no energy to move, I have no reason to move. A shadow is at my door Dad stands looking in.

"Jamey, get up, go to the bathroom and take a shower. You stink son, you have to take better care of yourself," he said.

I roll over and ignore him; suddenly I feel his hands pulling me up.

"You ARE going to get cleaned up, if I have to do it myself. You have a choice here go to the bathroom, or I will drag you outside and use the pressure washer on you. Now MOVE."

I struggle from him and go to the bathroom; I stand in front of the mirror and look at myself. Time flows and Dad moves in and starts the shower, I feel my boxers being pulled down and am propelled into the stall.

"I'm sorry son, it's for your own good. I am staying here until you wash, and clean your teeth. Your mother thought it would be better if I did it than her."

The water is hot and feels good, the first good I have felt since it happened. Maybe the water will wash away the sins. I look at my hands the pigment from the sign flows with the water, looking more like blood. Washing the blood down the drain, washing away my shame, washing.

Time moves and the water is cold, freezing me maybe this is how it felt.

"Get out of the shower Jamey, you used up all the hot water."

Like a robot I pull the curtain aside, Dad has a bath sheet ready for me and envelops me with it. He is hugging me and holding me.

"I haven't dried you since you were a little boy, son. I know this is embarrassing but I love you very much"

The smell of fabric softener brings it all back to me. Alan and I just finished our shower, it was getting too crowded in the tub, and it's more crowded in the shower but more fun. Alan opened the cupboard and there are no towels. Shit I was supposed to put some in from the stack in the laundry room but we had been riding all afternoon and I forgot. We look at each other and laugh. It's play rock paper scissors to decide which of us gets to streak to the laundry room to get them. One, two, three, I am a rock Alan is a rock. One, two, three, I am paper Alan is paper. The door opens.busted bare ass busted.

"I figured from the noise you forgot the towels," Dad said. "Here you go."

I love our towels, they are huge and fluffy. Dad wraps one around each of us and gives us a group hug.

"Dry off and into bed guys, try not to stay awake giggling and carrying on all night."

Alan is blushing he knows Dad saw him naked. We help dry each other after Dad leaves. In my room I turn on the CD player we bought together and listen to Smashing Pumpkins. Alan turns it up so no one can hear what we are saying.

"He saw my stiffy," Alan moans.

"He saw mine too, so?"

"He didn't say anything."

"Why would he? He has a penis too, he told me about them."

"Woody.."

We both start laughing. Alan turns off the light and jumps onto bed. We lie quietly together. I know he wants to ask me something.

"What? Just ask, we don't have any secrets from each other," I say.

"Umm. What did he tell you?"

"Doofus, I was going to tell you tonight."

I start to tell him and tease him at the same time. "Well boys have a penis, and girls have a vagina," I said.

"Duh, when did he tell you?"

"I thought you knew." Alan whacks me with his pillow.

"Tell me everything and stop teasing me or I will tickle you so hard."

I start telling him what Dad had told me just last night. How when boys start to get older they get stiffys or woodys, or boney dicks, how when they are young it doesn't mean all that much but as they get older it means that their body is maturing and getting ready for puberty. How puberty can start as early as 10 or 11 for some boys, as it progresses there are changes to the body. He told me that we will get more hair around our dicks, and that some day we may have what's called a wet dream, but that probably won't happen until we are 13 or 14. He also told me that around now in our lives we will find out that playing with our dicks makes us feel good. Although it's normal masturbating is usually something done in private. He then said sometimes good friends will help each other but again it was something that was private. He also told me that if we had any questions, we could ask him anything.

We laugh and start wrestling around. "I love you." I said it and he said it we said it together and hugged. Dad was right it does feel good.

"Jamey. earth to Jamey, come on son, let's get you dressed."

I look around and am back in my room, Dad is handing me clothes, clean boxers, socks, a shirt, and some track pants. He shakes his head.

"After breakfast I'll help you gather your stuff and start the wash. No wandering around in a daze for you today."

Mom isn't in the kitchen; my pills are on the counter, a glass of fruit juice beside them. Like a good little boy I take my pills. Dad is cooking, he only knows how to make western omelets. I eat my portion, still not hungry, still feels like sand in my mouth.

We go to my room, and start cleaning up. Every time I pause, he talks to me. Never letting me think, never letting me remember.

"Lets move this to the laundry room."

Why won't he leave me be? I am not worth all the trouble. My clothes fill the machine and the hamper is empty, like my life an empty container.

"Jamey, come on. Lunchtime. Your mother left us some sandwich stuff."

We are back in the kitchen. I'd better eat or Dad will start nagging me. I make a small sandwich and choke it down.

"Umm son, Jamey. I read a book a few years back," Dad started.

"That's nice."

"Ohh sarcasm, haven't heard that in weeks you must be getting better," he continues. "It was by Mercedes Lackey, she wrote: 'The great love is gone. There are still little loves - friend to friend, brother to sister, student to teacher. Will you deny yourself comfort at the hearth fire of a cottage because you may no longer sit by the fireplace of a palace? Will you deny yourself to those that reach out to you in hopes of warming themselves at your hearth fire?' Do you know what I am trying to say?"

I stare at him, tears blurring the image of him coming and holding me.

"It's ok Jamey, cry if you need to. If you can't cry for those you love who can you cry for."

I remember him holding me the same way. It was winter.

It was winter, a cold snap from the north that would not break. Gramps went out to check the animals before breakfast. I had a cold and Aunt Cathy wouldn't let Alan sleep over. Gramps didn't come back for breakfast. Gramps would never be coming back again. The doctor said it was a massive stroke, and he didn't even have a chance. I cried like any 10-year-old cries, Mom cried and Dad cried too.

Alan's mom let him come over, and we hugged and we cried until Dad came over and enveloped both of us in his arms.

"It's ok boys, cry if you need to. If you can't cry for those you love who can you cry for?" Dad said.

I feel like a dork, sobbing into his shoulder.

He is mumbling and sobbing too. "It's ok, I loved him too. It's going to be ok we'll get through this."

After a while my eyes are sore and I have a snotty nose, I grab a tissue and dad grabs one too. I can't believe he has been crying, and he said he loved him too? Time has played its trick again it's getting dark. Dad leads me to my room he hugs me again.

"Night Jamey, try to get some sleep."

I lay awake, on my bed, praying for relief, an end to the pain, and an end to the emptiness. I toss and I turn over and over, although I can't see her I know Mom came to check on me. My bedroom door stays open now, I have nothing to hide, no one to hide with.

Uncle Dwayne was looking for us, we could hear him raving, and we hid in the cornfield. It seemed more and more that Alan's Dad had things for him to do on the weekends and everyday in the summer. It seemed to me that he was getting more and more angry and no longer was the fun uncle I knew from my early years.

After Gramps died he left Uncle Dwayne a piece of the farm in his will, although he wasn't a blood relative he was the only full time hand. Dad took over the running of the farm though Gramps left most of it to Mom, his daughter. Uncle Dwayne still worked for Dad, not full time.

It wasn't much land but Uncle Dwayne built a house on it and moved Aunt Cathy and Alan from the old bunkhouse. The new house was about a mile and a half down the road from my house. With our bikes it was a few minutes ride across the fields, we had to be careful about the crops but could bike along the edges.

It wasn't that we minded helping with the farm work, it was that Alan's dad didn't seem to want us together as much. It was getting that sleepovers were only at my place, unless Uncle Dwayne was away. Alan said his dad thought only fags and queer old men slept together.

My dad still said what happened in private was private and that if Alan and I slept in the same bed as long as the door was closed he couldn't see what the problem was. At our birthday party that year we each had a cake instead of one big one between us. Twelve candles on each cake. I think Uncle Dwayne spanked a little harder than he should have, I felt tears in my eyes and Alan walked funny. My dad started a big argument and mom sent us to my room.

In my room we almost had a heart attack there was a Sega Dreamcast and a 24 inch TV with a big red and blue ribbon. The card said it was from Gramps, for both of us, but was in Mom's handwriting.

We closed the door and laughed and hugged. Alan asked me to look at his butt because it was still sore. He dropped his shorts and stepped out of his underwear. I took one look and gasped out loud, one cheek was bright red, and the other had a bruise on it the size of both my hands. I asked about the bruise and he said his Dad had spanked him after we had hid, that was almost a week ago and it was still black and blue with little brown spots.

I went to the bathroom and got the sore muscle cream, I liked the smell, and it was like the pink candy Gramps liked to eat. Gramps called it horse liniment and before he died Mom would rub it on his back. I got back to my room and Alan was lying on my bed with both controllers ready for a game of Ready 2 Rumble.

Before we started playing I squeezed out a big handful horse liniment and rubbed it on his butt. He shivered and said it felt cool and good.

