Here, for Christmas, is the Chjtristmas chapter of the story. The usual disclaimers apply: This is a work of fiction, so don't try to find yourself or your uncle or anything in it - they're not there. If reading (at times) erotic fiction involving teenagers is illegal where you live, or not something you approve of, please don't read it.
My thanks to the people who've kindly reached out to me to express their appreciation for this story, as well as those who've provided critiques. I don't pretend to be a genius at this, and feedback is always welcomed.
My thanks, especially, of course, to Nifty, for hosting the site and providing me a forum for stories like this. It's a good time of year for giving, as they say, so consider adding Nifty to your list. Santa will look kindly on the deed.
If this story interests you, please feel free to check out my other Nifty story, "Seal Rocks," also in the HS section and completed back in April 2011 (! I've been at this story for almost ten years now!).
Thanks again, stay safe, and Happy Holidays.
When the World Changed, Part 34
As soon as his mother left for work, Brady changed into his farm clothes and biked out to the trotter farm. He had decided that he needed to work over the holiday. Bicycling through the slushy roads outside town was dicey at best; several times he nearly skidded out - and with cars zipping by, that would have been dangerous. It took an hour to get to the turnoff for the farm, at which point he had to walk his bike up the long unplowed gravel path, which only a few trucks had carved tire tracks through. He was of course familiar to the crew there, and was put to work immediately, mucking a long barn with about twenty stalls.
He found he needed gloves, and not just because of the cold: his hands had lost their calluses; he blistered. Buddy, the old trainer, teased him about it. "You're gettin' soft, Brady. Can't be no farmhand if y' can't handle a decent size manure shovel!" The stableboys (mostly Puerto Rican, and old enough that the stock term "boys" seemed an odd fit, to say the least) laughed along with Buddy, and Brady took it all in good humor.
"You guys're just happy I showed up to shovel the shit for you for a change."
But it bothered him. He could never remember getting blisters from any sort of farm work before.
The day went quickly - mucking stalls, pulling fragrant damp bales of hay and barley down to spread on the stalls and in the feed troughs, along with various other feed items, a couple of repairs to a milking machine over in the farm's small cow barn (Brady, having also worked on local dairy farms, had some expertise with such devices). At the day's end Buddy offered to drive him home in his rig. "It'll be icing up on that road, son. And it's dark. You don't wanna ride that thing in those conditions. Throw it in the back o' my rig, I'll get y' home safe." On the ride, Buddy spoke proudly of how Emory Hanover was progressing in his training. As they approached Brady's house, he turned to look Brady in the eye. "I hear your ma had some trouble these past few weeks with that bastard Jocko."
"I - I guess so. I wasn't, y'know, aware of it - until just when I got home." The subject made Brady uncomfortable.
Buddy nodded. "Well, I don't like that old coot much, myself. Never did." Brady had to suppress a chuckle - for Buddy to call anybody else an old coot was really something. "She doin' better now?"
"I- I guess, yeah."
"I been payin' you minimum wage, right?"
"Yes, sir. Dollar sixty an hour."
Buddy nodded. "OK. Well, you ain't gonna be here for more'n a couple weeks I'm guessin', so how's about we make it three an hour for now?"
Brady's face reddened. "Three? Buddy, are you - you serious???"
"I wouldn't'a said it if I wasn't."
"I - that would - Buddy, thank you so, so much!!!" Brady didn't know whether to laugh, or yell, or cry, or maybe do all three at once.
"Just for this break, now," buddy answered, holding up his hands. "And not a word to any o' the stable boys, OK? Or anybody else. Let's just keep this b'tween us, OK?"
"Of course. I understand. I - thanks, man I can't -"
"No need. You go clean up. Tomorrow we start at 6:30; don't be lazin' in at 9 like today. And Merry Christmas."
