Date: Sun, 31 Mar 2002 11:44:23 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 83

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them.

Back to the story in progress.

***Jack***

Josh and I played a few games of chess on the little magnetic chessboard
that we traveled with before I remembered that we had a real board in one
of the closets up here. When I finally found it we kicked off our shoes,
set it on the bed between us, and climbed up for another couple of games
while we waited for dinner. I switched on the radio on my desk, and found
one of the local jazz stations, knowing that Josh would enjoy it.  Josh was
still convinced that someday he was going to teach me strategy, but I was
just too much of a lateral thinker for it. I couldn't ever see more than a
move or two in front of me. I made a move that left me completely open
without realizing it, and looked up to see Josh grinning at me as we sat,
legs folded, with the board between us.

"I just screwed up, didn't I?" I asked, looking at the board again and
realizing what I'd done.

"Yeah, but that wasn't why I was smiling," Josh said. His eyes sparkled,
flashing at me.  "Check."

"Would you care to share?" I asked, feeling a surge of hope. He hadn't said
"checkmate," so I might have a chance to prolong this a little more. I
looked at the board carefully, studying the pieces. "Josh?"

He was still staring at me intently, and I blushed a little, looking down
to see if there was something on my shirt as I ran a hand over my hair to
see if any of it was sticking up.

"What?" I asked, meeting his eyes as I wondered self-consciously what he
was looking at. "Are you trying to distract me? Because you know you don't
have to if you want to win."

"No," Josh said, laughing. "I'm not trying to distract you. I was just
remembering that this is the first thing we ever did together. You got on
the bus, Chris went to bed, and we played chess."

"You're right," I said, smiling. "It was right after the bus lurched, and I
fell against you, and felt you up for the first time. I remember standing
there, with my hands on your chest, and looking into your eyes, and
thinking about how beautiful they were."

"That's funny," Josh said, leaning toward me. "Because I remember thinking
the same thing about you."

Josh and I were leaning closer and closer together, our lips almost
touching, and then the mattress shifted under us, causing the chess pieces
to fall over. We ignored them as our lips softly brushed against each
other. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, breaking the kiss, Josh's
were right there.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing me again. His lips were firm, and
silken, soft like velvet as they brushed mine.

"I love you, too," I answered. I could smell him, the scent of his cologne,
and could see up close how flawless his skin was, how perfect he
was. Sometimes when I looked at Josh it took my breath away to see how
beautiful he was, and to know he loved me. I glanced down at the chess
pieces, scattered on the bed, some of them having rolled off of the
board. "Looks like a tie."

"We could put the pieces back the way they were," Josh said, glancing down.

"I'd rather savor my half victory," I said, grinning. I started to pick the
pieces up and put them in the box.

"I wouldn't call it a half victory," Josh said, helping me. "I'd say that
we both won. And I don't just mean the chess game."

"I know," I said, kissing his cheek.

I glanced at the clock, counting down the seconds, knowing that every clock
in the house was always set at exactly the same time. They always had been,
and as I stood with the chess box in my hands, getting ready to put it back
in the linen closet, I watched the second hand tick around toward the top
of the face. Josh glanced at the clock, too, and jumped as the stereo
started below us, exactly on time.

"It's electronic," I said. "The clock in the stereo is set to the exact
same time as the rest.  Come on. Let's go down to dinner."

Josh and I walked quietly down to dinner, hand in hand, finding my mother
already seated at the table. The candles were lit, and the food was already
on the plates, steaming and waiting. In my house, you didn't choose your
own portions, and you didn't cover the table with serving dishes. Plates
came from the kitchen with food already on them, dessert pre-served as
well, and then the housekeeper, who was currently apparently named
Carmelita, was dismissed, and went to her apartment above the garage.  I
had wondered several times if we might be slowly gassing our housekeepers
to death with carbon monoxide poisoning by forcing them to live up there,
but had never asked. I also wondered about the thing with the food and the
plates. It wasn't a rule of polite society, because no one I knew did
it. It was just some weird personality quirk of my mother's, and I realized
that the way I tended to serve food, right out of the pan and onto the
table, was probably yet another gesture of unconscious rebellion.

