Date: Mon, 10 Mar 2003 12:07:07 -0500 From: Tom Cup Subject: In Memory of Steve - Chapter 7, A/Y, interracial, incest Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ In Memory of Steve by Tom Cup Chapter 7 Homemaker When you're young, and it's summer, days can pass with uncanny speed. Mom and Dad did their best to keep my days full. Unlike previous summers, where I was left to fend for myself (my companions being the computer or T.V., while my parents went happily to work), they planned my days. One day I would be at Brad's house, the next at Brian's -- I was even shipped off to a youth mission trip for two weeks. But my nights were still filled with longing for Steve. It was in the still and quiet of the night that I missed him the most: my arms wrapped around my body, my hands rubbing my sides and back, pretending that it was Steve holding me. I was lonely but the holding of myself, and pretended whispers back and forth, helped ease my pain. I did have fun with my friends, doing all the boyish things that kids do during the freedom of summer days. But no amount of burgers and fries, running unfettered through the neighborhood, unsupported laughter could fill the desire of my heart. More than once during that summer my friends labeled me a space cadet. I would only smile. I had out grown my childhood. Dad never asked me if anything was bothering me (I suppose that Mom asked enough for them both) but I caught him watching me. He was looking for signs, reasons why I wanted to escape from a place he thought was a kid's paradise. I understood that he longed for me to be happy. But happiness on his term -- like in a Norman Rockwell painting -- that was not the happiness that I sought. So I hugged him occasionally, letting him know that I did love him; and secretly apologized, realizing that I would never be the son that he wanted. Mom continued to fuss about me, as always trying to make things perfect. I let her. What was the use in casting off the things that made them happy? I remembered a time when these small efforts would have overwhelmed my heart. Now, they made my emptiness fuller. But I was allowed to talk to Steve at night. We were careful. Angie was always in the background. I could tell that he was never free to say what was on his heart. Neither was I, really. But hearing his voice as I drifted off to sleep, that was the salve to soothe my hurt. It gave me the comfort to sleep and the strength to face a new day. Often, I thought about running away during those days. I whispered my fancy to Steve. I could hear the distress in his voice. They would blame him, of course, if I did anything so foolish. And the truth was if I did runaway, I would only be running to him. It didn't make much sense. But those were my thoughts. What I didn't know was that things between Steve and Angie were deteriorating. Had I known, I am not sure what I would have done. I hated Angie for taking him away from me -- but she was also the reason that he remained in my life, that seems such a simple realization now. But my youth showed when I learned that Angie and Steve were thinking of divorcing. I was overjoyed. Finally, I thought, he'd be mine alone. ************ I noticed the strain in Angie and Steve's relationship during the Labor Day weekend get together. Steve was moody. He didn't even seem to notice me. I sat with him watching cable for most of the day. He didn't say much to anyway. Christopher was toddling. Angie was looking a Weeble -- wobbling like an over stuffed penguin. She eyed us suspiciously, every now and again poking her sore face into the den; pretending to be checking on Christopher. "What's wrong?" I whispered. Christopher had fallen asleep in Steve's lap. He was a good-looking boy; long dark eyelashes, with loose silky, curly, hair, and the permanent complexion of a well tanned boy. I envied him his looks. "Nothing." "Yeah, there is." Steve rose with Christopher in his arms. I didn't follow him but stayed sulking in the den. If things were so bad that Steve couldn't talk to me, it scared me. And it angered me. I thought back to when Angie was pregnant with Christopher. I remembered how she had denied him intimacy. It appeared that the same thing was happening again; only this time, I wasn't there to fill the void. Steve returned from putting Christopher to bed. He looked sheepishly at me, with a half smile. "I'm sorry buddy. I guess I'm a little down today." "It's OK. I know you have a lot on your mind." Steve nodded. "Yeah, I do. But we almost never see each other anymore. Let's play some ball." I leapt from my chair. I could hear Steve laughing behind me, as I ran to my room to get the basketball. All I really wanted was to be with him. It didn't matter that we couldn't get away alone together. I loved Steve; no ifs, ands or buts about it. Angie watched us play from the screen