"Yes sir - I'll be there. Thanks so much!" Brady flew out of the cab, hefted his bike out of the truckbed, and stashed it in the garage as Buddy pulled out. He ran to Grouch, who was sitting on top of his doghouse, tail thumping against the plywood roof. "Hey, buddy," he whispered, nuzzling into the fur on the side of Grouch's neck and getting sloppily licked on the side of his own in return. "You getting cold? Let's get inside, OK?" Grouch leaped enthusiastically to the ground, and Brady unhooked him carefully, keeping a grip on the choke chain. "No running away at Christmas time, Grouch. Straight to the house."
Hal was peeling potatoes, from the large burlap bags they'd surreptitiously filled the previous summer, which now resided in the frigid basement. "Where were you all day?"
"Worked with Buddy and the crew. They're taking me on over break."
Hal smiled slightly. "You too, huh? I talked to Al at the drug store. I'm back there too. And he might get me a janitor job nights at the Cyanamid plant by the turnpike."
"Can you do both? You'll be like bushed, won't you?"
"It's money, and it's a foot in the door there. See if I can move to days and something better than cleaning toilets." He sniffed. "Speaking of which, you smell like a horse's toilet. Better throw your stuff in the washer and get cleaned up."
Their dinner that night was more cheerful. Brady's mother had spoken to people at the bank, and they were reconsidering a loan for Hal. That news perked him up immensely, which made Brady feel better. He needed to have Hal in a good mood, to lean on his older brother. Hal, now that he was happier, also teased Brady about his blisters, with his mother laughing along despite a lingering look of concern. "Do you need to get something to put on them, honey?"
Brady shook his head. "Nah, they'll callus up in a couple of days. Besides, Christmas Eve and Christmas will be short days, just basic mucking out. It'll only take a couple of hours. That'll give 'em a chance to heal over."
She seemed unconvinced. "Well, you be careful, and wear good gloves." She looked over at Hal. "I don't want him riding a bike out there on these roads. You be sure to drive him, all right?"
"No need, Mom. Buddy already offered to pick me up and bring me back home."
"That's a relief," deadpanned Hal. "I don't wanna drive out there either."
Brady started to punch him in the arm playfully, then held back. He was still, after all, a big brother.
They watched "The Wild Wild West" together, then Brady begged to see "Star Trek." As the episode unfolded, Brady was enthralled. Could Scotty really be a murderer? When the evil spirit took over the computer, Spock commanded it to calculate pi to its last digit. Brady's mother frowned. "Why did he do that?"
"Pi is an indefinite number," Brady immediately answered. "You can keep dividing forever and it never comes out even. You can always divide it again."
Hal smiled at him, nodding. "Right. But it's 'irrational,' not 'indefinite.' An irrational number." And he punched Brady in the arm playfully, because he was still, after all, a big brother.
The next couple of days passed quickly. Brady finished work at the stables in only a couple of hours, allowing time for Hal and him to do some shopping. Saturday night, Debby DiBoise called, but Brady managed to keep her at arm's length, telling her he was working almost full time and couldn't see her for several days. There was enough truth in the statement that Brady managed to convince himself he hadn't outright lied to her. Nonetheless, he felt guilty, and heard the disappointment in her voice.
He didn't admit it to himself, but he also felt disappointed that he hadn't heard from Doug. He'd said he'd call, didn't he? Perhaps there'd been an accident - it was bad weather out to central Pannsylvania that night.
Christmas itself was oddly anticlimactic. He'd looked forward to the day so much as a child, with a child's anticipation of toys and treats and unimagined surprises, that suddenly to experience it as even somewhat of an adult was a quiet letdown. Certainly Trent's absence didn't make things easier - his mother carefully set aside several presents for his return. That sense of absence - of his now gone childhood, of his brother, of his father - seemed to hang over the entire day. Hal and he made what they could of things, teasing their mother about the several dresses and blouses they'd found for her, and how their high necklines would disguise the creases that age and too many cigarettes were slowly carving into her throat. And, to be sure, he was grateful for what he received - another suit, second hand, but retailored by Sal to a gleaming perfection, some dress shirts and ties, a new Timex, underwear and socks to replace worn out ones, even some cologne from Hal, delivered with a brother's leering intimation that if he wore it, he just might get lucky. But it all felt forced, artificial, a circling around unspoken subjects and feelings that were best left to silence. They cooked and ate their turkey in a polite, loving, and straitened quiet - which seemed increasingly to be their standard mode of non-intercourse.
