Tripod Chapter 18
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TRIPOD
Chapter -- 18
The following morning, I stopped in at He Brew to grab a coffee and say hi to Miguel. There was a chill in the air and the first frost couldn't be far behind. A café con leche would really be a lifesaver.
"Hi, Miguel. ¿Cómo estás?" I asked.
"Hey, guapo. I'm good. The usual?" Miguel responded
"Sounds good, but just coffee. I've already had breakfast," I said.
"I haven't seen you guys this week. Everything OK?"
"We've been busy and, to be honest, having breakfast and coffee out every day was getting a little expensive," I said.
"I'm sure your family can afford it," Miguel said.
That was kind of nasty. "I only get $100 a month allowance and I have to do stuff around the house to get it. If I want to do something special, I have to ask for more money and I need to have a good reason. I went to the movies and dinner with Eddie last Sunday and my dad gave me $50, which barely covered the admission and dinner."
"That must be nice," Miguel said. "My mom barely makes enough to pay the rent and buy basic food. It's always been like this for my family. The American dream hasn't exactly come true for us. I guess it was better than staying in El Salvador and being forced into a gang or getting murdered for being gay, but every day is tough here. Even with what I make here, we still hardly get by."
"I know. That's tough, which is why I suggested we go to the park last week and why I'm inviting you over for dinner tonight," I said. "I don't want you to feel like you have to spend any money when you see me."
"So, you feel sorry for me, right?" Miguel said. "I'm some charity case?"
"No, it's not like that at all! I think you're nice and I want us to be friends. I'm just looking for ways to make that easier. I'm cooking dinner tonight because I like to and ever since I was a kid, that's how I show my friends and family that I care about them."
Miguel looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. It's not you. Things have been really bad lately with money. I'm looking forward to dinner tonight though. Whatcha making?"
"It's a secret. But nothing fancy. I don't have the time for a five-course feast," I said, realizing that I hadn't figured out just what I was going to make.
"Here's your hot coffee. By the way, you look really hot today, too. After dinner, can I be your dessert? I'd love to get some of your special cream whipped right up in my butt with that oversized mixer of yours."
I laughed. "Sounds delicious."
"Text me your address. See you at 7:00?" Miguel asked.
"See ya. Thanks for the coffee," I said.
***
As I walked up the steps of our school, I saw that Brandon was waiting for me. It's strange that I used to hate the sight of him, but now it was like having a pet sitting patiently for you when you got home at night, comforting and nice.
"Hey, Jaime. How's it going?" Brandon beamed.
"I'm not used to seeing you smile this much, but I could get used to it. Hey, I'm glad you were waiting for me. I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things," I said.
"Sure, what's up?"
"There's a girl named Ashley who I want you to meet tomorrow afternoon. Let's just call her the school's resident style consultant. Now that you've got a new life, your friends think it's time to get you a new look," I said.
"No shit. My dad never let me get a decent haircut. I dress like a frickin' lumberjack because Dad always made me look 'modest and masculine.' My clothes are baggy as shit because showing off your body was 'sinful,' and I could never use anything to clear up my skin or clean up my eyebrows because he thought all that stuff was for 'faggots.'"
"Ashley's gonna let me know exactly when and where you should meet her, but I'm guessing that after school tomorrow, she's gonna take you for a fresh trim and to buy a new 'fit."
"Dude, I told you. I don't have any money. Otherwise, I would have already done that stuff. You can tell Ashley 'Thanks, but no thanks.'"
"No worries. We're chipping in to take care of it."
Brandon's mouth dropped open. "Jaime, I can't. I mean, you shouldn't. Don't spend your money on me. I'll figure something out. No one needs to help out with this," He was clearly embarrassed.
"It's mostly Ashley. She's a super-sweet girl who has a very rich mom. Ashley likes to use her big allowance to help people who could use a hand. I'm kicking in a little money, too. Please, we want you to know that we really do care about you and if you feel good about how you look, then other people will pick up on that," I said.