Alan was comfortable so I kicked off my cloths and tackled him. We stopped wrestling around and started to play the game, in a few rounds my dick felt like it was burning and Alan was wiggling around on the bed. After five more minutes I thought my dick would burn off and the pain was getting worse, I looked at Alan's butt and it was bright red, he told me it was on fire, and was almost in tears. I was so scared what could we do?

I pulled on my shorts and went out to the yard. Mom and Dad were sitting looking at the stars; Alan's parents were gone.

"Psst Dad," I said, "Alan and I have a problem, we need help."

"What's up sport, problem with that new game?"

"No, we need help in my room, please hurry." Both Mom and Dad got up I had tears running down my face the pain was unbelievable. "Just you Dad please."

We wasted no time getting to my room, with one look at the tube and one smell Dad knew. Alan was standing and hopping from one foot to the other. My shorts were making the pain worse and I pulled them off. My bright red dick was standing out and I didn't care all I could think about was the pain.

He could hardly keep from laughing as he said; "You put this on his butt? Then touched your dick? And now it's burning? Come to the bathroom, boys."

Dad took us to the bathroom and pulled out some hand towels and a few face cloths. He soaked a cloth in cold water and handed it to me.

"Carefully wipe from the base to the head only one time, we need to get any cream that hasn't soaked in off the skin, then take a fresh cloth, soak it in cold water and do it again," he explained. "Alan, I know this is embarrassing, but I think I'd better wipe off your butt using the hand towels, I don't think you could reach or get it all. I'm sorry."

I know if I could have crawled away to die from embarrassment I would have and Alan was blushing so hard you would think that the cream was all over him. Dad tried to be calm and not laugh. After wiping with a fresh towel three times just when I thought it couldn't get any worse Dad had to open his mouth.

"Umm, Alan, is it just the cheeks that are burning or did Jamey get any inside your bum?"

Alan got redder and nodded his head. I couldn't look at him. Dad just shook his head.

"Ok boys into the shower, cold water and lots of soap, I think I'll leave you two alone for a bit and make up some ice packs."

Dad left the bathroom and closed the door and we climbed into the shower. The cold water felt good and I helped Alan wash his butt, he tried to help with my dick but it was too sore.

Back in my room Dad was waiting he had some ice packs and I knew he was going to embarrass us again.

"Wrap your dick in this small one Jamey," he said as he looked at the bed. He pulled the covers off. "Alan, lie down on your belly and I will put the big one on your butt. I'll be back in 20 minutes. If it gets too uncomfortable or too cold take the ice packs off."

Dad left the room and closed the door behind him. We could hear him talking to Mom and she started to laugh. I didn't think it was funny and Alan still had that big bruise and was sore. We played a bit with the new game before Dad came back in and closed the door.

"Boys, I'm proud of you, this has been a very embarrassing situation and you handled it just right. If you have any problems don't be afraid to ask me, I will always be there for you."

He took the ice pack off Alan's butt and held out his hand for mine.

"In an hour you can have more ice, and I will bring it to you. After that we can talk."

Alan started to blush again as Dad left the room. You could cut the tension with a knife but at least my dick wasn't going to burn off, it was still sore but firmly attached. Alan beat me in every match with that new game while we waited for Dad to come back. There was a knock on the door and Dad came in.

Dad handed me the small icepack and put the big one on Alan again. It felt cool and nice.

"Boys, a word of advice for you. Never put anything on your penis or in your bum that you can't put in your mouth," Dad said. "Alan can you tell me how you got that monster bruise on your butt? Did your dad spank you?"

I thought Alan was going to burst he was so embarrassed. It was kind of funny you could see him go red from his butt to his head.

"Yes, he spanked me, he used Mom's hair brush and broke its handle, then kept hitting me with his hand," Alan said.

"If he ever beats you like that or kicks you or does anything to hurt you again you come here and let me know. This is something that you can't keep secret. I know you don't want me to let him know I saw your butt and I'll try to figure out how to tell him without letting on how I know."

Dad took the icepacks to the door, and opened it before he embarrassed us for the last time that night.

"A smack on the butt reminds you that you did something wrong, a beating is another thing entirely. Oh and boys I think that you may be a bit sore for a day or so, my advice is leave your peckers alone for a change. Though what you two do in here with the door closed is none of my business."

I felt so bad; I had caused my best friend to be humiliated when all I wanted to do was help. We played some more of our game, and then we were tired. I shut off the TV and powered down the Dreamcast. Alan was lying on the bed face up he had his dick in his hand.

"I didn't get any cream on mine, so I can do what I want Fart Breath." he said.

I jumped him and started a tickle fight. Dad was right again.

Restless nights, restless days, restless heart, I am awake. Did I sleep last night? If I did then it did no good. I feel like shit, like I have since it happened. I am awake lying flat on my back, on my bed fully dressed. I pull myself up and leave my room. It has become a ritual, a way to make it through the day.

I trudge across the field and head for the bridge.

The gravel between the railway ties crunches loud in the predawn stillness. The water flows dark green, rushing on downstream. I replay what happened in my mind. Although I yearn for oblivion and the water calls me, I can't. Nothing stops me except my promise.

It would be a repeat of last week and the week before, pills, food, and appointments. Nothing would change nothing could change. My life an endless loop over and over, I am 15 and in eternal reruns.

Time flows when you don't look at your watch, dawn breaks the birds awake and I enter the kitchen. The same fake smiles, the same handful of pills, the same liquids, and the same words. In my head I replay them before she speaks.

"Morning, Jamey. Take your meds. Did you sleep ok? Don't wander around. We trust you. School. Appointment."

Moms' lips slip in and out of sync. I take the pills and wash them down, it's orange juice this morning, tomorrow it will be milk. I grab my pack and trudge out of the house and wait for the bus.

The bus pulls up and I get on, fourteen faces stare and I ignore the questions in their looks. The sixth seat is empty. I expect no difference; they should just take it out and leave a gap, like the one in my soul. Around me I can feel the looks hot and curious a steady buzz of semi-vocalized words assaults my ears. I feel cold, hot, sweaty and confused.

I am at my locker how and why I don't know; I have no memory of entering the school, or pushing through the unwashed masses in the halls. I open the door, cards, folded papers and lord knows what else have been pushed inside. The gestures are there but they mean nothing to me. A face comes close to mine, I struggle to place it, I have seen him around but no name comes to me.

"James, dude wake up, the office just paged you," he says.

"Umm. Ok. Umm thanks," I reply.

I force my self to focus and arrive at the office.

Twenty or so other students are waiting their turn at the administrative counter. The line moves in fits and starts, each of us wondering what transgressions have been discovered.

It is hard to keep concentrating but if I don't I know I will zone out. My turn at the counter the clerk doesn't even raise her face from the forms in front of her.

"ID card before service," she says.

I hand her my card. Still not looking up she flips through a printout looking for my number. All we are is numbers spit out of the computer, no loss really; I am just a zero.

"Mr. Reynolds will see you," she says as she hands me back my card, "sit over there."

Mr. Reynolds is one of the three Vice Principals. I remember the first time I saw him.

North Cooley Regional High School was built to replace three other schools in the area in the late 90's. We have a huge library, a cafeteria, a gymnasium with a pool and several recreation spaces. It's a sprawling complex with wings for science, shop, and language all connected to each other. The rec areas have tables, chairs, computer stations and comfy lounge furniture and vending machines. The baseball diamond, football field and track are all shared with the elementary and junior high school. My school is like a maze it takes weeks learn how to get from class to class.

Unlike junior high we only have six periods in a day including homeroom and lunch. Homeroom is strange it's a mix of all grades from nine to twelve, the older kids are supposed to be like mentors and stuff. After every period there is twenty minutes to get to the next class.

Alan had been caught in the boys' room holding a cigarette. It was stupid but Kevin, one of the grade elevens, gave the smoke to him to hold while he took a leak and washed his hands.

Everyone in the bathroom was rounded up by one of the teachers and taken to the office. Mr. Reynolds loomed over us taking control from the teacher. He was a big man and looked like a football player.

Alan was scared stiff, caught red handed, and he didn't even smoke. I knew Uncle Dwayne would beat him if he found out. Alan knew that Kevin would beat him up if he ratted on him. Before any one said anything to get a beating I spoke up.

"Sir, it was my cigarette Alan was holding. He doesn't smoke and was just holding it while I washed up."

"You're sure about that, James?" Mr. Reynolds asked.

"Yes sir, I have been smoking for two years now. It was mine."

"Well then that makes this a lot easier. The rest of you get a hall pass and head to your classes. I will deal with James."

I was going to take the fall, not let my best friend get beat up by a big kid or his dad. I knew my dad would take it a lot better than Alan's. The office door closed behind the others. Mr. Reynolds fixed his glare on me. On his desk I saw a long leather strap, he reached past me and picked it up.

"Have a seat James."

