This story is about male/male relationships and contains graphic descriptions of sex. You should not read this story if it is in any way illegal due to your age or residence.
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TRAGEDY IN THE BLOOD by Steven H. Davis
Chapter 18
The conversation with Tynah didn't go as badly as I had expected. She was certainly not thrilled with my actions -- she had raised a son, Jack, seventeen years my senior -- who had been in trouble with the law during his adolescence as well. I didn't know much about it then, but I later learned that he had stolen a car and gone to jail, where he had attempted to hang himself with his own belt.
Jack was in the military now, like his sister -- my ex-mother -- and I hadn't seen him since I was about nine years old, but I knew that Rex didn't like him, and I also knew that Tynah was seeing the past flash before her eyes as she heard about what had happened at Polk High that morning. I could see the color rising in her cheeks as Rex and I delivered the news, and I could tell that she was just about to explode when Rex spoke up.
"Rick," he said, "why don't you run your bike to the store and get us some milk? I need to talk to your mother for a while."
I wordlessly took my cue and bolted to the garage, then zoomed away down the street to the H.E.B. supermarket. By the time I returned, Tynah was a lot calmer, although dinner was a bit tense (a bit!) and she hadn't spoken a word to me. It wasn't until Rex had disappeared into the garage and I was clearing the table to do dishes that I heard her voice from the La-Z-Boy.
"I don't like what you did," she began.
I could tell, as tears began to well in my eyes, that this was something of an understatement. I couldn't go in the living room and face her, so I stood by the kitchen sink, watching Foxy romp around the backyard.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
"But Rex explained to me why you did it, and I think you were very brave to help your friend against that bully. I'll tell you this, though. You had better thank your lucky stars that Sly Maxwell was there to keep the police from being brought in. I've raised one felon, and I don't intend to raise another. Heretofore, you go tell a teacher or a vice-principal what's happening, and I don't want to ever hear about you getting in another fight."
"Yes, ma'am," I choked out between sobs.
"You will serve out your suspension here doing yardwork and cleaning the house. And you will keep up with your homework. Are we understood?"
"Yes," I murmured.
"Yes, what?" she asked in her mock-happy singsong voice.
"Yes, ma'am." I replied.
"Good," she said, apparently satisfied. "Now you can finish the dishes and then you can be excused."
"I love you, Tynah," I said.
"I love you too, honey," she replied reassuringly.
I felt like shit.
That night, I fielded phone calls from the following people: Linda, Kathy, Jeff, Carter, Mr. McRory, David Wurtzel, Kirsten, and Sly Maxwell. I hung up on Kirsten when she informed me of how much Kevin's friends were waiting to get me alone off school grounds.
Linda showed concern and assured me that we could do our Duet at the next IQT, Kathy showed some remorse and seemed disturbingly interested in me again, Jeff was tickled pink, Carter was admiring, Mr. McRory was pissed off about the Chamberlain meet, Sly huskily thanked me for helping his son and told me he always had my back, and David was... well, I didn't really know David except in passing, but appreciated his support.
After all the phone calls were done, Rex and Foxy bedded down on the living room floor as usual, and Tynah donned her ever-present caftan and went off to bed. I sat alone on the darkened patio for a long time, running my fingers along the rough, stained wood of the picnic table and trying to gather up the courage to open the envelope which sat on its well-aged surface in front of me.
Finally, I opened it, and this is what it said:
"Don't love me."
The three words hit me like a roundhouse punch to the soul.
"Don't love me."
That was it. No "Dear Rick," no explanation, no recrimination, just "Don't love me." Not even a signature.
I sat there in the dark, and I didn't cry. I was just too stunned. I kept looking at the letter, if you could call it a letter, and reading those three words over and over again, shocked by the blunt finality of them.
"Don't love me."
Finally, the analytical part of my mind kicked in. Like everything else that Taine said, these three words by themselves were cryptic. Open to interpretation. What did that mean? Did it mean that he never wanted to speak to me again? Did it mean "don't love me because I don't love you and you'll get hurt"? Did it mean "I'll be your friend, but don't love me"? Did it mean "don't love me because I don't think I'm worth it"? Or, knowing Taine, did it just mean "don't love me" because of his byzantine way of avoiding emotion of any kind?
