Date: Sat, 04 Apr 2015 20:13:46 -0700
From: h.schreiber@hushmail.com
Subject: Chapter 21 of Come Christmas Steve by Hans Schreiber

Come Christmas Steve

Chapter 21

Friends, What Friends?

Once the hulking sheriff and his two little cowboys cleared the parking
lot, I left the convenience store, nervous and shaken. I hadn't really done
anything except listen to the young boy's concerns and take his number with
a promise to call him. Still, I was so hypersensitive to even the slightest
appearance of impropriety with a young boy that my nerves were on edge. It
occurred to me that it would have been safer to simply wait outside the
restroom until the two young boys exited. It just never occurred to me when
I followed them in. All I could think about was my exploding
bladder. Steve's words of warning came back to me from our talk in the jail
cell. He warned me - no, he scolded me - that we live in a hypersensitive
society nowadays and that I needed to be more careful around young boys.

I thought about what Adam would say about me interacting with the troubled
little cowboy and especially about having Colt's phone number in my
phone. At least Colt didn't ask for my phone number.  I considered deleting
his number, but I hesitated. I thought about his puppy dog eyes while he
pleaded for me to be someone he could talk to - someone who could
understand and not judge him. I thought about how much I had needed and
wished for what he wanted me to be, an experienced mentor to guide him
through his gay angst. I remembered how much Steve's words of wisdom and
then his encouragement to accept myself and live as a gay man had helped me
as recently as Christmastime.

But I thought, I don't even know this kid. Why should I take on such a
risk, especially right now, for the sake of some kid I don't even know? I
rationalized that he could find some other mentor in his own circle of
acquaintances. No, not me. I can't do this right now I concluded. I opened
my contacts, which were very few on the new phone and scrolled down to Colt
Withers. His numbers appeared there in my palm.

There were no puppy dog eyes in the zeroes. The ones, however, were shaped
somewhat like the two foot, steel, head bashing club hanging from the
sheriff's belt. The number four looked remarkably like a partially opened
pocket knife, sharp enough to easily slice off my precious dick. I
highlighted the numbers and paused. I hit the back arrow instead of delete
and left the numbers and the contact name in place. In that instant of
split decision, I determined that I wasn't going to live that way. I wasn't
going to live in fear of doing a good and right thing because of society's
hysteria. I hoped I wouldn't come to regret that decision later. I prayed
more than merely hoped for that, actually.

I was quiet and contemplative for the remainder of the ride home to
Kalispell. Adam and my father were engaged in reciting our family history
and how we came to be small time ranchers on the northern border of
Montana. I sent a text to Whittaker and was delighted that he responded
immediately. I asked if he'd seen the coverage on the news and of course he
had. Then I asked if he'd seen Jensen's interview and he said he had not. I
directed him to Sylvia's channel and he said he'd watch for it. I asked if
he was getting media attention yet and he said that if he was, his mother
was shielding him from it. I shared my experience with the young cowboy in
the bathroom and he told me to be careful, just like Steve had, but then he
said something else. Whittaker said, "I know my warning will probably get
ignored because of who you are and what kind of good heart you have. If you
do choose to ignore me and help the kid, at least be careful about
it. Please."

I read his text over and over before I deleted it. I didn't think it would
be a good thing if someone happened to see the text string we'd been having
together. Each time I read "what kind of good heart you have," I felt a
warm glow within me. What kind of heart did I have? Was I a rescuer, like
my dad accused me of being? I wondered. Would it be a bad thing if I was? I
pondered it for a long time. What did Dad and Whittaker see in me that I
didn't recognize in myself. Did I not see the forest of my personality
because I was standing too close to my own trees?

I was startled from my ruminations as we turned onto our lane and I saw the
small army of news trucks that had Mom freaked out. As we approached, doors
flew open and microphone and camera wielding snipers emerged from the
vehicles on tactical alert. Adam slowed and stopped at the entrance to our
driveway. "Slide over by the door and keep your head back. I don't want any
pictures of you today," Adam instructed.

Adam rolled his tinted window down and dodged the reporters' faces, mic's
and cameras that intruded his space. He simply held up his hand, palm flat
until the cacophony subsided. Then he spoke in stern, measured tones. "I'm
Adam Christopherson, defense attorney for William and Shane Steele, as well
as Steven Fahrenheit. We have no statement for you today, but I will allow
one correspondent with one camera person from each outlet to meet with us
in the morning at ten a.m. at the house. You will NOT enter the premises
without an escort from the Sheriff's department. You WILL be respectful and
orderly, or you will be promptly escorted back out. See you in the
morning."