I inched to the chair I knew I must be as white as a ghost and my eyes as big as plates. Mr. Reynolds moved to his chair behind the desk and started playing with the strap, bending it and rubbing it with his fingers.

"Do your parents know you smoke?"

"No sir."

"Do your parents smoke?"

"No sir."

"Smoking now for two years? You must be up to what, a pack a day now?"

"Umm yes sir half pack a day."

"Really? Why are you lying to me, James?"

He was still playing with the strap. I couldn't keep my eyes off it. With the speed of light he slammed it down on the desk. I was so scared I almost peed my pants. But I knew that if I cracked Alan and I would both get beat up.

"I'm not, sir."

"When I went to school the strap was used every day, lying was worth five, and smoking was worth ten. We can't use the strap now. without parental permission. Keep your seat James, I need to go make a phone call."

He left the room closing the door. The only sound was an old clock ticking. I strained my ears trying to hear him through the door. My thoughts were zipping around my head. Would Dad say I could be strapped? What was happening to Alan? I had to pee so bad I hurt.

The door opened. Mr. Reynolds came in looking grave. He sat at his desk playing with the strap and stared at me. I could only hear the clock and the sound his fingers made on the strap. We sat looking at each other for over twenty minutes. The bell rang. I almost wet myself.

"You better leave for your next class, James. I think we both learned something here today."

I was out of the office and into the washroom so fast I must have left marks on the floor. After washing my hands I went to English knowing that Alan would have the list of homework from Math. In the hall I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Thanks little dude. I owe ya one." Kevin said.

That night when I got home from school Dad was waiting for me. He took me to his office and closed the door. This room use to be Gramps' bedroom, now it was Dad's office the space filled with files, a gun safe and a fax machine and a big writing desk.

"What's this I hear about you smoking in the boys' room?"

In a rush I told him what happened, how I didn't want Alan to get a beating and didn't want to get beat up at school and how sorry I was for lying. Tears were leaking by the time I finished.

"Well Jamey, I'm relived that you aren't smoking. I understand why you lied. I don't think it was a good idea to take the rap for a crime you didn't commit. If I had said the Vice Principal could strap you, how many would you have taken?"

"He said ten for smoking and five for lying. So I guess ten, Dad"

"Ten strokes with the strap for Alan and an older kid you don't really know? I don't know if I would have done that in your place. Alan has a good friend. It's supper time, don't forget your homework."

Mr. Reynolds startles me when he speaks my name. He ushers me into his office. On his desk is a folder with my name on it and the strap.

"Morning, James. Still smoking? Have a seat."

I sit and look at him. His office hadn't changed since the last time I was here.

"I've had some reports from your teachers from the last few weeks. I am concerned about you. Do you need anyone to talk to?"

"No sir, I am seeing Dr. Taggart."

"Good. I am not going to tell you what to do, but let you know there is a resource available if you want to take advantage of it. We have a group of seniors who form what we call the Grief Team. I have passed your name to the Faculty Advisor and some time this week one of them should contact you. No pressures, no one making you talk, its up to you if you want their help."

He gets up and opens his door for me. I leave in a daze. I know he says something as I leave but have no idea what.

The day passes and I drift from class to class. My mind is rolling I can't concentrate flashes of light and snips of sound invade my mind, like shoals, peeking out of the sea then submerging.

Mom is waiting for me. Time for the doctor maybe he can tell me what's happening in my head.

"How are you feeling James?" Dr. Taggart asks.

"Crazy, everything is flashing in and out of sync. It's like those crappy movies where the lips only match the words part of the time. Is it the drugs? What's going on? I'm confused and can't concentrate and can't sleep."

"Any other symptoms?"

"Sound and light keep changing. Sweaty and anxious and cold."

"Well, difficulty sleeping and some confusion are common side effects but I expect they should have passed by now. The sound, light and sync problems are more serious along with your sweating. Have you been taking anything else? Herbal supplements, vitamins, minerals? Illegal drugs or legal ones?"

"I don't smoke. Tobacco or dope. Every morning I take a handful of pills, Mom has them ready for me. I don't know what they are."

"I am going to ask your mother to come in for a moment. Let's see if we can get to the bottom of this."

Dr. Taggart gets out of his chair and opens the door.

"Mrs. Lehman? Please come in for a few moments. James tells me that every morning he has been taking a handful of pills but is not sure what they are?"

"Well, doctor, he .umm. Jamey took what you prescribed him 30mg of Paroxetine, that's a pill and a half. Some herbals supplements and a cold pill, he looks like he is coming down with something. Also there was his multi-vitamin, a vitamin E capsule and a vitamin C tablet."

"What herbal supplements and what cold capsule?"

"It's St. John's Wort and Ginkgo Biloba with Ginseng. The cold tablets are something or other DM."

"Well, it looks like we have found the cause of the things you have been describing James. Mrs. Lehman, stop all the herbal supplements and the cold tablets. The DM means that it contains dextromethorphan, a cough suppressant, which can cause some serious side effects with drugs in the same class as Paroxetine. Also, the St. John's Wort can interfere with the medication."

Mom actually blushes when Dr Taggart tells her that. She looks at me then looks away and seems flustered.

"I don't think we can continue today's session with James hyper-medicated. Remember no supplements. I'll see him again Thursday. Any questions? Mrs. Lehman? James?"

"No Doc, I'm good," I say.

Mom shakes her head and we leave the office. I drift in and out of reality all the way home. I know after we get there we'll eat but have no idea what. I stumble to my room and collapse on my bed.

Sleep, slumber, snooze, and in the arms of Morpheus. I am unconscious, unaware, and oblivious. Vague random images invade my mind time flows taking me with it. Sound drops and lights dim there is only blackness, engulfing darkness.

"Jamey. Wake up."

"Mom?"

"It's OK, dear. Take these. Drink. That's my boy. Go back to sleep."

I look around me and blink; the sun is shining in the window. I blink again and it's the moon. I am so thirsty. I stagger from my room and move to the kitchen. The clock says 10 and I open the fridge. Fuck the rules; I grab the juice carton and drink, and drink, and drink. It's empty and still I thirst. I grab the milk.

"A little thirsty, son?"

The jug falls from my hand. Dad's voice startles me. He bends over and picks up the jug.

"Good thing it's a new one or I would be cleaning up. Let me get you a glass. How are you feeling?"

Dad opens the jug and pours two glasses of milk. He looks at me and a hint of a smile comes to his face.

"You slept all last night, and most of today. Are you feeling alright?"

"Umm ah ya, your lips are in sync and I'm not cold and sweaty. Just thirsty. Really thirsty."

"Good to hear, the Doctor said to let you rest and keep an eye on your fluids. Your mother feels awful that she gave you that stuff."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's not your fault. Finish your milk. Then hit the bathroom. Try to go back to sleep. If you need anything I'll be there. Just rest now."

I have to pee, I didn't till dad mentioned bathroom, now it feels like I will burst. I am dizzy and sit on the toilet. I notice I am not wearing anything. I finish up and am so tired. I make it to my bed and am engulfed in darkness.

The sun awakens me. Like a spring flower reborn I am awake and rested. Shadows of trees moving gently on my walls look almost alive. I notice things with an almost surreal clarity, like I have passed through a fog bank and now can see.

I pull on some pants and emerge from my room. In the kitchen I can hear Mom talking on the phone. I can smell melted butter, and strawberries. Light reflects from glass in a sunburst of rainbows as the crystal ornaments in the window refract and reflect in an ever-changing dance on the walls.

Mom looks toward me I see a concerned smile on her lips, questioning me almost afraid that there is something unseen lurking below my now calm face.

"Are you OK? I'm so sorry, Jamey. I didn't know.

No one told me. I've been so worried."

I hug my mother. Her hair smells of spring flowers. I feel as if the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders as I pull back. Mom has tears in her eyes. Blinking away my tears, for the first time in weeks, I smile.

"I'm fine Mom."

"Here take your meds, Jamey."

"Only the prescription, no vitamins, no supplements. OK?"

Mom hands me my tablets. I look and make sure its only one and a half pills. I wash them down with juice. I look around and see it's 930, I've missed the bus for school and classes have already started.

"I think you should get a bit more rest. I've got to go shopping today. I can drop you off at school this afternoon if you want."

"OK mom."

"I expect there will be sympathy cards in your locker, bring them all home and I will help you with the thank you cards."

Mom is like that every one gets a thank you card birthdays, Christmas, Easter whatever, if I received a gift then a card was needed.

I spend the rest of the morning in my room and just hanging in the kitchen eating. Every thing tastes good and I'm starved. We leave the farm some time near one and are at school just after two.

"Here's your note. I'll pick you up. Love you, Jamey."

I waved as she drove away then headed to the office. It was the same administrative bullshit as every other time ID card, read note, check signature. Finally get a hall pass. I made my way to my locker.