A tear started to slowly make its way down Brandon's left cheek.
"I also wanted to talk to you about something else," I continued, "I talked to my grandma yesterday. She's a social worker in Chicago. She's gonna get me the names of some people who may be able to help you guys with stuff like a job search for your mom and maybe some other things."
I paused for a second to think about the best way to approach the next subject. "I didn't want to talk about this in front of anyone else, but do you think you guys could use some psych help? I mean, with all the shit you've been through, maybe it could help your whole family. How's your little brother doing?"
The trickle of tears on Brandon's face was now becoming a babbling brook.
"We're not doing great. My brother's thirteen and I'm guessing that my dad did the same fucked-up things to him that he did to me, but my brother won't talk about it. I'm sure my dad told him that if he said anything, no one would believe him. My mom's trying to be strong for my brother and me, but I hear her crying in her room every night. I'm the lucky one. You and Tyler and Eddie have been amazing just by letting me hang out with you, but I'm sure I could use a few years on a shrink's couch, too."
I reached up and gave Brandon a hug. "Let me see what info I can get from my grandma. If anyone can get you guys some help, it's her. That woman never takes 'No' for an answer. By the way, did your mom graduate from college?"
"Yeah, she's got a degree in accounting. But she never used it. She married my dad right out of college and stuff's changed. I don't think she kept up with things." Brandon said.
"I'm sure the basics of accounting haven't changed. We can try to get her some training that will make it easier for her to get a job. I'm also sure there are companies that would want to help out someone in your mom's position.
"Also, one last thing. Here's $50. I'm tired of seeing you eat peanut butter and jelly. Please don't say no. You know I have this thing about feeding people. As much as I like PB & J's, I can't stand watching you eat another one. Please, buy lunch at the cafeteria. I know the food's not great, but it's better than PB & J's."
Brandon wrapped me in a bear hug.
"Shit! It's almost 8:00," I said, as we let go of one another and raced into the school building. I made it into my seat in home room just as the bell rang.
Once attendance was taken, my favorite person, the wannabee voiceover guy, came onto the loudspeaker, "Good morning, students and faculty. Don't forget about the Gay-Straight Alliance's Coffee House tomorrow at 7:30PM. They're having a bake sale to benefit LGBTQ teen suicide-prevention charities. If you know how to bake, bring something yummy to sell. If you know how to shop, buy something yummy to donate. If you're going to attend, plan on spending money to binge eat and get fat for a good cause. Also, students, remember that our eating disorder support group meets every Wednesday at 3:15...just kidding."
What a turd.
***
At lunch that day, the now-standard group of five (Eddie, Tyler, Seán, Brandon and I) were sitting at the table. It was great seeing Brandon eating a hot meal for once, even if it was just the cheese pizza with a little salad on the side.
A few minutes later, Ron from the gymnastics team walked up carrying his lunch tray.
"Hey, guys. What's up?" Ron beamed.
"Ok, what gives? Why so perky?" Tyler asked. "I haven't seen you this pumped since you nailed the double-twist dismount on the rings."
Ron leaned in and whispered, "Jaime, your advice was amazing. It was all in my head. Once I relaxed and thought about the 'mechanical prostate stimulation device' everything just sort of slipped into place."
"Nice choice of words," Eddie smirked.
"I've never fucking cum so much in my life. You guys who like to take it up the butt need to tell the world how good it feels," Ron said, in complete seriousness.
"We've been trying for centuries, but every time we did, we got stoned to death, hanged, thrown from the tops of buildings, jailed, fired, or otherwise told we were worthless perverts, so maybe we'll just keep this our little secret," I said.