Brady went to the lake after dinner, and skated, alone, far back past the reach of the lights, to where it turned marshy, and tussocks of grass pushed up through the ice. He knew where the stream that flowed past the clearing where he and Kenny had lain together ran into the lake. Something in him wanted to get to that spot, to feel whatever came from that merger even through the frozen water. But the tussocks grew too thick, and the ice therefore too thin and fragile, and his quest was in vain.
As he approached the lights again, a delighted voice called to him. "Brady!!!" Debby DiBoise moved gracefully towards him, her shadow from the lights on the dam elongated across the ice in the blackness. 'I was hoping you'd be out tonight! How are you? How was Christmas? Are you working tomorrow?" Her questions came a mile a minute, Brady blinked as he tried to keep up.
"Um, hi! Yea, I - I have to work in the morning. I - Christmas was great, really great. Uh, how was yours?"
Debby launched into a breathless narration of the things she'd gotten, as the small cluster of girls she'd been standing with skated over to join them. Brady was acutely conscious of their evaluating stares - like he was a foreign object: not entirely human, not entirely sexual, but enough of both to warrant examination.
Debby's arm now slid possessively into his. "So when are we finally going to hang out?" she asked, smiling sweetly at him. "I mean, you're only home until right after New Year's, right?"
Brady struggled to remember basic facts, under the gaze of so many girls. "Um, no, actually, we - I start back - I have to be back on Sunday, the 7th, for dinner and all."
"Oh," said one of the other girls. He vaguely remembered her name was Patty, from Elystown. What was she doing here, he wondered, don't they have their own lake? "You're the one going to that school, aren't you?"
The term "that school" pissed Brady off a bit, but he tried not to show it. "Yeah," he said as evenly as he could, "I go to Wilson, over in Summerton."
"Summerton's an awful town," one of the other girls, who Brady couldn't quite place, said. "They're all greasers."
"Not the Wilson boys," Patty answered, smirking a bit at Brady. "They're all goody goody, are they, Brady?"
"Come on, Brady's not like that!" Debby objected, mobbing closer to him.
"Yeah, I bet," Patty jeered, skating slowly away. "Come on, girls." Most of the group followed her off toward the small bonfire that someone had lit along the shore. Brady could see Tony Feehan sitting on a rock near the fire, dragging on a cigarette. He wondered, momentarily, if Kenny was there too.
"I'm sorry, Brady," Debby said. "She's just a jerk sometimes. Well, a lot of the time, actually."
Brady laughed a bit at that, mirthlessly.
Debby slid a bit closer; Brady could feel the warmth of her body through their heavy woolen coats. "Do you want to go skate back up the lake? Where it's, you know - darker?" She smiled at him like she had that day in her basement.
Brady looked at the groups gathered round the fire, or near it. They were all foreign to him now. The cold suddenly bit into him. "I - I should, like, I should just go, OK?"
"Brady don't be mad at me because of them - "
"No! No, I'm not, like mad, or anything. And - and look, not at you, OK? I just - I mean look over there, Deb. You're part of that. Those people. I - I'm not, any more. I don't think I can ever be, again. I'm not being snotty or anything - well, I don't think I'm being that, anyway - but it's just, it's real, OK? And - and you're part of that, too. What I'm not part of, any more. I like you, Deb. I really do. But what part of your life can I be when I'm gone after New Year's until like March or something? Th - that's not fair, to you, OK?. I mean, how could I be your, y'know, boyfriend-" the word made him blush " - or anything like that, when I'm never here?
Debbie's face fell, then turned red. "You - you can be anything I want! Anything we want, Brady. If - if you want to, I mean, of course. I - I mean these girls - and most of the guys, too - they're just . . . they're not like you. They never were. You think you've changed or moved past us or something, but you haven't You're still Brady. You - you've always been, well, special. You're not loud and jerky, there's this - this softness to you. You're kind. I - I always liked that. And now, well, you're not really a kid any more and - and you're kind of hot." She giggled at the final admission.