"Hey."

I looked up into the face of a stranger. I have been shoveling the notes and cards and folded papers from my locker into my pack.

"Umm, Hey?"

I recall his face from a few days ago but still can't place him. He is one of those hundreds of students in the background that you see but share no classes with. My eyes focus on the camera, on a thick strap, around his neck.

"I'm Luke," he said, pointing at the camera "I am on the yearbook team and on the school paper, that's why I lug this thing around."

"Cool, but I don't want to be interviewed."

"Relax dude. I am also on the Grief Team, and just want to talk to you for a few."

I don't want to be talked to or to have anyone help me but found myself being guided to a rec area.

"Want a soda?"

"Sure. Thanks."

"I think I know what you are going through James. My Dad and sister died in a car accident when I was twelve. My best friend killed himself eleven months ago. I blamed myself for not helping him." Luke said in a rush, setting the sodas down on the table.

All I could do is look at him in amazement. My mouth opens and shuts but nothing come out.

"I have been seeing a shrink for almost a year now. I think we have a lot in common and really want to talk when you're ready."

"Umm sure, I guess"

"Cool. Here is my number, call me when you want. It's a private line in my room just leave voicemail if I don't answer. I'll call you back as soon as I can."

Luke finished his soda and tossed the can into the recycle bin. He hands me a card and gives me a wave leaving the rec.

I am stunned and look at the card 'Lucas J Brown - Photography, Videography - 555- 2345'. I look at my watch grab my pack and head out to meet Mom.

I see Mom pulling up as I exit, the sun reflects off the windshield, making me squint. In the van I can smell fresh rolls and I know she has stopped at the bakery. With a guilty look Mom hands me a small paper bag. I can see crumbs around her mouth.

"Double chocolate chip. I was just seeing if they were fresh," she mumbled.

Mom jokes about her addiction to chocolate, if there was a lump hidden in a sack in the bottom of a coalmine, she could find it. She would always buy or make cookies for Alan and me but half the batch was for her.

We have roast beef and gravy with mashed potatoes and corn. Supper actually tastes good and for the first time in weeks it has flavor. I eat so much I can hardly move. Mom brings up the thank you cards after the dishes are done.

"Pull them out and lets sort them, some should be shown to his family. This will be hard but its something we need to do."

I pull the cards and folded papers from my pack. 'I'm Sorry', 'In deepest sympathy', 'We sorrow for your loss', 'He is with God now'. So many ways to say it, so many ways it is written. Some real store bought cards, some made on computer and some on three- ring paper. All the same, words and ink, knowing he will never be back. By the time we have read them all Mom is in tears and I just can't think. The blur of tears makes it hard to find my way to the bathroom. My eyes feel like sand and I look like shit. I am exhausted and head to my room.

I know it would be easier to print off a poster and place it around school, 'Thank You for caring, your cards and notes mean so much and have been a big help' I know there is no way mom would let me do it. I decide I had better get it over with and return to the kitchen and start signing thank you cards from the box on the table, Mom addresses each one and insists I add a personal message. I have writer's cramp by time we are done. I don't even know some of the names we are writing too.

On the way to my room I grab the portable, and stare at the card from Luke, should I call, should I wait, should I see him? He said he has been through this before. I start to push the buttons, and hang up. Why would a stranger want to help me, isn't that what I was seeing a Doctor for? I give up. I punch my pillow, and start to cry again I am in no shape to talk. Maybe I can call maybe he knows. I punch his number again afraid and lost. I hear the ring tone and go to hang up but it is answered.

"Hey, James, glad you called. How you feeling?"

I am stunned how did he know it was me, what do I say, I should just hang up say it's the wrong number.

"Dude, I can hear you breathing, want to tell me what happened?

Feeling like a dork I start "We read all the cards and stuff, and just finished thank you cards," there is a catch in my voice an almost sob.

"I know what you are going through. When Dad and Amy died we had over three hundred cards, and notes. It was." I could hear a sniff on the other end. "It was umm real hard. I didn't know half the people and every one was the same. It still hurts remembering reading all of them. I thought it would be easier . umm when Steve but."

"Now I feel like an asshole for bringing back memories. I better let you go. Sorry." I said hanging up before he could respond.

Not ten seconds later the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Don't hang up." It was Luke, "star sixty-nine works dude. Please listen, can we get together this week? I need your help. How is Friday? Afternoon? Cut classes and go to my place? Please?"

"Ok I guess."

"I'll meet you at your locker. Later."

I am so tired I just close my eyes and am asleep.

It's morning I'm up before everyone, I see I am still dressed from yesterday and feel all clammy. I go through the morning routine, shower brush my teeth dress, then head to the bridge. In the last few days everything has turned green. I see the first dandelion of spring and pick it.

It was always our magic flower, closed then flashing yellow when it opened then closed again. A few days later a puffball of seeds, blow and make a wish. Tiny parachutes taking your wish to the sky.

The green water still swirls below the bridge, I drop the flower over the side. It falls in slow motion catching a breeze twirling and spinning until it hits the rushing water. I feel tears in my eyes. How easy it would be to follow the flower.

This sucks, am I going to be a crybaby for the rest of my life? Every time I turn around tears flow. What did Luke say he had been through this twice? How can you do it? How do you stop the pain the shared places, the shared thoughts, bring every day.

I turn and head back to the house.

"Morning, Jamey. Take your pills. Milk? Toast? I put the cards in your pack. Don't forget you have a doctor's appointment today."

The eternal wait for the bus, and the long trip to the school take place without me being aware of them. I get to homeroom and sort through the cards. Putting them in the school mail system. Let the office figure out who was where. Who cares?

The day passes, same shit, different pile. No one asks me for answers, I doodle in my notebook. It's not like it matters.

Mom is waiting for me and we head for the doctor.

"Good afternoon, James. How are you feeling?"

"Better. I slept for almost two days and things taste good again. I still get choked up and cry for no reason."

Dr. Taggart types something on his keyboard.

"Tell me about last year."

"Grade 9. High school. It was fall."

It was fall and school had just started. Alan's Dad made him try out for the football team, and the swim team, any sport. Just do it. I went for drama club and public speaking. We were still inseparable I practiced my lines watching him get pushed around on the field or swimming laps, he watched me give speeches and laughed when I screwed up. We lived for the weekends. On the weekends we could be alone together, and laugh and touch and have fun.

We were surfing the net and followed some links and found so much porn. Alan wanted to try some of the things we saw. The next day sixty-nine was our new favorite number. "I love you." I said it and he said it we said it together and hugged. It wasn't just sex it was a whole feeling of being just right.

Uncle Dwayne would kill him if he found out about us. He had really weirded out in the last year. Became a bible thumper and sent money to TV preachers. Talked about sin and perversions and how the moral fabric of the nation was ripping at the seams. Alan would get a beating every night for sins gone unnoticed. His mom always seemed to have bruises and seemed real shy.

"That's our time for today, James. I think you are doing well enough that we can change the appointment to once a week. How is Thursday same time?"

"Sure doc."

KFC for dinner, hot grease, clotted gravy and fries; I liked the old fries better but the skin from the chicken is so fine. Alan and I would fight over the skin stealing bits from everyone.

Just another night. After homework it was bed, I lay awake wondering what did Luke mean he wanted my help? I was the one freaking and seeing a shrink. My brain in turmoil I drift to sleep.

The sun rises earlier and earlier, and like the birds so do I. I make my morning pilgrimage to the bridge stopping to gather any dandelions I see. Each falls from my hands into the abyss each trying to make amends. Where do we go when we die? Is Alan watching me? Is every choice we make a part of endless branches in the time stream?

Mom is in the kitchen fresh muffins and butter; the smell makes my mouth water as I take my pills. The trip to school is uneventful. Another day in the endless grind. I catch a glimpse of Luke, taking pictures and remember our plan to cut classes. My mind races and heart pounds. What is it he wants, why is he reaching out to me?

The morning is the same as all school mornings: homeroom, bells, classes and lunch. I meet Luke at my locker. I can't tell what he has in mind, his face offers no clues, and a partial grin flashes and disappears.

"Hey."

"Hey. You ready to jet?"

"Ya."

I follow him from the building into the parking lot. We stop by a small primer spotted import. With the body work I can't tell what make or model it was. He unlocks it and motions me to get in.

"What do you think of my Bondo Buggy? I've been working on it all winter. The body was shot but the engine and frame are in good shape."

"Umm cool. I didn't know you were in auto shop."

"I'm not. Did it all in the garage at home. Its not all that hard I just bought a lot of books. You know, how to's."

"Oh."

The rest of the trip is in nervous silence. We drive about five blocks, maybe ten minutes and pull up to a large house with a two-door garage. Luke pushes the remote and a door opens; we pull into what is obviously the spot where he works on his car.