"Oh, I see your point," Ron said. "In any case, Stephanie strapped on a dildo last night, and told me I was a worthless piece of crap and that I deserved what I was about to get. What a fucking turn-on. Then she shoved this 8" rubber dick up my ass. I pretended to hate it and started squirming around and yelling that I was a bad boy and I deserved it, but I fucking loved every second of it. Shot my load without even touching myself, which pissed her off so much that she pulled out and spanked my ass hard, which got me even hotter. And I guess her, too, because she made me go down on her and she came three times. You guys are the best."
Eddie, Tyler and I just laughed. Seán looked embarrassed, but Brandon had turned white as a sheet. He stood up and ran out of the cafeteria. I ran after him.
"Brandon! Bro, wait up." I said, knowing that this was not what I'd hoped for when Tyler invited Brandon to joined us at our lunch table.
Brandon ran into the boys' restroom. I followed him in there. He ran into a stall and slammed the door shut. I could hear his muffled sobs and my heart broke for him. Luckily, we were alone.
"It's OK, Brandon. Ron didn't know. Please come out and let me talk to you."
"Go away, Jaime. Please, just leave me alone," Brandon sobbed.
"No. I won't leave you alone. The last thing you need is to be left alone. I'm not leaving. You're going to have to come out sooner or later. I don't care if you're crying. I still like you and I still want to be your friend."
Brandon sat there sobbing for a couple of minutes. Then the sounds of crying slowly stopped. I heard Brandon blow his nose, then flush the toilet. The lock turned and he stepped out, looking like hell.
He took a deep breath and said, "Just hearing Ron talk about what he did brought it all back. It was like it happened to me yesterday. Time after time for four fucking years. I was just a kid. I couldn't say no. Told over and over again that I was a bad boy. A worthless piece of shit. Forced to take it up the ass even though it hurt and I didn't want to. Then feeling even worse afterwards because I knew I was gay and had had thoughts about boys who I liked being with me in that way. My own father made me feel dirty and disgusting. Oh, God, Jaime, I'm so totally fucked up. Why would you ever want to be my friend?"
"Because I know what your asshole dad never knew, that you're a really wonderful guy who'll do great things in his life. And I want you to get help so that when someone like Ron comes along, you can listen to his story and it won't make you freak. You can listen to it and not relive a nightmare. You'll just laugh at your weird friend's fetish and be happy that he found someone who is special for him."
"I sure fucking hope so, because this is not how I wanted my life to be once I realized that I was finally free. Free physically, but not in my head yet, I guess," Brandon said.
I heard the bathroom door open and was relieved to see that it was just Tyler and Eddie, looking very concerned.
"We made up a story about you having bad stomach issues," said Tyler. "We said we were going to check to see if you needed to go to the ER. Are you OK, Brandon?"
"I'm so sorry, guys," Brandon said. "Please don't think I'm a total freak."
"I understand exactly how you feel, dude," Eddie said. "I've been there. Maybe I haven't experienced what you did, but there was a time when something just pushed me over the edge and I didn't think I could go on. We're gonna get you some help. Jaime's grandma knows people. It's OK to admit that you're hurting. We're here for you."
The three of us circled around Brandon and held him tight. We knew that by tomorrow, everyone would forget about the kid who raced out of the cafeteria looking pale. So, instead of going back to the lunch room, we just stayed in the bathroom until the period ended.
***
In AP history class, during yet another thrilling lecture about the Visigoth migration and the sacking of Rome, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket:
Darius: Hey
Well, not exactly a clever intro, but he's hot and I was hoping he'd text me.
Me: Hey. Sup?
Darius: Study hall. U?
Me: History. BORING. Sorry we couldn't hang last night.
Darius: IKR. So...U know I'm Persian and go to East. U?
Me: Mixed like a smoothie. Black, Mexican, Spanish, Jewish. Out. Short. Gymnast. Cook. Filmmaker. Friend.
Darius_: LOL._ U win best short resume contest. Me. NOT out. Wrestler. Eater. Reader. Traveler. Friend, too? Wanna get together?
Me: Sure. But is not being out gonna cause issues?