My mother was poised, posture perfect, shoulders back, watching me as I sat
on one side of the table and Josh took the seat across from me. We
carefully spread our napkins over our laps, and I picked up my fork,
waiting. Josh, unsure of what was going on, watched me, and when I saw my
mother lift her own fork to her mouth I began to cut up my chicken, and he
followed suit. No one said anything, and my mother and I were focused on
our plates. You never ate before the hostess did, and as long as I was here
I could try to be accommodating in little ways, if nothing else. The music
played on from speakers hidden in the walls, and the only other sounds were
the noises of silver on china.

"Did you pick the music, Mrs. Springer?" Josh asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," she answered, not looking up.

"I listen to Mozart sometimes, too," Josh said, smiling at her. I don't
understand how she could see that face and not melt, but she was, after
all, my mother.  "Sometimes it helps me concentrate, or it inspires my own
music."

"Oh, yes, I had forgotten," my mother said, smiling thinly right before she
cut him. I'd seen this enough times to know it was coming. "Some people do
classify what you do as music."

"That's it," I snapped loudly as Josh's face fell. Josh loved his music,
and he worked hard on it, regardless of what other people thought. "I let
it go this afternoon, because you were surprised and those people you call
friends were around, but you're not talking to Josh that way, ok?"

"Goodness, Jackson," my mother said, pretending to be offended. "Such a
sharp tone to take with your own mother. And so rude."

"You'd be the one to ask about rudeness, wouldn't you?" I snapped again.
"However you feel about my relationship, Josh is a guest in your house. I'd
think those manners you're always talking about would extend to him."

"I'm not certain I'm going to stay if you're going to continue to take that
tone with me," she began, rising.

"Sit down!" I snapped, anger bubbling up in me. I really didn't care as
much if she hurt me again. I'd been kicked so many times in this house that
I had developed quite a callus, but I would not have Josh mistreated. She
paused, I think for the first time actually surprised by my tone. "We flew
out here because I need to ask you one question, and I'll follow you
through every room in this house until you answer it, so you might as well
sit back down."

Josh blinked at me, trying to settle me down with his face, but I wasn't
sitting through another farce of a family dinner in this dining room. My
mother sank slowly back into her seat, folding her hands in front of her on
the table.

"Given the option of being hounded through my own home like some sort of
criminal, I suppose I'll stay to hear whatever it is that you have to say,"
she sighed, as if we were supposed to have pity for her, the long suffering
mother figure. Bullshit.

"Suppose whatever you want. You will anyway," I said, lowering my tone a
little, even though I wanted to scream at her. "Why aren't you coming to my
wedding?"

She sighed again, and Josh's wide blue eyes ticked back and forth between
the two of us.  I could see that he wanted to be here for me, but he
couldn't reach my hand across the table. I could still feel him, though,
inside where it mattered.

"I thought that it was clear that we would be unable to attend, and thought
that the gift I sent was more than adequate," she began, and I cut her
off. My heart was hammering as I felt myself becoming more and more angry.

"I didn't ask for a gift," I said harshly. "I asked for you. Why aren't you
coming to my wedding?"

"Jackson, I don't think," she began, staring at her folded hands again.

"Just answer the question!" I snapped, feeling a little tense suddenly.
"Why? Why, God damn it?"

"Because I will not lower myself to participate in such a farce," she said
coldly. Josh gasped, and I felt something twist inside of me, even though I
had known this would be the answer. "Can you imagine what people would
think? It's not even legal, Jackson, and I will not add my approval to such
a charade. I will not pretend there is something natural about this, this
thing that you choose to do. I have been more than generous in my
acceptance of this lifestyle that you've chosen, but you cannot expect me
to choose it as well."

"You've been accepting?" I demanded. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, and I
felt sweat breaking out on my forehead. "Accepting? I'm not asking you to
live my life!  I'm not asking you to joyfully hug Josh and welcome him into
the family! All I want is to see you in those seats! Just once I want to
turn around and see my family there! I'm not asking you to participate in
anything. Just once, once, I want you to be my mother."