All of these interpretations were slightly different, and varied in their degrees of meaning, impact and finality. I wasn't sure if my analysis of each, which would consume the greater part of the next 36 hours, was a valid intellectual pursuit or just my half-assed, self-justifying way of dealing with what -- to anyone more honest with themselves -- was a brutally simple and obvious rejection.
I didn't know, but I tossed and turned in bed all night trying to figure it out.
I trimmed the hedges on Tuesday, swept the patio and cleaned the bathrooms. This suspension was going to involve a lot of work, and I still felt really bad about the tournament and causing Linda to have to sign up for Poetry Reading -- which didn't qualify for the State tournament as it wasn't an officially sanctioned event -- but I had reconciled myself to the fact that I had done it for my angel, and his physical safety was worth it.
I hoped that he would be safe at school this week, and I knew that Sly had made Coach Gorman promise that there would be no retaliation for what I'd done to his son, but I also knew how loyal and vengeful Kevin's teammates could be, and I was scared for Taine. Kirsten's phone call last night hadn't set my mind at ease one bit, either.
I was worried.
After my first day of chores had been completed and dinner had been eaten, I was laying in bed reading a horror-movie magazine called "Fangoria" with Foxy curled up next to me. Tynah and Rex had gone over to visit their old friends the Velazquez family across town, and I didn't expect them back until very late in the evening.
What I also didn't expect was the ringing doorbell at around 8 pm.
My eyes narrowed and I set down the magazine, adrenaline beginning to pump through my system. What if Kevin's friends -- whom Kirsten had told me were out for my blood -- had decided to pay me an evening visit? They could probably tell I was alone in the house, as they would know that a) I was grounded, and b) all the lights were off in the front rooms at 8:00.
Foxy's head raised in alarm and he began barking, pouncing from the bed and rushing down the hall to the front door. I followed him, all of my defensive instincts raised. I opened the front closet in the parlor, extracting a heavy pipe-wrench from Rex's toolbox on the closet floor.
Having spent much of my life in apartments, I kept forgetting that we didn't have a peephole in the front door, and I cursed whoever had decided that houses didn't need them. Okay, I thought, we'll have to do this the hard way. I raised the wrench over my head with my right hand, so that it was behind the door when I opened it with my left.
There before me, in his usual cap, army jacket, cargo pants and Jegs, stood Taine Maxwell.
I guess the upraised wrench wasn't hidden behind the door as well as I thought, because the brim lifted and the eyes widened momentarily before he figured it out.
"Expecting company?" he said with a smirk.
When the wrench had been put away and I had recovered my senses enough to get Taine in the house and seated on the living room couch, I noticed that he had brought a thin cardboard folder with him. Inside were my assignments for all my classes for the week.
He had gone to all my teachers that day and written each schedule carefully in that precise cursive scrawl. I was deeply touched by his efforts, but I was also -- in light of the three-word note which he had written me the day before -- very confused.
I got Taine a soda from the fridge and led him back to my room, where Foxy soon joined us on the bed, wagging his tail happily. As Taine sipped his soda and absently stroked my appreciative dog with his other hand, I briefly glanced at the list of assignments, thanking him profusely. After a moment, I set the folder aside and studied him.
He looked as nervous as I felt. As he removed his cap and set it next to him on the bed, neither of us speaking, I didn't know quite what to say. Obviously, he didn't either, so we just sat there for a time, looking at each other wordlessly.
As soon as the cap came off, however, my nervousness was melted by the sight of his beautiful, smooth and angelic face. I felt my eyes mist up slightly just at the pure, radiant sight of him. My Babes. He had come back to me. And he had gathered my assignments for me all day, which must have meant that he was thinking about me all day. I had certainly been thinking about him.
He regarded me for a few moments longer, and I fell in love with him all over again. His face and eyes were so trusting, so open, so utterly without guile or deception. He really was too pure for this world. He was also so fragile, though. So nervous. I felt as if I spoke a word, he would break and flee once more. Fortunately, he spoke first.
"That was really cool," he said. "What you did for me yesterday. Thanks."
I smiled. "Don't mention it. I couldn't let him hurt you."