Darius: No. I've got some out LGBTQ friends. I'm just not ready myself. Afraid of family drama, mostly with the grandparents. Being gay is a huge deal in Iran.
Me: But your family's been here for how long??
Darius: IKR. Since 1980. My grandparents all knew each other in Tehran. My parents played together as kids. They left Iran because they were too liberal for the ayatollah. But liberal in Iran isn't liberal here. Granny thinks she's open-minded cause she doesn't think gay people should get stoned to death
Me: (Mind blown emoji)
Me: Looking to hang or just hook up?
Darius: Hang first. You seem cool. Would like to get to know U. OK?
Me: Even better. Like coffee?
Darius: Nope. But love tea. Iranians are obsessed with the stuff. Always served in my house. There's a place downtown that serves great tea and coffee. The pastries are yum too. It's called The Deep Steep. Know it?
Me: Sure. I've passed by, but never gone in. Sounds cool. Free Sunday?
Darius: Yup
"Jaime. Please put the phone away. You know the rules," Ms. Petersen snarled.
I'd catch up with Darius later.
***
At gymnastics practice, Ron came over to ask about Brandon. I told him that ever since his dad's arrest, Brandon had been having some stomach issues and that he really, really had had to get to the bathroom.
"I hope that dude gets some psych help. I hear there's all sorts of physical shit that can be caused by stress," Ron said.
"You know, Ron, you're into some pretty weird shit," I said, "but it sounds like you and Stephanie are made for each other."
"True. Outside the bedroom, she's this sweet, smart, wonderful girl, and I'm just a regular athlete and a good student. But we're both just wired different, I guess. I totally get off being humiliated and spanked and she gets off doing it to me. It's just play, but it works for the two of us. I think I'd be bored with another girl."
***
After practice, I ran home to get ready for dinner with Miguel. I didn't want to do anything complicated or from a cuisine he might not know--no Ethiopian or Mongolian, so I decided to make milanesa de pollo a caballo. It's basically just a pounded, breaded, fried chicken breast served with a fried egg on top. I like to throw on some arugula, too, to freshen it up. I had just enough time to roast some potatoes covered in garlic and olive oil. For dessert, good old American apple crisp. It was autumn, after all, and the apples were great this time of year.
I got to work and had the dessert and potatoes in the oven by the time Dad got home at 6:30. The fried chicken breast needed to wait to be cooked until Miguel was there, because they don't hold up too well in the oven; they get dry.
"Hey, buddy. What's up?" Dad asked, swooping in for a hug.
I told him about my crazy day with Brandon freaking out and about the text I'd gotten from Darius.
"You never told me you met someone at the supermarket yesterday," Dad said.
"I guess it slipped my mind when we were talking about Brandon at dinner last night. Yeah, his name's Darius. He goes to East. He's a senior. His mom sent him to the store to get some Asian food stuff and we bonded over gojuchang paste."
"Really? So, are you guys going to meet up?" Dad asked.
"Yeah. On Sunday, downtown. For coffee. He's a wrestler. Likes to travel and read. And his family's originally from Iran. He's not out to his family though," I said.
"Wrestler? Nice body, I'm guessing?"
I blushed. "Actually, yeah. He's probably in like the 138lb or 144lb weight class. He's maybe 5'7" or 5'8". Very toned. And with a million-dollar smile."
"And what are you planning to do with Miguel tonight?" Dad inquired smugly.
"Enjoy a nice dinner and talk, then maybe play some video games. We'll see how the rest of the night goes. And Dad, he's really sensitive about money. He comes from a poor family. Things have been very hard for him and his mom."
Miguel rang the doorbell at 7:10.
"Hey, Jaime. Wow! Something smells awesome," Miguel said, as he leaned in for a hug. He stepped into our house and looked around, his eyes taking in all of the details of the remodeled kitchen and living room. "Wow, this is a really beautiful place." Then he turned to me and said, "This is for you," as he handed me a half pound of Panama Boquete Reserve coffee.