I realized that my eyes were watering, and I cursed myself for feeling so
weak suddenly.  The air in the room felt very thick.

"I'm sorry that it seems to have hurt you to hear any of that, but I
wouldn't have said it if you hadn't demanded it," she sighed. Oh yes, of
course, this was all my own fault. "There are limits to my acceptance, and
to my tolerance of your eccentricities. I will not give this my acceptance,
not even the tacit acceptance my presence would imply. Now, if you will
excuse me, this discussion has caused me to lose my appetite."

She stood quickly and walked out of the room without another word, and Josh
watched her, his mouth hanging open. I wanted to say something to break the
moment, drop a little "Welcome to the family" joke or something, but I
couldn't breathe. My heart was pounding in my chest, throwing itself
against my ribs, and I felt dizzy, suddenly.

"Jack?" Josh asked, his voice distant, seeming to roll in from somewhere
else, a loud sound on the television in the living room upstairs. Wait, we
were on the first floor, not in the basement.

I reached for my water, my mouth dry. The room seemed to be going darker
around the edges, soft focus, and I brought the glass to my lips. It wasn't
water, though. The taste of peanut butter, peanut butter sandwiches,
flooded my mouth, and I dropped my glass.  Choking, I lunged to my feet,
the room spinning. Peanut butter sandwiches.  The food, the food was
drugged. I shoved my plate away, hearing it clatter on the tabletop. I had
to get out of here, had to get away. I couldn't breathe, but somehow I
found the strength to bolt from the dining room as I heard someone behind
me. It was him, Basil, calling my name.  He was after me, and I had to get
away. I raced up the stairs, the walls spinning, closing in. Why didn't we
have more lights on? Why was the hallway so dark? How could I be running
down a hallway when I knew I was running up the stairs?

I pushed open the door to my room, feeling dizzy, lightheaded, trying to
get away as I heard feet thudding up the stairs behind me. He was coming. I
blinked and the familiar shape of my room vanished, replaced with the stark
white walls of the basement and the mattress on the floor again. I blinked,
and saw my room. Blink. The basement. My heart fluttered, and black spots
danced across my field of vision. The walls seemed to close in, to press
themselves around me, and I sank to my knees, my hand sliding down the
doorframe as I struggled to stay up. I had to get away, had to get out of
here, but I was too dizzy, too weak. I fought to breathe, my lungs
screaming, and I felt arms wrap around me from behind. I struggled, but
they held me tightly, bearing me down to the floor, pressing me against a
firm chest. My head lolled back on my neck, landing on someone else's
shoulder, and I wondered if I might be dying.

"Jack, Jack, it's Josh," I heard. It wasn't. Josh wasn't coming.

"No," I said, trying to see, struggling to break his grip. He had me. My
ceiling with its brass and glass lights was replaced by the white ceiling
with its hanging bulb. Blink. My ceiling. Blink. Basement ceiling. "No."

"Jack, it's Josh," I heard again, and part of my brain marveled that Basil
even sounded like Josh somehow. His arms held me, and I was too weak to
move them, drugged, dizzy, my heart fluttering. "Jack, you're safe. I'm
here, and you're safe."

"Josh?" I asked. The room seemed so small, the walls pressing in, the
ceiling rushing down toward me. "I can't, I, I can't breathe."

Blackness rolled over me.

When I came to, I was being rocked, cradled against Josh as his fingers
fluttered over my forehead, gently brushing my hair back. He was stroking
the side of my face over and over with one hand, holding me against him
with the other, as he whispered over and over that I was safe, and that he
loved me. I opened my eyes, and saw that we were still on the floor, Josh
with his legs thrown out, and me turned sideways as I sat on his lap and he
held me against his chest. He kissed me on the forehead as my eyes
fluttered open, and I looked up to see him staring down with concern.