"Come on in, grab some Dew from the fridge and lets go to my room." Luke says.

The garage opens into a big kitchen like in one of those magazines, steel stove, dishwasher and fridge. Everything looks in its place, polished and glittering. I am afraid to touch anything.

"I'm in the basement. Come on down"

I open the fridge and grab two sodas and head to the stairs. I never have seen anything like this. The basement is huge, a sitting area, a queen size bed, a big screen TV and a killer stereo. On one side is a mega computer system; two monitors a digital video camera and a digital hand camera on tripods had cables snaking to the computer. I must look like the village idiot with my mouth hanging open.

"I have the whole basement to my self. The darkroom is next to the bathroom, that big table is where I do layouts and crop pictures. I just started doing digital clay animation."

"Wow this is wild."

"Feel free to pick out some music then we can kick back for a bit."

I go to the CD rack and see a real mix of styles, every thing from 50's oldies to jazz and older rock. There is rap and dance and stuff I never heard of. There are also a bunch of homemade mixed discs. I grab something labeled 'Soft Mix' and hand it to Luke.

He spends a moment putting it in the machine and playing with the volume. I sit down on the sofa and watch him. I wonder what the hell I am doing. He asked me to help him. Help with what, when you have everything what do you need help with? How do you ask? After several songs you could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

Luke interrupts my thoughts, "I miss him."

"Huh?"

"I said I miss him. I liked him and he was. Hell, I fucked it up already."

"I umm what?"

"When I joined the grief thing at school, they said to share feelings and stuff to create trust by sharing experiences. You are my first. umm I mean this is my first time for real and I fucked up already. Sorry if you want to leave I'll understand. I'm no good at this. Mom thought it would help me but I know I'll just keep screwing up. Want me to give you a ride to catch your bus or a ride to where you live?"

"No. Umm its ok I didn't know. Is there like a script or something you follow?"

He laughs and pulls a folder from beside the sofa.

"Ya, here it is. It's so lame. Point one make contact, point two explain who you are and give limited background, point three set time for shared experience session, point four follow up using exercises five to seven."

"Lame is right. What the hell is a shared experience session?"

Luke pulls another sheet from the folder and hands it to me.

"Its like truth or dare but called truth and truth. The only thing is we have to promise that what we say stays between us with one exception. Suicide. If there is any talk about it we have to call 911 and the faculty advisor."

"What? If we even say the S word? Or only if we say we are going to do it? I made a promise to my Mom and Doctor and signed a contract that I won't do it. Do you have to call 911 now?"

"No, it's like if one of us says we were thinking about it or had a plan or something."

"What happens if we get asked a question and don't want to answer?"

"You don't have to answer but you have to say why you don't want to answer. Any question you want, any answer you want as long as it's the truth."

"Sounds weird. Let's play for a bit. What did you mean by I miss him?"

"Umm. Ok. I miss Alan. He was nice to me and I took pictures of him for the paper and yearbook. I also meant I miss I miss Steve. The CD you picked was his favorite."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring. Shit maybe you're right and I should leave."

"Nope. Sorry, no leaving when the questions get tough. And it's my turn. What's your favorite color?"

"Color? Now you have gone to far," I laugh, "Red. What's yours?"

"Blue. Boxers or briefs?"

"Boxer briefs. Do you work out?"

"Sometimes, two or three times a week. You?"

"Not really. Is this going somewhere?"

"Ya, we know a lot more about each other now. Got a girlfriend?"

I think I'm blushing, take a quick sip of my soda and answer, "No. Do you?"

"No. There was someone but." He shrugs. "You swim?"

"Ya, but not good enough for the team. Who?"

"Who? What do you mean?"

"You said there was someone. Who?"

"Not answering." Luke says as he looks away.

"It's the rules you have to say why."

"Ok it would embarrass you. Want to stay for supper?"

"Embarrass me? Umm sure but I have to call home."

Luke hands me the phone.

"Hi Mom. Luke invited me for supper." I listen for a second then hand the phone to him.

"Hello Ma'am. Yes it's fine. I invited him. Pizza. I'll drive him. Seventeen. She'll be home near eight. Yes Ma'am. As soon as she gets home. No later than ten. Yes. You too. Bye."

"Sorry about the third degree, but she is real protective of me right now."

"No big deal. Want another drink?"

"Sure and where's the bathroom?"

"The door beside the darkroom, the one without the light and the sign."

He goes upstairs and I hit the bathroom. It is immense; a toilet, a big shower with four heads sticking out from all over the place, a bathtub and a big redwood door with a window in it. After I finish I look in the window and see a huge hot tub. Luke knocks on the door.

"You ok Bro? You fall in?"

I open the door.

"You have a hot tub and a giant shower?"

"I know I live here. There is a steam room off the hot tub room. You like the shower?"

"Ya it looks great."

"It's so wild, better than even those massage things. My Mom is an interior designer, and likes to have stuff installed so she can see how it will look and work in her clients place and stuff. That's why the kitchen is out of Design Monthly. You should see the living room."

"You rich?"

"Are we playing again? Nope not rich, comfortable.

When Dad died there was a lot of insurance. What zaa you like?"

"Veggie with pepperoni and double sauce. Why would it embarrass me?"

"No answer. You sure you want to know?"

"If you want. What's the most embarrassing thing that ever happen to you?"

"I was choking the chicken, and in walks my mom. What was yours?"

"No answer. I might embarrass you. You making the pizza from scratch or ordering?"

"Ordering. You hungry now?"

"I could eat. Umm I have five bucks I can give you. The rest I can give you when we get to my place."

"My treat"

He orders the pizza and we kick back and listen to the music.

"You make that CD? How did you get so many songs on it?"

"The player can read MP3, think its about a hundred on a disk depending on data rate."

"Holy shit, I know what I want for my birthday."

The pizza joint he called must have been on the corner. The pies are piping hot and real quick getting here. He hands me a roll of paper towel and just grins when I burnt my lips on the cheese. We continued to ask each other questions as we eat, small stuff like TV shows and movies and video games. After we finish we clean up the mess he shows me his computer setup and we play a little bit with his PS2.

From up stairs I hear a voice, "Honey, I'm home. Get your clothes back on I am coming down."

I looked at Luke and he blushes as he yells, "Mom."

Mrs. Brown comes into the room and walks over to us. She is dressed up and looks very professional. She turns to me and sticks out her hand.

"You must be James. It's nice to meet you. I heard about your loss I am deeply sorry. I hope that Lucas hasn't been pushing you to say anything you don't want to."

"No Ma'am. Umm. Yes I'm James. Umm thank you." I managed to stammer out.

"James's mother wants you to call her to say that its ok he's here."

"I'll call as I get changed. What time do you have to be home?"

Together we say, "Ten." and burst out laughing.

"You dial, and give me the phone. I'll leave you two alone for a bit."

Mrs. Brown heads back upstairs. She's talking to my mother. I look at Luke.

"What was that all about?"

"What?"

"Put your clothes on? Are you a nudist or something?"

I can hardly hear him when he mumbles, "Or something" and quickly changes the subject to videogames. He is bright red and I decide that I had enough of his silly truth game. The rest of the evening we spend shooting the shit about music and games and school. Mrs. Brown comes back downstairs and drops the phone on the table.

"You'd better get ready to leave, if you are going to get home by ten. Take my car Luke. You know I don't want you driving that rat trap at night until you get the safety inspection done."

"Yes mom. Come on James."

I grab my pack and follow him to the garage. His mom's car turns out to be a blue Lexus SUV. Luke drives to the main road, and then needs directions to the farm.

"It's a company car, a lease. She gets a new one every six or seven months. She says it helps with her clients."

We pull up to my house. It is just before ten.

"You better come in and meet my parents. If you don't I'll never hear the end of it."

"Sure. Umm. You want to come back to my place tomorrow, maybe spend the night. I'll pick you up. If you don't its ok I'll understand. It's."

"Sounds good. If my mom will let me. It's what?"

"Nothing, I'll tell you tomorrow if that's ok."

"Sure."

We go in to the kitchen and both mom and dad are standing there.

"Mom. Dad. This is Lucas, umm Luke. He invited me to sleep over at his place tomorrow is that ok?"

I thought it would be a hard sell to get to stay at a stranger's house but mom just smiles at me when Dad speaks up.

"I don't see a problem with that. Why don't you come out early Luke, look around the place have lunch then head back."

"Ok, Mr. Lehman. Thanks. See you tomorrow James."

After Luke left mom and dad start asking me questions about my afternoon. They knew I had cut classes, and had both talked to Mrs. Brown. They knew Luke was on the grief team and were pleased to meet him. I went to bed shaking my head.

In bed I toss and turn my thoughts going a mile a minute. Was Luke trying to be a friend? Was he just doing this to get extra credit with that grief thing? What did he hide from me? What he was afraid I would be embarrassed about? What was going on? Why did my parents seem happy when I cut classes? Finally I drift off to sleep.