"Wow, now that's a gift I can put to good use. You really didn't have to," I said.
"My mom said you should never show up empty-handed. Plus, I get the employee discount," he smirked.
Miguel walked over to my dad and offered up his hand to shake, "Hi, I'm Miguel. Nice to meet you, Mr. Fine."
"Hi, Miguel. Please, call me Barry. Do you want a pop or a water or something?" Dad asked.
"I'm good. Thanks," Miguel said.
"Do you want me to give you a tour of our place while Jaime finishes up cooking or do you want to stay and watch the master chef at work?" Dad asked.
"This kitchen is as big as half of our apartment. I think I'll hang here and watch Jaime work his magic." Miguel said.
"We bought this house when Jaime was in kindergarten. It needed a lot of work. Little by little we did the renovation until we were happy. One of the things we really wanted was a big kitchen so that our whole extended family could hang out in it when we get together. Jaime's lucky that he has all of his grandparents still around and living nearby. Even my grandmother is still alive at 93. And we all like to cook. So, you can imagine what a crazy scene this is around Thanksgiving," Dad said proudly.
"Did you do the work yourself?" Miguel asked.
Dad laughed, "I'm afraid I never inherited a 'handy' gene. I'm OK with technology and electronic stuff, but when it comes to things like carpentry and plumbing, that's way out of my league. But Jaime, actually, is pretty good at stuff like that. He replaced our old kitchen faucet because he wanted one that turned on and off when you touched it. Believe it or not, it was his Christmas present a couple of years ago. I told him that he could have it, but only if we didn't have to pay a plumber a few hundred bucks just to put it in. He went online, searched how to install it, and did a great job."
I blushed.
"We're always fighting with our landlord just to fix the crappy stuff we've got," Miguel said. "Our apartment is cold in the winter and hot in the summer."
"Dinner's just about ready," I said, as the sunny-side-up eggs were close to done and ready to place onto the milanesas. "You guys have a seat and I'll get everything onto the plates."
Dad and Miguel took a seat and I brought their dinners over to them before serving myself, "Nothing fancy, just pounded and fried chicken breasts with an egg and some arugula and garlic roasted potatoes. It was the best I could do on a weeknight."
"This looks great, Jaime," Dad said.
"I'm starving," said Miguel. "This looks amazing."
"Do you want anything to drink, Miguel?" Dad offered.
"Water's good. Thanks."
"So, Jaime tells me you're going to college at night? What are you studying?"
"Business administration. I'm hoping to get my associate's degree this year. I'd love to finish a bachelor's degree at a 4-year college, but I just don't have the money," said Miguel. "I didn't really get good enough grades in high school to get scholarships and I can't see having to pay off student loans for years and years when I barely make enough money to survive now. Maybe with a four-year degree, I could get a job that pays better, but who knows? Pay sucks compared to the cost of stuff. And I don't come from a family like yours, with two parents who have good jobs. It's really tough for poor kids these days, ya know?"
"Yeah, I know," Dad said. "It seems that each new generation has had it tougher than the last, ever since my parents' generation."
"What are you talking about?" Miguel asked. "You live in a fancy house in a nice, safe town. You've got a fucking faucet that turns on and off when you touch it. How would you know about being poor? Have you ever been poor? Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up with a single, immigrant mom who has to work as a goddamn maid because she doesn't have a green card and can barely even speak English?"
Miguel's was angry and resentful. I didn't want to jump in because I honestly had nothing to add to the conversation. I'd never been poor. For someone like Miguel who'd experienced what it was like to go hungry, how could I say anything that would show empathy without sounding patronizing?