Now it was Brady's turn to have his face turn red. "No I'm not, Deb. But - but you are. I mean, if I was ever gonna, y'know, get with w girl, I - I'd want it to be you. I just . . . There's stuff I can't really explain. Stuff I don't know if I get myself. And - and I don't want to, like, hurt you, or anything. I don't wanna be unfair."
Debbie kissed him then, her arms around his neck, open mouthed, warm, inviting. He kissed her back - how could he not? - but he felt the isolation even more keenly. When they broke the kiss off, she laid her face into the crook of his neck. "You can tell me, Brady. You can tell me anything, OK?"
Brady breathed deeply, a big cloud of breath momentarily shrouding them both. Like hell I can, he thought. I can barely tell myself. He pulled back a bit and ran a gloved hand down Debbie's cheek. "OK," he said. "But - but not now, OK? I need - I'll talk to you, but let me do it when I'm OK with it?"
She smiled. "Of course." She pulled his hand under her coat, against her breast. "I'll be here." She giggled again, because she felt him grow hard almost immediately.
Brady, after a moment's astonishment, laughed, too, though he sure didn't soften. Quite the contrary, in fact. He rubbed her a bit. "OK. Sometime soon, OK?" She nodded. "So, can we get over by that fire before I freeze to death?"
They skated over and sat on a rock at the shore, warming themselves and casually leaning against each other. Brady noticed how the other kids glanced at them, taking stock of the situation. He felt simultaneously embarrassed and proud. Yeah, I got a girl. After about fifteen minutes, they took off their skates, put their boots back on, and Brady walked Debbie home. They kissed again at her doorstep.
Hal was watching TV when he got home. "Your buddy from school called - Doug?"
Brady's heart sank. "When?"
"About an hour ago. He said he'd try again tomorrow night. You better go to bed if Buddy's coming at 6:30 for you."
"More like 6," Brady muttered, cursing himself. He'd betrayed his love for Doug again. Why was he kidding himself like this? God, he thought, I am such a twisted piece of shit.
Hal cocked his head, looking at Brady. "You OK?"
"Huh? Yeah, yeah, just - I'm cold, I guess. The lake was cold."
Hal nodded as he cracked a Budweiser for himself. "Yeah, night time on the ice can be brutal. You see anybody there?"
"Just - I saw Debbie DiBoise, some of her friends."
"Cool. She's been bugging Mom to get a chance to see you. Got 'em on a string already, eh?"
Brady forced a laugh. "Yeah. Right. Mr. Lady Killer, that's me." He hung up his coat and went to bed without another word.
Hal watched him leave, and stared after where he'd vanished from sight for a long minute afterwards, before taking a long contemplative pull on the bottle of beer.
It took him some time to get to sleep, and his dreams were fragmented and disturbing. They involved Doug, and Debbie, and David, and somehow Kenny and Ian, but he wasn't able to recall any details when he woke in the predawn darkness the next morning. He as barely ready when Buddy arrived.
The next day passed in a daze. Brady, having not slept well, was a zombie most of the day. He got his work done - he was too experienced a farmhand not to - but he barely remembered anything he did. He fell asleep in Buddy's truck on the way back home as the sun set, to Buddy's amusement. "Not used t' the workin' life any more, are ya Brady?"
Brady shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "I just - I didn't, like, sleep well, last night. Dunno why," he added defensively.
"Well you'll sleep good tonight, I'm bettin'!" Buddy cackled.
His mother was already home when he walked in. "Go clean up, I'll have dinner ready soon."
"You're home early," Brady answered.
She smiled. "No, you're home late." She gestured to the clock. It was after six.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize -"
"Don't worry, just go clean up. Debbie called and wants to go skating with you again after supper." She smiled at that prospect.
Brady hesitated. "I - well, I mean, isn't Doug supposed to be calling tonight?"
"I'm sure he'll understand - "
"Mom, I really want to talk to him!" he said in a tone more urgent than he intended. "I mean," he quickly followed up, almost mumbling with embarrassment, "he called last night, and - and it wouldn't, y'know, be polite, to miss him again, right?"