"Josh?" I asked, my voice cracking. I burst into tears, and he held me
against him. I hated the panic attacks. They left me feeling so
embarrassed, and fragile, and there was nothing I could do to stop them, no
way to fight them. They came so fast. "Josh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Shhhhh," he whispered, kissing my forehead again as I buried my face in
his chest. "No sorry, Jack. Nothing to be sorry for. You're safe now."

Josh continued to hold me, still rocking back and forth, whispering to me
over and over that he loved me, and that I was safe. I slumped against him,
feeling drained, as my tears finally stopped. He was trying really hard to
be strong for me, to pretend he wasn't upset, but I could feel his heart
thudding against my cheek. I had scared him, even if he wasn't showing
it. As he held me, caressing my face soothingly, I thought again of how
lucky I was to have him, and to have him take care of me. As I clung to
him, feeling his warmth against me, his arm hooked under my leg and he
stood, carrying me to the bed. He set me down on top of the covers, laying
me on my side, and kissed my cheek.

"Stay here and rest," he whispered. "I'm gonna go get you a drink, ok? I'll
come right back, I promise."

I nodded, hoping he remembered where the kitchen was. Then again, the house
wasn't that big, and he'd be able to find it. I again cursed the panic
attacks, wishing I was over them. At least my mother had already left the
room, and hadn't seen it, even though part of me thought the damn thing was
probably triggered by her to begin with. I couldn't believe she could be so
cold. I mean, I should have been used to it, but she was just so frosty and
self absorbed. And she was in the house somewhere with Josh, who she didn't
like, and he was all by himself. It might have been lingering vestiges of
the panic attack, and all of the feelings of urgency and danger that had
come with it, but I was worried about Josh suddenly, and I climbed out of
bed on shaky legs to go find him.

I heard him shut off the water in the kitchen, and assumed he was running
me a glass, and then suddenly I heard my mother.

"Joshua?" she asked, her voice lacking the icy imperiousness. I paused on
the stairs, listening. "Joshua, may I ask you something?"

"Yes, Mrs. Springer?" Josh asked carefully. I could tell that he didn't
want to talk to her, but, being Josh, he was unfailingly polite.

"Please, call me Evelyn," she said, and I wondered what she was doing. She
sounded odd. I'd never heard her use such a tone before, with anyone.

"If you'll call me Josh," he said. I sat on the stairs, waiting.

"What happened?" she asked. "What happened to him just now?"

"He had a panic attack," Josh answered. "It's, um, it's part of what
happened to him."

"I thought he was recovered," my mother said. "I thought he was released
from the hospital because he was recovered."

"If you'd come to the hospital you might have known that's not quite
accurate," Josh said sharply. Oooooh, Josh really was pissed. "We got your
flowers, though, so I guess that's almost the same as visiting your son."

There was a moment of silence, and I waited, surprised by the vehemence of
Josh's words. I knew that he was just as protective of me as I was of him,
but he must have been really mad to talk to my mother that way.

"I don't feel as if I have to explain any of my behavior to you," she said,
her voice assuming the familiar icicle scrape.

"Maybe you should explain it to Jack, then," Josh said, still a little
harsh.

"What do you mean when you say he's not recovered?" she asked quietly,
ignoring his suggestion.

"He may not be recovered for years," Josh said, sounding sad now. "He may
not be recovered ever. He has nightmares most nights. He wakes up
screaming, or in a cold sweat. He has panic attacks, which you saw. We're
lucky, because he doesn't have any permanent heart damage, but he still has
all the scars inside his head."

"I didn't realize," she began.

"I know," Josh said. "I know you didn't realize, but you asked, and I'm
trying to tell you.  Jack is better, but he's not ok, and maybe he never
will be completely."

"He doesn't seem like there's anything wrong," she said quietly. I moved
closer, sitting at the bottom of the stairs. "He still seems like his usual
self."

"He's not, though," Josh said, and I heard chairs scraping. My boyfriend
and my mother were sitting down at the kitchen table, having a heart to
heart. What the hell? "He's not his usual self, and sometimes there isn't
anything I can do to help him. All I can do is hold onto him, and tell him
it'll be ok, and that he's safe. He's locked inside himself, and what
happened to him, and I can't be there. All I can do is try to bring him
back out again, and I just feel so helpless."