Taine looked down at his perfect hands, pulling nervously at his fingers. He kicked off his shoes and drew himself up to sit cross-legged on the bed opposite me, still looking downward.
"Well, you didn't have to do that," he said softly, a slight smile on the perfect cupid's bow of his lips. "I'm glad you didn't get arrested."
"Me too," I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm an actor, not a convict."
"You're gonna miss the tournament, huh?" He sounded hurt, as if it had been his fault.
"Yeah, I don't care," I said easily, figuring a little white lie was okay in the bigger picture. "There's seven more. That's plenty of emoting across the state. Besides, you're worth it."
I paused, looking at him carefully, before taking a gamble. "Thanks for answering my note."
Taine, his eyes downcast, seemed to flinch slightly, and I wondered if I had gone too far too soon. He spooked easily, like a bunny in the woods, and I didn't want to chase him off again.
He didn't respond for a long time, and I became lost in the sight of his soft, silky brown hair, its blond highlights catching the warm glow from the lamp on my nightstand. How I wanted to run my fingers through that hair, hold him in my arms and never let him go. To never let anything hurt this sweet, heartbreakingly good, decent and fragile boy ever again.
He adjusted himself on the bed, and I noticed the delicate curve of his slender, pale neck as he hunched forward slightly, the army jacket hanging loosely around his frail shoulders. He pulled it around himself more tightly, and I knew that it wasn't because he was cold. He needed protective armor around him for what he was going to say next.
At long last, Taine cleared his throat, glanced up at me for a split second, and cast his eyes downward again, speaking to his adorably cute, white, tubesock-clad bunny feet rather than to me.
"About that note," he said softly. "I need you to understand something. I don't want you to..."
He stopped, seemingly at a loss for words. I had come to realize that this was a common condition for Taine, as the speed of his thoughts, the complexity of his feelings, often outmatched his ability to articulate them in a way which satisfied their true depth and layering within his amazing mind. He exhaled with what seemed to be immense frustration at the inadequacies of the English language to simply communicate basic emotional truths.
I hung on his every breath, his every slight motion as he began again.
"I need to explain it to you," he said, looking at me for confirmation.
I nodded silently, and leaned forward to listen, my heart pounding as never before.
Chapter 19
Taine Maxwell came to my house on Tuesday night, September 22nd, 1981 at just around 8:00 pm.
It was the night of my first day of suspension from Polk High for losing my mind and beating Kevin Gorman bloody with Taine's English book when I saw the loutish defensive lineman bullying my angel.
I was home alone and Tynah and Rex were at the Velazquez home, catching up with Rex's old army buddy Jorge and his warm and bawdy wife Alejandra. Rex and Jorge had known each other for thirty-six years, since they had both lied about their ages to sneak into service at the tail-end of World War II.
They could be away all night, I knew, and Tynah had even taken a change of work clothes with her for the morning in case anyone got too tipsy to drive home after their get-together.
Meanwhile, I sat crosslegged at the head of my bed, with Taine sitting crosslegged at the foot, and Foxy gnawing at some imaginary attacker on his own rear paws between us. Taine was trying to explain his note to me. The note which contained only the words "Don't love me," written in response to the overheated declaration of my love and devotion which I had slipped under his door on Sunday night, before everything had gone so horribly wrong.
"I need to explain it to you," he had said, looking to me for confirmation.
I had nodded silently, and leaned forward to listen, my heart pounding as never before...
Taine spoke then, for longer than I had ever heard him speak, and I hung on every halting, carefully-chosen and deeply-felt word. He told a heartbreaking story, the story of a life on the fringes, being bullied and persecuted everywhere he went. Aside from his rugby-playing friend, who was often unavailable, there was no one around to protect him from the sadistic teasing, the humiliating pranks, and the brutal physical attacks.
Sly had not been a very big part of Taine's early life, I was surprised to learn, as he was always traveling around the world to compete in races and attend various Formula 1 publicity events. Although he was certainly doing his best to make up for his frequent absences now, much of Taine's childhood had been spent alone in his room, with only his mother downstairs for company.
True, she was the best mother he could possibly want, fussing and doting over his injuries and tears, cooking him wonderful meals and bending over backwards to do the work of two parents and beyond. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her sweet, special, beautiful Taine. I knew the feeling well.