She looked at him for a long moment. God, Brady thought, does she know? "All right. Maybe he'll call early so you can see Debbie after. That would be good, wouldn't it?"
Brady leaped at that idea. "Yeah, that'd be perfect. That'd be great, Mom. OK, I should go shower and all. Be done soon." He hurried from the kitchen, leaving her before the stove with a slight frown.
Dinner was, of course, leftover turkey. Brady's mother had an amazing ability to make a turkey last an indefinite period of time. She could get a few days of sandwiches and extra slices of meat for dinner, along with leftover potatoes and gravy; then she'd strip the carcass and turn the remaining meat, stuffing and gravy into a turkey pie (Brady's favorite); then she'd boil down the remains of the bird for soup. The bird often lasted past the new year, and somehow Brady never grew tired of having essentially the same thing night after night.
After dinner he sat and tried to find something on TV. Nothing but crap. Tuesday night TV truly sucked. I Dream of Jeannie was stupid, Daktari was dull. No Knicks or Rangers games on channel 9. Some drippy old thing on Million Dollar Movie. He was edgy. Would Doug call? He pulled out a volume of the World Book encyclopedia and started leafing through it to pass time and occupy at least part of his mind. It was L, and it was boring, too.
At about 8:30, the phone rang. Brady started up violently, the volume dropping to the floor from his lap with a thud. His mother was passing the phone table, and picked it up before he could get to it. Brady groaned inwardly. "Hello? Yes, he's here, and I think he's been very eager to talk to you. I'll get him." She smiled and held out the receiver. "Do you want to talk to your friend?"
"Yes! Thanks, Mom." He took the phone and sat by the table, huddling back away from the rest of the room. He wasn't going to say anything bad, but he craved privacy for this conversation just the same.
But how to start? He licked his lips, swallowed. He didn't know what to say. Then Doug's voice crackled over the long distance line. "Bray? You there?"
The sound unclenched his stomach. It was him. He grinned stupidly. "Yeah. Sorry. I just - It - I'm, like, really glad to hear from you!"
Doug laughed. His insides melted even more. Could anything sound as wonderful as Doug's laugh? He imagined the color rising on his high cheekbones, across his smooth skin, his eyes dancing. He sighed so loudly it almost came out as a whimper. "I'm glad to talk to you, too, man! How was your Christmas? I heard you were out ice skating last night. See any cute babes out there?"
Brady's elated mood vanished. He's not like me. He likes girls. I can never be with him. It's hopeless. God, what's wrong with me, why do I have to feel like this?
"I - no, I just - Well, Deb DiBoise was there. The girl you met on open weekend." He confessed this with a sinking in his stomach.
Doug paused a beat before he responded. "Wow, cool!" he finally said, his voice full of enthusiasm. "You two getting along, I guess?"
"Yeah - I mean, no. I - it's just -" He became conscious that his mother was listening in at the kitchen door at the news that he might be seeing a girl. "I mean, we're just, y'know, friends, and all. I - I told her that, I mean, I gotta go back to Wilson, and how long would it be before I saw her again, and like it's not fair for her. You know?" He prayed he hadn't revealed too much.
"Yeah," Doug breathed in a very quiet voice. "I - I get it. It's hard. I feel it here, too."
Brady panicked. "Are you seeing a girl now?"
Doug laughed. "No, geez. It's more, like, guys I know - well, knew. There's this like gap now. Stuff they've done or been through that I don't know anything about, and stuff I - we - did and went through that I don't think I can ever explain. You know?"
"Yeah," Brady said quietly. "I know. I feel that, every day. Even at home." He cast a quick glance back at the kitchen door, to make certain he'd said that softly enough for his mother not to hear. "It - it's weird, isn't it?"
The pause grew uncomfortable, so Brady decided to change the subject. "So how was Christmas?"
"It was OK. Clothes, ties, crap like that. Like all of a sudden I'm a banker or something."
Brady laughed. "I know, I got the same sort of stuff."