I wanted to run down the stairs and wrap myself around Josh. I couldn't
believe he felt like he wasn't doing anything to help me. Just being there,
just being Josh helped me, apparently more than he knew.

"You really love him, don't you?" my mother asked softly. How come she
could talk to Josh like this, but not to me? "It's not just sex between you
two. You love him."

"Yeah, I do," Josh answered. "That's why I can't understand why you don't."

My mother chuckled softly.

"You think I don't love Jack?" she asked. I could see them in my head, her
sitting with her hands folded on the tabletop, Josh with my water forgotten
next to him, watching her, and nodding now. "Did he tell you that?"

"No," Josh answered truthfully. "He told me that you did, and just didn't
show it. I just don't see how you can say you love him, and treat him like
this."

"You think I'm a horrible mother, don't you?" she asked. Her voice wasn't
icy, but wasn't looking for pity, either. I thought I might actually be
hearing my mother be honest, and wondered if I ever had before.

"Yes, I do," Josh said simply. "I'm sorry if it hurts you to hear that, but
I can't understand the kind of mother you are. I can't understand how you
could be kinder to a stranger on the street than you could to your own
child. Jack is the most amazing, wonderful person I've ever known. There's
so much inside him, so much feeling, so much heart, and I feel bad for you,
because you don't see it. You're missing out on it, and you don't even
realize it. I don't think you could see it, even if you wanted to. I can't
understand how you can look at him, and not see what I see."

"Jack has always been something of a mystery to me," she said
quietly. "I've never been able to see him, not like I can see his
brother. His brother has always been an open book, a window. I could see
right through him, always see where he was going, what he was
thinking. Jack was never like that. He was always closed off. There was
always something inside of him that I couldn't get to, and he never shared
it with anyone."

Silence filled the house.

"Jack was a loner, and he probably still is," my mother continued as Josh
and I both listened, he in the kitchen with her and me still hidden on the
stairs. "He never had many friends, and if you think about it now, I'm sure
he still doesn't. It never seemed to matter to him, though. That's what set
Jack apart from every other child I know. He always thought his own way,
made his own choices, and never seemed to care what people thought. The
other kids were outside playing, and Jack would sit outside with a book, or
play by himself in a sandbox. Is he still like that?"

"Yeah, kind of," Josh answered, and I could hear the smile. "But I'm like
that, too. And even if Jack doesn't have a lot of friends, he cares a lot
about the ones he does have."

"I don't doubt it," she said. "His teachers always thought it was a
problem, though. He was always getting those marks on his report card, that
he didn't get along with the other children. Looking at it now, I think he
probably just didn't like them, and decided not to associate with them. It
was just one of the things, though, that made him such an odd child. He was
so hard to relate to. Sometimes it was like having this complete stranger
in the house, and the way he looked at you always made you feel like he was
judging you, because you couldn't tell what he wanted, or why."

I had never heard my mother talk about me like this before, and wondered if
she had ever been this honest with someone else about me. How long had she
thought this?  My whole life?

"He's telling you what he wants now, though," Josh said. "He wants you to
come to his wedding. He wants you to be his family."

"And then what?" she asked. "We'll have this family time, and then what?
Start talking to each other? Spend the holidays together? Your family and
us, all sitting together under a tree? Is that what you're thinking, Josh?"

"Would that really be so horrible?" Josh asked.

"I never said it would be, but that's not the kind of family we are," my
mother said, and I could almost see her shaking her head. "We never have
been. Jack's brother and I, yes, but Jack? No. We've never been that way."

"Why?" Josh asked, starting to sound a little upset again. "Why aren't you
that way?  What's wrong with you?"

"There isn't anything wrong with me," she said defensively. "Just because
I'm not the kind of mother you think I should be doesn't give you the right
to judge me."