I sleep till the smell of bacon cooking makes me crawl from my room. It is 8:30 the latest I had slept in weeks. Mom is her usual happy face and puts a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me as she hands me my pills.

"Get your act together, you have company coming remember?"

"Ya. I'll shower and pack a toothbrush. I don't know what time we'll be back tomorrow, can you put my meds in one of those small containers?"

I leave the kitchen to go get ready. I feel sort of excited but also scared. What if I say something that will make him hate me, or he finds out that Alan and I were more than just best friends? I heard the Bondo Buggy pull up to the house.

"Jamey, Luke is here. Build your own subs for lunch, everything is in the fridge."

Luke was out of his car and looking around the yard. I quietly come up behind him and clap him on the shoulder. He jumped and yelled.

"Guilty conscience?"

"Fuck you scared the shit out of me, how ya doing?"

"Ok, you?"

"Slept like shit last night."

"Why?"

"Truth and truth time again? I was afraid I screwed everything up yesterday, I'm sorry I shouldn't have pushed you into playing. I kept waiting for you to phone and."

"Its ok. Sure truth and truth. You been seeing a shrink for almost a year you said?

"Ya. You?"

"About a month. It help any? Why you seeing him?"

"Some, down to one session a month. Depression, guilt stuff like that."

We wander toward the loft, the uncomfortable silence stretching like elastic. I open the small door and show him around.

"That's the in-house out house, Alan and I helped Gramps build it, and we spent a long time playing in here. Why guilt?"

"I let him down. Steve. And I feel bad, guilty and upset still. Want me to tell you."

"Only if you want, I didn't mean."

"I'll tell you and then leave if you want me to."

"Leave? Why?"

"Listen then decide. Steve lived a few houses away from me. We became friends about the same time Dad died; his grandmother had just passed away. We found each other holding back tears at the monkey bars. We. Umm we started having sleepovers and stuff. We fooled around."

He looked up from examining the floor.

"And? My dad says almost all guys do that, its part of growing up."

"Ya well not every one admits it. Go ahead say it.

Call me a fag and queer. Hit me and tell me to leave. I'm sorry. I wanted us to be like friends. But understand if you don't."

"What? Please stay. I umm kind of want to be friends too."

Luke looks up at me. If I looked like the village idiot yesterday he looks like one today. He grins and blushes then looks away then grins again.

"You know if you are seen with me everyone will think you are. You sure you want to sleep at my place?"

"You sure you're seventeen? You look younger."

"Ya but only by a few weeks."

"Come on I'll show you the rest of the farm."

"That's the old bunkhouse, Alan and his mom, Aunt Cathy, moved back and lived there."

"Moved back?"

"Ya, Uncle Dwayne inherited some land when Gramps died. They built a house and moved but he would beat Alan and his mom. They aren't my real aunt and uncle. Mom talked to my Dad and Alan and Aunt Cathy moved back into the old bunkhouse. Every few weeks Uncle Dwayne would try to make up, but he would fly off the handle and hit Alan or Aunt Cathy then Dad would tell him to leave."

"Wow."

We walk around a bit more by the pond. I break the silence.

"What happened with Steve?"

"Umm," Luke looks at me with fear in his eyes, "Ah. Umm."

I look at him blushing and stumbling around his words. I clear my throat and try again.

"I mean how did he.."

"Oh. A gun. Steve umm used a gun. It was messy."

We are sitting on the raft. Tears start streaming down Luke's face I can hardly hear him. My face is wet with my own tears. He is sharing with me and I have no way of knowing what to do. Do I hug him? Hold his hand? Or just sit and listen? I am so confused.

"Sorry. I'll leave now. I didn't mean to cry like that. I can't talk about it without being a baby."

"No. Don't go. Please. Lets get some lunch then head to your place. I really want to."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm hungry. You?"

Luke wiped his eyes and shot me his half grin, "I could eat," he said.

We make it back to the kitchen. Mom starts dragging stuff from the fridge. The counter is soon filled with sandwich makings. We dig in and eat our fill. Hard to believe that a few moments ago we were bawling our eyes out. We tidy up and I grab my bag. Mom hands me a little plastic box with my pills for the morning inside.

"Have fun guys. Don't spend all night playing games and goofing around. Try to be back for dinner, Jamey."

"OK mom."

Luke starts his car, and we are on the way. I sit in silence for a bit then look at him.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

I look at him and he flashes me his half grin again, "What did you mean when every one will think I am one too and last night you said something when I asked if you were a nudist?"

Luke pulls over to the shoulder of the road. "You sure you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"What every one at school says about me."

"No clue, what do they say?"

"What I said in the barn. They all say it Gay Boy, or fag or queer."

Thinking back over the last few years I had heard there were a few gays in the school, and had even got in a fight when one of the jocks called me a fag, Alan and I beat the crap out of him and were suspended for two days. Maybe that was why I never heard about Luke. I was mostly an outsider anyway I never hung with the skaters or the goths or the preps or any of the other groups. It was just Alan and me.

"What do they say about me?"

"That you and Alan thumped a guy who called you a fag, so you can't be one."

"Oh. Weird. We heading for your place or we going to sit in the car all day?"

Luke shakes his head and pulls back on the road. I am in shock. We beat up a guy for calling me a fag. Was there a name for that? Straight bashing? I giggle at that. Luke was cool, and made me wonder. I know I loved Alan. We had played around and did things with each other. Was I gay? Technically I guess I am. That made me think of Alan and the way his smile took my breath away. Soon tears are flooding my eyes again. Fuck I wish the drugs dried the tear glands. We pull into Luke's garage.

"What? Are you ok? Something in your eye?"

I think a second, I could say ya something in my eye or I could tell him the truth. If I tell him the truth then I could see if he would make fun of me. If I lie no way he could make fun of me. I take a big breath.

"No. Sorry. Just thinking of Alan for a second. Then the water works started. I ."

"Hey no worries. You know I get that way about Steve. Lets head in the house before my mom starts to think something is going on err is wrong."

Something going on? Gay? Fag? Luke? My head spinning I follow him into the house. It still looks like a page from a magazine. Hard to believe anyone lives here.

"Hi Mom, we're here. Bro you have to check out the living room."

I follow Luke through the kitchen and dinning room. The living room is something else. Mrs. Brown is sitting cross-legged on the floor. She is dressed in a big T-shirt and baggy pants. A far cry from yesterday. I can't believe it is the same woman. There are papers and pencils and sketches all over the marble coffee table

"Hi James, nice to see you again. I like to relax well, I work at home and I love this room. I call it Ultra Modern Elegant Luxury. I find I can be more creative if I don't sit at a desk."

"Mom, what's for supper?"

"I thought we would order out for Chinese, that ok with you guys? I'll order about five or so. Anything I should avoid James?"

"Umm I like almost any thing. I don't want to be any trouble."

"Alright guess it will be beef and chicken. Why don't you guys grab drinks and snacks and head down stairs? I'll call you up for supper."

"Ok mom."

"And keep the stereo down below hearing loss level."

"Yes, mother dearest"

She laughs and waves us out of the room. "And no more wire hangers."

On the way to the basement we grab some sodas and chips. Back in Luke's Lair we put on some tunes, and kick back. My mind still churns with what has been happening over the last two days. Still not sure what it was Luke is trying to say. Still not sure why he wants to be friends.

"Your Mom isn't what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know, some stuffy business woman, from what she was wearing yesterday and driving a Lexus. That didn't come out right. Sorry."

"Don't worry." Luke pulls another paper from the folder beside his chair. "Exercise five, in the lamer guide to handling grief. Word Association and Expectation of Privacy."

"What the hell is that?"

"Part of the script, to get us more comfortable with each other and show we trust each other. Another game thing."

"So having me sleep over is just a ploy to get points with the grief team?"

"No. Not that. No extra credit for the team. I want you here 'cause I like you. And it seemed like a good idea. I screwed up again. I'm sorry. It's just. Umm just hard to sit and not do stuff."

"Ya just sitting around brings back memories. Ok lets play the lame game. If it's too bad we can go back to Truth and Truth."

"This one is rapid fire, I say a word and you give three things that pop into your mind. Then you say a word and I say three. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Light?"

"Dark, hard, hair. Snow?"

"Fall, white, cold. Sun?"

"Shine, baby, light. Hard?

"On, soft, ball. Fuck."

My eyes are closed when Luke says that, I open them in time to see him dancing around with a lap full of ice and soda. I laugh and go on playing the game. There is a whole double meaning thing going on. And I want to see how far I could push the envelope.

I clear my throat and say "Butt, knows, off. Wet?"

I think he is going to bust a blood vessel; he starts laughing and blushing so hard.