Dad thought for a second, but kept completely cool, then said, "No, Miguel, I've never been poor. I grew up in a nice house in Hyde Park, but it's not far from Englewood and other really poor neighborhoods of the city. My mom is a doctor at a health clinic in Englewood that serves a lot of people who don't have much money. I've seen people who waited until they were desperately ill to come to the clinic because they couldn't afford to take a single day off of work or had no one to watch their kids while they went to the doctor. And I've seen people who were barely surviving on public assistance or were homeless. My mom and dad made sure that my brother and me saw that and that we knew we were lucky.
"Every year Jaime, his mom, and I volunteer at food banks, not just around the holidays but throughout the year. We also help to cook for people who are homeless. And we donate money to organizations that help poor people. Just because I haven't lived that experience, doesn't mean I don't understand it. Being poor sucks. The key is how people who have react to people who don't have. You can sit and shake your head and say, 'Oh, it sucks to be poor. How sad.' Or you can do your best to help those who haven't had the opportunities that we've had or been as lucky as we have."
As Dad had been talking, Miguel was sinking lower and lower in his chair, the anger being replaced by shame.
"I'm really sorry. You invited me for dinner, then I insulted you while I ate your delicious food. I should go. I really don't deserve to be here," Miguel said.
"No, Miguel. You're our guest and we want you to stay," Dad said. "You're allowed one rude outburst per visit, OK? The same rule applies to all of our guests."
"You should hear some of the stuff his grandma says," I smiled.
Dad laughed, "That's for sure."
Miguel smiled meekly. "The food really is awesome, Jaime. What did you call this again?"
"Milanesa de pollo a caballo with garlic roasted potatoes. I like to add the arugula, the green stuff, because I like how it gives it kind of a peppery crunch. I think milanesas started in Argentina, but you can find them lots of places these days," I said.
"It's a great change from rice, beans, pupusas and fast food, let me tell ya," Miguel said.
When it was time for dessert, the apple crisp, served with vanilla ice cream, got lots of compliments, too. When we were done, Miguel volunteered to do the dishes and I was happy to let him.
"OK," said Miguel, "what's next?" He smiled and winked.
"You guys want to head up to Jaime's room and play video games or whatever?" Dad asked.
"Sounds great," I said, with a shit-eating grin, shoving Miguel out of the kitchen and pointing him towards the stairs.
We raced into my bedroom and shut the door. Within a minute Miguel had stripped off my clothes and was down on his knees stroking on my quickly hardening dick. "I want this thing up my ass now!" he growled.
I pulled off his shirt, while he got out of his jeans and underwear.
"Got lube?" he asked.
"Sure, but do I get a kiss first?" I asked.
"No. I want you to fuck me now. I've been fantasizing about that enormous cock all week. I can't wait. Fuck me!"
"OK. Let me get the lube and condoms," I said.
"Bareback. I want you to breed me. I want to feel your cum shoot in me," Miguel demanded.
"Wait. No. I don't know you that well. I want to wear a condom," I said, getting a bit nervous.
"Don't you trust me? I'm clean. Lube it up and shove it in."
"Sorry, no. I want to put on a condom. I'm not on PrEP. I'm sure you're careful, but I don't feel comfortable barebacking with you," I said.
"Didn't you do it with Tyler and Eddie?? What's the big deal?" Miguel said impatiently.
"I've known them for years. They only have unprotected sex with each other and they get tested every few months anyway. I made an exception just for them."
"Fine, whatever. Put the fucking condom on and fuck the shit out of me already." Miguel said.
This was not headed in a good direction, but I didn't want to seem like a prude. I slicked up my dick and put the condom on, then I took a big glob of lube and slicked up Miguel's hole on the outside.
"Come on already. Go for it!" He begged.
I gently pushed the tip of my condom-covered cock against his hole. It met some resistance, so I eased up to let him get used to the pressure.
"Shove it in! I want to feel that huge fucker in my hole now!" He insisted.
I pushed a bit harder and his pucker yielded under the pressure. He grabbed my ass and pulled me into him. Then flinched and let go.