"Dunc sent me an album - the new Who record. "The Who Sell Out. " The cover's funny - like fake ads and stuff. That stuff is pretty funny"
"Cool. How's the record?"
"Kind of odd. There's one really cool song, at the end of the first side: 'I Can See for Miles.' It's different for them."
"Man, you sound like an expert. Dunc is rubbing off on you." Brady realized he hadn't heard anything from David, and he found himself worrying for a moment.
Doug laughed again, and Brady's grin split his face. "Well, it's a good song. Not like I have to be a frickin' genius to hear that." The phone muffled a bit for a second, Brady heard, "Sorry Mom." Then: "I gotta watch myself. Mo mom says I have a potty mouth now."
Brady started giggling, and couldn't stop. He heard Doug join him. Soon they were roaring. "Oh Jesus. A potty mouth??!!" Brady leaned close to the phone receiver and whispered. "Are we back in fucking kindergarten now?" And they laughed some more.
When the laughter faded, they again fell into an awkward silence. "So," Doug finally said, "little over a week left."
"Right," Brady answered. "Back on the 7th, officially, at least. But I guess for the treams it?s on,. What, the 4th??
?Yeah, Doug answered, his voice now eager. ?Are you gonna run winter track??
?I dunno,? Brady said, and he really didn?t. He wanted to be on a tram with Doug again, but being on the track team also meant being on the team with Bill Fieldstone, and that thought made him very uncomfortable. But what if Bill started to try doing stuff with Doug, too? Shouldn?t he be there to protect him, or something? It was a dilemma he?d pushed out of his mind, and now that it was squarely before him again he was no closer to having an answer. ?I ? I just gotta, like, think about it, I guess. I hadn?t been.?
?OK,? Doug replied, a bit warily now. Had he hurt his feelings? ?Maybe you should talk to Mr. Oramson about it or something. I mean most of it?s inside at these big field houses and stuff ? it?s not like you run in the snow or anything.?
?Wow, what a sales pitch. I only run in the snow sometimes.? They both started laughing.
"Hey, you gotts to get your money's worth. The full Wilson experience." Doug sounded unusually cynical saying that.
"I guess," Brady replied. "I?ll talk to him, I promise. But I gotta admit, I don't mind, in a lot of ways ? getting the full experience." He gulped before trying this next gambit. ?If I came back early, we could, like, hang out, a lot - no classes or anything until Monday."
"Sure! Definitely!!! That'd be great! Us, and Dunc and Davey, Gerry, Vic, Maybe Evan. See when Alan gets back. Dunc told me his shoulder's healing really fast."
"Yeah, great idea!" Brady said, as his heart sank. He wanted to be alone with Doug, so much.
Doug sighed; Brady heard the long almost whimpering exhalation over the receiver. "My mom says I gotta go. I - Bray, I really like miss you - miss seeing you, I mean, y'know?"
"Yeah. Me - me, too." Brady's throat was dry. "So, um, I - I don't wanna have you run up the bill here, sorry."
"Don't be sorry, man. I'm really glad to talk to you."
"So am I, Doug. I - well, see you next year, right?" He hoped the cheesy line sounded casual enough to hide the knot he felt in his stomach.
"Right," Doug laughed, just a little. "OK, well, um, bye."
"Yeah. Bye." The line went dead. Brady held the heavy bakelite receiver to his ear for several seconds, processing the fact that it was over. He was gone, again. He swallowed several times before putting the phone down. When he turned, he saw his mother watching him from the door to the kitchen. He flushed and hurried from the room, upstairs.
He sat on the toilet and rubbed his face. Does she know? Am I that obvious? Will she not let me go back? How do I explain that I'm sick?
"Are you OK, honey?"
Panic. "Uh, sure, Mom," he answered. The toilet paper holder made a characteristic squeaking noise when it unrolled; Brady yanked at it now. "I - I just really had to go, y'know?" He stood, tossed the paper into the toilet, and flushed.
"Oh, OK, good. Was it nice to talk to Doug?"
"Yeah, Mom. Very much."
He made a loud show of washing his hands, then took time to splash his face as well. Maybe I can just stay in here, he thought.