But there had been so many tragedies. Taine's family had been plagued by death... accidents and diseases which claimed all four of his grandparents, his aunt, his young sister while she was still in the cradle, and finally his mother, who had left him seemingly all alone in the world a few short months ago.
Taine told me of his older brother, who had left for college and never returned, the mounting deaths and funereal air which had settled over the house after little Patty's death having been too much for Blaine Maxwell to bear. He and Taine had never been particularly close anyway, the now-weeping angel in front of me explained, but he still missed his brother.
But who he missed most of all, of course, was his mother. She had been there for him every step of the way, and although Sly was doing his best since her death -- and had certainly stepped up since they had moved to San Antonio -- Taine still resented his absence during the vast majority of his excruciatingly painful childhood.
As much as I wanted to comfort him, I stayed where I was, silently encouraging him with my equally-watering and sorrowful eyes to continue.
To his credit, he did, although his slender body was now wracked with sobs, hunched over almost to his knees, his voice barely rising above a ragged whisper. His pain was incredible, overwhelming, and seemed to grip me and the entire room in a cold, black vise of anguish from which, for him, there was no hope of escape.
It was inside him, it ran through every fiber of his being, this darkness, this agony, and now he was showing it to me, laying it bare in front of me.
When he was done, he continued to cry, but looked up at me with wet, hopeless eyes. Eyes which seemed to have gone completely empty and black. Eyes which were sending me a clear, deadly serious message.
This is who I am, those eyes said. This is me all the time. This is me every second and every minute of every day and every night. This is Taine Maxwell, and this is all that I have for you. Don't love me. Don't, don't, don't, because what is inside me will destroy you just as it is destroying me.
"Everything I touch... seems to die..." he croaked hoarsely, then returned his eyes to his feet, replacing his cap on his head as Foxy leapt from the bed and wandered out of the room.
Somewhere outside, as if summoned by Taine's words and his pain, a heavy rain had begun to fall.
I didn't say anything for a long time.
Although Taine had been frustrated by his ability to articulate his story at the beginning, he had soldiered on bravely until he could. And he painted a picture so bleak, so devoid of life or joy, so solitary and bereft of anything approaching hope, that there seemed to be no words in any language with which I could adequately respond.
So I simply listened, trying as best I could to communicate my compassion, love, and empathy through reddened eyes.
Taine had courage. No one could stand in his shoes and keep walking every day without it. Parts of the mystery were now solved in my head. He was not really a distant, ethereal angel. Taine was very human and he was a fifteen year old teenager who felt that he was cursed with eternal solitude and the touch of death. He had lost his mother, his sister, his brother, his extended family, and his best friend.
Taine stood and walked to the window, looking out into the back yard, tears still falling from his eyes. Something clicked in my mind then. It occured to me that it was up to me. I was the missing piece.
I got up slowly from the bed and walked behind Taine, who seemed as if he would collapse at a touch. I risked it, slowly placing my left hand on his left shoulder. He didn't flinch, didn't seem to react at all. It was as if everything had poured out of him and he was now empty, wrung-out and flat. Slowly, gently, I wrapped my right arm around his waist, laying my head on his right shoulder and hugging him closer to me.
I only hugged him for a moment before retreating, afraid of overstepping again at a crucial moment, but Taine turned to me then, his eyes still leaking tears, and met my gaze. We spoke volumes to each other through our eyes, our hearts and souls melding as the rain continued to fall outside.
We both knew that this was the moment, that there would be no turning back.
With an almost imperceptible nod, Taine gave his assent.
I took him in my arms, then, and he let me.
And then his cap was falling to the floor and our lips were together and his arms were around me and he was kissing me back. We tumbled back onto my bed, desperately clutching at each other, kissing and squeezing and trying only to get closer, to fill all of our emptiness and pain and need with each other's, as if somehow two negatives would make the positive that we both hungered for so much in our lives, in our souls.
And for the first time since we had met, for the first time in my life, I felt complete and whole and exactly where I was supposed to be... and it was magic.
Thank you for reading Chapter 18 & 19. To be continued...
Once again, I'm always happy to hear from readers at DJAkeeba@aol.com. You have all been so supportive and encouraging, and I thank you all for your e-mails, and there's plenty more of this story to come.
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