"But I don't see how you can even call yourself a mother," Josh said, even
more impassioned. No one had raked my mother across the coals like this
ever, as far as I knew. "You treat Jack like a burden."

Again there was a moment of silence.

"I never wanted children, Josh," my mother said quietly. "I never wanted
them, but Mr.  Springer needed a son. We got Brett, and then Mr. Springer
was worried about Brett being an only child, so there's Jack. He needed an
heir, someone to carry on the family, and he needed a child because
everyone else has a child. It's what you do here. You get married, and you
raise children. I wanted the life, was raised for it, but I never wanted
the children, and I never really knew what to do with them."

"And in all this time you haven't learned?" Josh asked. "You've had thirty
years, first with Brett, and then with Jack."

"I know," she said. "I know I have, and I've done it with Jack's brother. I
haven't ever been able to do it with Jack, though. I haven't ever been able
to feel that bond with him.  He's so aloof, so detached from all of this."

"You're wrong," Josh said, and I could tell he was shaking his head. "You
don't know Jack at all, and you prove it when you say that. He isn't
detached from any of this.  Coming here has been so hard for him, so
upsetting, even if he hasn't shown me. Just being here he's in pain."

"And yet he came anyway," she marveled. "He came because of you, Josh."

"No," Josh said. "He came because of you. He came because he wants you to
sit in the front row of chairs. He wants you to be his mother, to be there
for him, to show everyone else that you're proud of your son. That's all he
wants you to do."

"I can't," my mother said. All of that, and she still wasn't moved. The
woman really was made of ice. "I can't do that."

"Why?" Josh asked, not letting her off.

"I've told you, I cannot approve of this wedding," she said. "I cannot
pretend that what the two of you are doing is acceptable. Even if you love
each other, this is unnatural. It's wrong. I'm sorry, because you're such a
nice person, Josh. You seem intelligent, and you're very handsome, and I
can see what a loving and caring person you are, and I feel so bad for you,
because you're so flawed and confused."

"That's what you really think?" Josh asked. "Do you think that about Jack,
too?"

"That he's flawed and confused?" my mother asked, clarifying. Josh must
have nodded.  "Yes, that's what I think about Jack, too."

"How can you think that about him?" Josh asked. "How can you think there's
anything wrong with your own son?"

"Because there so obviously is," she sighed. "The two of you may love each
other, but it's wrong. What you're doing is wrong."

I knew Josh wouldn't take this well. Josh was so close to Karen and Roy,
and they were so accepting of him, and of me. Once they had realized that
he and I really did care about each other, and that I wasn't just some
opportunist, they had accepted me with open arms.  They had never made Josh
feel like he was doing something wrong, or that there was anything
unnatural about the way he was. Instead they had just opened their arms,
and their hearts, and Josh just couldn't seem to conceive of a mother who
couldn't do that. I had tried to warn him, but again, he hadn't believed
me.

"A mother is supposed to love her children unconditionally," Josh said.

"I do love them," she said. "I just can't accept what he is. It's good that
the two of you love each other, because I will never be able to understand
or approve of your relationship, and I won't let him flaunt it here in my
face."

"How is it flaunting to be happy?" Josh asked. "How is it flaunting just to
live your life, and be the way you are? This is who Jack is."

"But it's not who I want him to be," my mother said coldly.

I heard Josh's chair scrape on the floor as he stood, and I realized that
he was giving up, finally. I had to love him for trying, though.

"I can't believe Jack is your child," Josh said. "I can't believe that the
man I love, the most beautiful, caring, special man in the world, came from
this house. I don't understand how you can look at the child who grew up
here, the child you gave birth to, and not treat him the way he deserves."

"Josh, I never gave birth to Jack," my mother said quietly. I blinked,
unsure of whether I'd heard her correctly, and began walking to the
kitchen.

"What?" Josh asked, confused.

"I told you, I didn't want children," my mother said, probably staring down
at her hands.  "Jack and his brother aren't even brothers, not by blood,
and neither of them are mine.  My children are adopted."

Both of their heads snapped around to stare at me as I gasped loudly from
the doorway.

***

To be continued.