"I'm going to change." From across the room he answers, "Dry, pants, lips. Boy?"

He isn't shy, and neither am I. I watch him get changed. He had I nice body. It's almost like he's daring me to look. He looks at me and flashes me his half grin. It's my turn to blush as I look away.

"Umm. Friend, cock, balls. Dog?"

Luke comes back and sits on the sofa beside me. He is snickering.

"Dog? How the hell do you get from boy friend, boy cock, boy balls to dog? Is there some twisted animal love story you haven't told me? Maybe we should switch to Truth and Truth."

"No way bro. The word is dog. I want to see your mind pervert that word into something sexual"

"Sexual? Me? You were the one watching me get changed. Dog. Lick, nuts, hump. Lollypop?"

The game had definitely changed. Innuendo, try to be more outrageous than the last one. I can feel the heat roll off his body we are that close. I'm not uncomfortable but don't know how to take this. What is he thinking?

"Suck, lick, sweet. Banana?"

Luke rolls his eyes and is just getting ready to answer when his mother calls down.

"Supper's here come and get it guys."

He winks at me then yells, "Coming."

Laughing we race to the stairs.

When my family has Chinese food its usually frozen stuff or from a can, this is unbelievable. There are at least ten different dishes, rice, beef, chicken, vegetables it is amazing. We sit in the dining room; I am across from Luke, both he and his mother using chopsticks. I stay with a fork. I can still feel the innuendo going on, he would look at me and lick his lips or bring his tongue out to his food.

I don't think I say more than three words as we eat. I just sit there blushing and glancing at Luke then my plate. Mrs. Brown finally breaks the silence.

"I didn't know you were this shy, James. Is everything all right? Luke isn't making you do anything you don't want? I want you to feel comfortable and relaxed here."

"No it's alright. Just the food is amazing this is my first real Chinese meal. Sorry guess I am just preoccupied with the flavors."

"If you say so."

I can tell she doesn't believe me. She shoots Luke a look that seemed to say "Calm down." I help clean up the leftovers and load the dishwasher although both she and Luke say I don't have to. It just feels right. We head back downstairs.

"Sorry if you felt uncomfortable James. I couldn't help myself."

"It's alright. Umm I don't know how to ask this."

"Ask away, just like truth and truth. Ask me anything."

The moment seems to stretch; I can feel myself blush and am worried about what he thinks. Worried I would ruin a good start to a friendship. I look around embarrassed and fiddle with my glass.

"Just ask bro."

In a rush I say it. "Are you umm coming on to me?

Are you gay?"

It's his turn to blush and fiddle with things. He looks at me then away, takes a deep breath, gets up and plays with the stereo. He looks at me then says to the floor, "No. Yes. Umm maybe? If you want I can get mom to drive you home. I'm sorry."

"No. I want to understand. No you weren't coming on to me? Or yes or what?"

"Umm not really coming on to you. Maybe kinda. I don't know."

"Good answer. Want to try again?"

"Thanks. Umm Ok I was sort of, I thought you were too with the double entendres and stuff."

"Ok that's cool. And it was fun. What about the gay thing?"

"Oh God." Luke sits down and cups his hands to his face. I can see tears on his cheeks. He mumbles, "Ya I am. I'm sorry. I should have told you."

He looks up at me; I want to reach for him. But still afraid to destroy something that had only started. I like him. What do you do? When someone is hurting, so open and vulnerable. I have to know something; inside I need to know, for some reason I feel I have to push.

"Gay? Or just fooling around? Please I want.need to know."

"Gay. Homosexual. A fag. You happy?" He almost screams.

"I'm sorry. If you want I'll leave. I didn't mean."

Luke is almost curled up in his chair. Tears stream from his eyes. Sobs wrack his body. Unthinking I reach and touch him. An almost electric jolt runs from my hand up my arm. He looks up at me.

"What ever. You know now. It's up to you."

"How. Umm. When. Umm how did you know?"

"No fair. That's more than two questions. It's my turn."

I give a grin. His eyes are puffy and red but no doubt mine are too. I pull my hand back and grab his glass.

"Ok your turn but I think we need a drink."

Luke returns my grin, wipes his eyes and grabs our glasses. While he was upstairs I hit the bathroom. I look like shit. I splash cold water on my face and shake my head. I wanted to know. Now I knew. It looked like tonight would make or break our friendship. I have never been one to make friends. Not popular, not with the in crowd more of an appendage to Alan. I better keep those thought to my self or I will start crying again. I make it to the sofa before Luke is back with the drinks. When he comes down I almost freak out in addition to the soda, he has two cans of beer.

"Your mom is upstairs. What's she going to say about you feeding me beer?"

"Nothing, I asked and she said only one. If you want it. You were the one to say you needed a drink."

I have had beer before; I think almost everyone has had at least a sip or two. It had always been hidden and something in secret. Not something to drink while a parent was around.

"She seems cool," I say as I pop the top of the can and take a big drink

"Ya she is."

Luke sits on the sofa near enough I can feel the heat roll from him again. He takes a sip of his beer and looks at me.

"My turn right?"

"Yep that your question? It was easy. Back to mine. How did you know?"

The look on his face is priceless. He grins then flashes a smile at me.

"Well it was my turn then I got the drinks. So it's still my turn when I get back. Why?"

I crack up. It looks and feels like one of those comedy sketches where everything is a misunderstanding. I could play along and move back to innuendo as well. It was easy to talk in circles and be relaxed; every thing had so many levels and meanings. Like when Alan and I played word games purposely misinterpreting what was said.

"Not, for, hate. Banana?"

"Split, lick, cream. Bed?

"Time, sleep, jerk. How did you know?"

"Wow complex game you are playing there James. Truth and truth combined with word association. What do you call it?"

I look at him and figure what do I have to lose; he was so open to me. I clear my throat smile at him and answer.

"Truth and Innuendo. Tell the truth and make everything sexual."

"The grief team will never be the same. What do you think being gay is?"

"Umm. Loving a guy and having sex with him. Umm and not wanting to do it with a girl. Ever."

"So two guys being like suck buddies isn't gay, if there is a chance that they may want to have sex with a girl. But if they love each other and are cock crazy then they are?"

"Ya like one is relieving tension, like jacking off with or without a partner, the other is love and caring and sex."

"Sounds like you know already, why you asking me?"

"Who else?"

"Who else? Me? Umm only Steve. Is that what you mean?"

"Not really I meant who else could I ask. When did you know? For sure?"

"That I was gay? It was a gradual awareness. I guess. Like I said Steve and I were friends from when I was twelve. So fourteen or fifteen I guess. I didn't wake up one morning and say oh I'm gay."

"Who did you tell?"

"Steve first, then my mother. Why the morbid curiosity?"

"I don't know."

"Sure you do. But I am not going to make you say anything you don't want. Hell we just met a few days ago. Did I tell you what I wanted your help with?"

My mind is running a million miles a second. Here it comes. The big why. I take a deep breath and look at Luke ready for the worst.

"Kinda. Ya. Why?"

"I need your help with a memorial page for the year book"

That was the farthest thing from my mind. A memorial page? What did I know about memorials. I must have looked dumbfounded to Luke. He hurried into an explanation.

"For Alan. I have lots of pictures and need your advice on what to use."

Luke pulls me to my feet and propels me to the dark room. When he opens the door I almost lost it. Stuck to the inside are pictures, close ups, far shots there had to be hundreds of them; all of Alan. I was in a few but the focus of them all was Alan. He was smiling in most of them. I look at Luke and back to the pictures. My turn to have the village idiot look.

"Holy shit." I manage to mumble."

I look at Luke and realize we both have tears flowing from our eyes. He looks at me and blushes.

"It's not really what it looks like. It's not really a shrine to Alan."

"Now that you mention it. Umm it is like a shrine all you are missing are the candles. What's up?"

"Truth and Truth? I umm I liked him. a lot. I umm had a crush on him. But I knew you two were an item."

"An item?"

"More than just friends, more than even best friends. I could tell from the way he looked at you."

Had we been that obvious? Did that mean everyone at school knew? Before I realize it tears are running down my cheeks. I feel Luke's hand on my shoulder when I look up at him he is crying too. It feels right and we hug. Both sobbing I don't know how long we stand there, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing a loss, sharing our grief.

"Can you tell me more about Alan?"

I look at him and head back to the sofa and grab my drink. After a big swallow I sit and nod. Luke sits beside me. I clear my throat a few times and sniff.

"We were the same age. We were always together. He was bigger and stronger than me. Not just physically you know? But well he was always there for me to lean on. Umm ya he is...was my boyfriend. I loved him. I said it and he said it and we said it."

The water works start up again. Tears stream down my face. I don't care. Luke pulls me into a hug again. After I while I pull away and take another drink. Luke gives me a questioning look.

"I need to top up the tear tank. You don't think I can keep crying like this with out refills, do you?"