"STOP!! FUCK!! It hurts." Miguel screamed.
"You told me to shove it into you," I said. "Let's try it again. I'll go slow."
I started to push forward slowly. "Try to relax. Take a deep breath. I want you to feel good."
After I'd gotten about eight inches into him, Miguel screamed, "You're fucking killing me. I can't take it. I wanted to live out a porn fantasy, but you're just a freak. No one can take a cock that big."
"What did you just call me?" I asked, as I slid my now-wilting cock from his ass.
"Come on, Jaime, you've got to admit it. You're a freak of nature. You're sporting more cock for your size than anyone known to man," Miguel laughed.
"I think you should go," I said.
"What? What the fuck are you talking about? Let me suck you off then. That would be hot, too. Then you can blast that load all over me," Miguel said.
"I don't think so," I replied.
"Didn't you do all sorts of shit with your buddies?" Miguel asked.
"I did and I loved it, and you know why I loved it? Because they are my buddies. They treated me with respect. Yeah, they got a huge turn on with my 'freakish' cock, but they never forgot who it was attached to. They made me feel good because they like me for me. It was awesome because we took our time and we made sure we all felt comfortable and we all wanted to make each other feel good. You just want to have a fantasy dick to get yourself off. That doesn't work for me. Go buy yourself an 11" dildo. I want you to leave now."
I picked up Miguel's clothes and tossed them over to him.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Miguel said.
"You seem to say that a lot," I interrupted. "Maybe you should think before you open your mouth. You said we were 'friends with benefits,' but you forgot the 'friends' part. Please, get dressed and go home."
Miguel shook his head, then picked up his clothes and got dressed. I put my jeans and t-shirt back on and gestured to the door. Miguel headed to the stairs and I followed him. Dad was still sitting in the living room when we walked past. He looked surprised.
"Miguel's feeling kind of tired. So am I. So, he's just going to head home," I said, as I walked to the front door and opened it.
"Thanks, Barry. It was nice to meet you. Bye, Jaime," Miguel said. And with that, Miguel walked out into the cold, night air.
"That was quick," Dad said. "Everything OK?" His look had changed from surprise to concern.
"You remember a few weeks ago when you said that there would be guys who'd want me just for my dick?" Dad nodded. "I guess I just met one of them. I know I'm not a prude. And I know I don't need to be in love with a dude to want to fool around with him, but he really just made me feel like I wasn't even a person. I told him to go by a big dildo and pretty much threw him out."
Dad walked over and gave me a hug. "I'm glad you stood up for yourself. You're not willing to sacrifice what's important to you just to make someone else happy. Good for you."
"Yeah, but he's still hot. But that wasn't enough, I guess. Looks can get you into someone's bed, but once you're there, you've got to actually do some work to make the owner of the bed want you to stay.
"Oh, Dad, by the way, you remember the $50 you gave me to kick in to Brandon's makeover? Well, I gave it to him to buy lunch. The poor guy's been living on PB & J's for over a week now."
"That's fine. Food always is more important than fashion. I'm glad you did that," Dad said. "I'm heading up to bed."
"Night, Dad. Thanks for listening. Love you," I said.
"Sleep tight, kid. Love you, too."
As Dad climbed the stairs, I reached for my phone. I usually only check e-mail once a day. It's just not how my friends and I communicate. There was an email from Abuela sitting in my inbox. I opened it up and there were like fifteen different organizations and names of people that Brandon and his family could reach out to for help.
I admit that I sometimes take for granted how lucky I am to have friends and family who love me and care about me. This was not one of those times.
Me: Night, Tyler. (heart emoji) U, dude.
Tyler: Night, little dude. (heart emoji) U2
Me: Night, Stinky. (heart emoji) U.
Stinky: Night, Tripod. (heart emoji) U2
Me: Night, Mom. TQM.
Mom_: Good night, hijo. Te quiero mucho también._
End -- Chapter 18