door of the kitchen. Dad and Mom had uneasy smiles. Steve was freer, happier, than he had been all day. So was I. All of my parents' worries, and Angie's bitterness, disappear as we shot hoops; laughing together on Labor Day weekend, the smell of bar-be-que rich in the air. ************ The baby was born three days after Labor Day. It was a girl. Steve named her Meesha. Angie wasn't happy about it but I could tell she wasn't going to fight him about it. I sensed that they had come to an agreement -- most likely unspoken -- she wouldn't fuss about the name of the baby and he wouldn't leave, at least not immediately. Mom was so happy being a grandmother again that she couldn't see the unhappiness in Angie's eyes. I'm not sure what Dad saw; he and Steve busily prepared for the baby's homecoming. Steve visited Angie dutifully until it was time for her and the baby's release from the hospital. My little niece gave me the opportunity to see Steve again, on a regular basis. Poor Angie needed help. She was exhausted from caring for the new baby, and Christopher was a little over a year and a half old. I was back in school, but she asked if I could come over afterwards and watch Christopher while she and the baby napped. Of course I could. I was a few months away from my twelfth birthday. I was comfortable babysitting Christopher. And there were other things I could do. Taking the bus from school to Angie and Steve's townhouse, I would arrive about 4:15. Angie would immediately turn Christopher over to me, and then head to bed with Meesha. Christopher was propped in front of the T.V. -- a child-rearing trait Angie no doubt picked up from Mom. It was Christopher's saying that he was hungry that gave me the idea. Being raised as an only child had taught me to fend for myself. Making dinner for Christopher, I decided to make enough for Steve too (I'd have it waiting for him when he got home like any good wife should). I know it's a conventional thought and offense to women but that's the way I thought. I realized, though, if I made dinner only for myself, Christopher and Steve that Angie would get pissed. So I made enough for everyone. That first night we had hotdogs, baked beans and salad. It wasn't gourmet but both Steve and Angie thanked me. They were happy they didn't have to cook and pleased that I took such good care of Christopher. Mom and Dad were concerned about my homework. I showed them that I had completed it. I worked harder on my schoolwork than I ever had before. My free period and lunch were spent getting a head start on my evenings homework -- sometimes by the end of the bus trip to the townhouse I was finished. My grades improved. Mom and Dad had no reason to forbid my going over to the townhouse. I was helping Angie by doing the dishes and general clean up. I was making dinner most nights. My grades were improving. And with less stress, Angie and Steve appeared to be getting along better. Steve drove me home after we ate dinner. I still had to be home by 8:00. I didn't mind. It was being with Steve that mattered. "Mikey, thanks for everything man. You've been a big help." "You're welcome. I don't mind." "I know but man..." "What?" "She acts so fucking helpless sometimes. It really pisses me off." "I know. I'm sorry." "It's not your fault buddy. You take better care of me and the kids than she every did." That statement warmed me with an inner glow. It was what I wanted to do. I wanted to take care of him, be his perfect mate. To have him acknowledge that I was succeeding made my day. "I'm going to ask Mom and Dad to let me take you camping for the weekend. Now don't get all over heated. But I think with all that you've done lately, they won't say no. I've heard Angie telling Mom that things are going better between she and I since you've been around..." "She said that?" "Yeah, better for her maybe," there was real bitterness in his voice when he said that. I guessed that his needs weren't really being satisfied. "Anyway, it's true that at least we are civil to one another now. But I need to get away. I'd like it if you wanted to come." "That depends," I teased. "On what?" "On whether or not there'd be anything a kid like me would want to do when we're out there, in the woods, all alone." "Mikey, I bet we could find something that you'd like." ************************************************************************ To support this and other writings by Tom Cup, visit http://www.tomcup.com Send comments to: comments@tomcup.com ************************************************************************ The Paratwa Partnership, Inc. is a publication and marketing company and is not responsible for the content of the Tom Cup Library, TomCup.com or its affiliate sites, or stories written by Mr. Cup or his associates. ************************************************************************