He takes a big drink from his glass and grins at me, "I better fill up too."

"When you told your mom, how did she take it? What did Steve do?"

"I told you, didn't I?"

I shake my head; "No you said you told Steve then her."

"Oh. Sorry. Umm well I guess Steve already knew. She took it really well and is fully supportive. When I told her she went and bought every book on the market that could even brush the topic. My dad probably would have blown a gasket. But mom is real cool."

"I guess Steve would have known."

"That I was gay. Not really we could have been just each other's tension relief. But it was much more than that. I told him I loved him and he loved me. He knew I was gay before I did."

"I'm going to bed guys," Mrs. Brown calls down from the kitchen, "Don't stay up all night. I don't want James going back to his house looking like a hung-over sleep deprived zombie."

"Night, Mom."

We stay up a little while more discussing the yearbook memorial page. Luke looks at me and yawns.

"I'm getting tired. Time to call it a night?"

"Ya. Umm where do you want me?"

"Interesting choice of words. It's up to you Bro.

The sofa makes into a bed. My bed is right over there. I umm want you in my bed."

I must have blushed, as I stammer, "No need to dirty another set of sheets."

"I usually sleep in my underwear. Any problems with that?"

"Same here. Sometimes nude but underwear is fine with me."

We go to either side of his huge bed and strip each of us avoiding looking at the other. The sheets are cool as I slide between them.

"Relax, I won't bite. Unless you want me to." Luke says as he turns the lights off. "Some things are easier to say in the dark and I don't feel like yelling over to the sofa. I'm not going to attack you. It's just nice to have someone in bed again."

"Steve slept over a lot?"

"He sort of lived here for a bit. Umm Steve and I decided that he should come out to his parents. It didn't go well. They kicked him out."

"Both of them?"

"Ya they went nuts and beat him up real bad. His mother was screaming and kicking at him and his dad punched and threw him out the door."

I can feel the bed starting to shake as Luke sobs.

I roll over and hug him. He is shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his face.

"Steve crawled here with a broken arm and ribs mom and I got him to hospital. He ended up with a skull fracture and his spleen was ruptured he was bleeding inside and out."

We lay there sobbing and just holding each other until we drift off to sleep. I dream of summer and Alan.

"Wake up. Lucas. James. Get out of bed and cleaned up. Brunch in twenty minutes." Mrs. Brown shouts down the stairs.

I open my eyes and see Luke watching me. He has a dopey smile on his face.

"What? Why you looking at me like that?"

"You held me all night. You wouldn't let go. When I got back from a pee you sighed and snuggled up to me. You had the cutest smile."

"You watched me sleep?"

"Yup. You have a problem with that?"

"Umm not really. It's umm just that Alan would do the same thing."

"He had good reason. Hit the shower first bro mom is making pancakes."

I grab my pack and go to his bathroom. The four head shower is out of this world. I change and take my little pillbox upstairs. Luke's mom is setting a big plate of pancakes and bacon on the counter. She looks up at me and smiles.

"May I have a glass of juice Mrs. Brown? Then when my mother calls you can say you saw me take my pills."

"She isn't spying on you James. She is just worried. I did the same thing with Luke."

I take my pills with a swallow of juice. Luke grabs the food and takes it to the dining room I grab the jug of juice and follow him.

"Did you two get to sleep at a decent time last night?"

"Yes Mom probably went to bed an hour after you did."

"What's the plan today?"

"James and I are going to crop and mount some pictures for the year book then probably head out to his place this afternoon."

"Ok. Don't let Luke make you do anything you don't want to."

We finish up brunch. I help clean up again then Luke and I go back downstairs. We pore over the pictures and arrange them on the worktable. After a few hours of trial and error we agree on the layout.

"This was going to be Alan's last year. Aunt Cathy moved to her sisters' place to get away from Uncle Dwayne."

"Where?"

"Another nowhere town a few hours away. Alan was going to move there at the end of school. I was going to visit over the summer."

My tears start to flow again, looking at the pictures, and knowing I would never see him again makes me start to sob. Luke wraps me in a hug and we sit on the sofa together. Finally I stop crying. Luke hands me a tissue and a drink.

"Better refill those tear tanks. It wouldn't do to go home with them empty."

The trip to the farm was uneventful and we arrived an hour or so before supper. Dad insists Luke join us. After Mom and Mrs. Brown talk on the phone Luke agrees to stay. We walk around the farm killing time. At the pond we sit on the raft and look at the water. Luke seems to have something on his mind.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"Nothing just thinking."

"Come on. You can tell me anything. After all we've slept together."

Luke swings his head around so fast I think it is going to snap off.

"I didn't tell you everything last night."

"Want to?"

"Steve was in hospital for weeks. Mom said he could live with us until things got sorted out. As time passed he would fly off the handle over little things. We argued almost all the time I blamed myself and he blamed me for the beating. If I hadn't pushed him to tell his parents..."

We sit there side by side thinking. A fish splashes in the water. As if that is a signal Luke takes a deep breath.

"One afternoon we were outside Steve saw his parents driving by, they slowed down, and his mother shouted at him. She said all his fagot stuff was in the dump so don't bother coming back. He stormed away. I thought he went to cool down."

"Is that..?" Luke interrupts me. In a rush he continued.

"The next morning sirens woke me up. Steve went to his house after everyone was asleep. Took his fathers pistol, went into the garage, got in his dads car, put the gun to his chest and shot him self over and over. The autopsy said he had a brain lesion. His note said he was sorry he was a fag, and he never wanted to hurt anyone ever again."

I reach for Luke, and pull him into my arms. He is stiff as a board, white and clammy. Tears pour from his eyes and I sob along with him. I don't know what to say. We stay like that me holding him for a long time.

I mumble, "It's ok."

Luke pulls away from me and starts screaming at me.

"You don't understand. I killed him. It's like I pulled the trigger. It's my fault. This grief team thing sucks. I suck. And now I fucked up big time, I ruined your life. How can you stand to be near me? A fag and a murderer."

"You didn't kill him. He had a brain injury he didn't know what he was doing."

In tears and raw with emotion I grab his hand and start pulling him to the fence.

"When Uncle Dwayne found out that Alan was living alone in the bunkhouse, he broke in. He found Alan and me in bed. I was on top. He went crazy. He pulled me off Alan and hit me. Then started whipping Alan with a belt. Screaming about sins and Sodom and praying for strength, I jumped on him and started to hit and kick and bite. My Dad came running in and pulled us all apart. He dragged Uncle Dwayne out of the bunkhouse. I tried to help Alan; I got the towels and water and washed him. Mom came in and we took Alan to the hospital. He didn't have any major injuries."

Numbly he follows me onto the tracks. We move towards the bridge.

"When we got home we went to my bed and we lay there in each others arms. I had to get Alan away. His dad would kill him if he came back. I made the plan. I said we had to run away to his mother. I said take the bridge, and we would go around the old mill. I said we would hitchhike from the highway. I should have been in the lead. I should have slipped on the ice. I should have fallen. I should have died. Not Alan. I loved him. I said it and he said it and we said it."

The water flows under the bridge, swirling and bubbling over the rocks. As I look deep into the green water I feel a pull, an urge. I feel hands holding me back. I have been screaming through my tears.

"I killed my blood brother. I killed my boyfriend. I let him die. I tried to grab him. Every day for the rest of my life I'll feel him in my fingers slipping away from me. Every day I know I murdered him."

Luke envelops me in a hug and pulls me back along the tracks, both of us sobbing, both unable to see though our tears, over the fence past the pond, toward the house. My dad is waiting in the yard. He pulls us unto a hug.

"It's ok boys, cry if you want to. If you can't cry for those you love who can you cry for?"

We have dinner, but neither of us feels like eating. After we clean up I follow Luke to the Bondo Buggy. We look at each other.

"Still want to hang with a murdering fag?"

---- Fin ----

Authors Note: I wish to thank Rhyolyn for editing this for me. This story started as an experiment and over several weeks grew to this size. I was playing with time in this story and had a real problem with past and present. With out Rhyolyn's help I would be a jabbering idiot trying to keep it straight. I hate working to a deadline so have completed the story before publishing it. Thanks also to those that hang out in the Nifty Writers group, without your support I would probably not even have started this story.

Will I continue to explore the relationship of James and Lucas? Probably. Will the style be the same? I have no idea. I know I will continue to write.

Feedback is welcome.

Depression is a serious medical condition.

If you feel you are depressed or know someone who may be please get some help or look at these Internet resources:

http://www.nimh.nih.gov/publicat/index.cfm

http://www.freedomfromfear.com/

There are many help lines in your community please use them.

Information on puberty paraphrased from Puberty101.com

Quote from Magic's Pawn by Mercedes Lackey copyright 1989 by Mercedes R. Lackey.