Shouts of unintelligible questions and straining cameramen erupted again as
Adam rolled his window back up and turned into our drive. He drove
cautiously since our driveway had not been plowed and there were a couple
of inches of fresh powder on it from the storm that was just beginning.

Ten a.m. rung in my ears over and over. Ten a.m. like an appointment with
the principal to explain how I'd been blamed for something I hadn't
done. Ten a.m. like the time set to meet with the coach and have him
awkwardly explain why he NEEDED to have Billy replace me in the
line-up. Ten a.m., a time to dread like so many times set for me in the
past. I rehearsed the mantra in my head, "I have no involvement or
knowledge of the Boys Home Sex Scandal. I was mistakenly swept up in the
hysteria surrounding it because of being college roommates with a former
Boys Home resident, that's all. My heart was racing and my palms were
sweating. I worried that I'd turn into a puddle of liquid nerves at ten
a.m. the following day and barely able to speak my name. "What if I burst
into tears or something?" I worried.

We were met at the door by Mom and she pulled me into a smothering mother
hug. I reciprocated and wrapped my arms around her softness and basked in
her unequivocal love. Before releasing me, she laid her hand gently on my
cheek and smiled so dearly at me. Her wounded dove was back in the
nest. Billy fist bumped me while Dad took my place in Mom's arms. Then Mom
went into hostess mode and started giving orders for Billy and me to show
Adam to Tom and Karl's old room and help him with his bag. Then Dad was
instructed to go park Adam's fancy auto in one of the garages because we
were in for a walloping big storm. We all complied.

"Have you spoken to the media at all?" Adam inquired of Billy.

"No sir. I just said 'no comment' and well, 'get the hell off our property'
a couple of times."

That made Adam smile. "I hope to God you weren't brandishing a rifle when
you told them that."

"No sir. I had our flame thrower that we use to burn the ditch weeds with,"
Billy said. Then he busted up laughing when Adam stopped dead on the
stairs. "Don't worry, that guy's hair will grow back," Billy added
snickering. Adam just shook his head. He liked Billy. Who didn't?

After showing Adam his room, Billy and I went to our room. It felt so
familiar and comfortable. It was home. It would always be home. The dresser
with the bottom drawer that sticks, the trophies, mostly Billy's, on the
shelves and the curtains with little green tractors that Mom sewed for us
when we were little, all made it feel like home. And of course, there was
the picture of Christ that hung over the hole in the plaster where I shoved
my fist through the wall after a particularly stressful day at school. It
was a powerful reminder of my frustrating childhood. I came to appreciate
the irony in Mom's choice of pictures to cover the hole with. She refused
to let Dad just patch the hole. "Let Christ be the one to fix it," she'd
told him.

"What's with all the books on the desk?" I asked.

"School," Billy droned. "I'm home schooling until all this shit blows
over. The principal insisted on it."

"Really? Why?"

"He said I was a distraction with all the media attention. Freakin'
bloodsuckers followed me to school and made a nuisance of themselves," he
answered. "Besides, not everyone thinks what I did was such a good thing."

"What? Like who?" I was dumbfounded.

"Like half the freakin' student body, I swear. What sucks most is I can't
play hockey until this is all over and things have died down. So fuckin'
stupid." I felt the intense disappointment in his voice and witnessed it in
his demeanor.

"Billy, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"Fuck that. I don't blame you. They're the ones being idiots, not you, you
know? It's just how it is. The important thing is that you're safe and we
have to hang together. We're Steeles, right? That's what Steeles do," he
said.

"Did Dad tell you to say that?" I asked.

"No. Why?"

"Because that's the same thing he said to me yesterday. I thought maybe he
told you to tell me the same thing so I wouldn't feel bad about all the
bullshit mess I've brought onto us."

"No. He didn't tell me nothing to say."

"Anything," I corrected.

"Huh? Anything what?" Billy asked.

"It's, 'He didn't tell me ANYTHING to say'. You said NOTHING. That's a
double negative."

He just stared at me in distressed wonder. "I thought college might change
you some, but you're still the annoying nerd you always were," he said. I
pushed my lower lip out in a mock pout and he shook his head some
more. "You need an old-fashioned Billy Beatdown," he added. Then he
launched himself at me and tackled me, taking me to the floor. He straddled
me and tickled me until I was crying with laughter and begging for
mercy. He let me up on the solemn promise to never ever correct his lousy
grammar again.

Mom called up to us to gather Adam and come down to dinner. We obeyed and
were delighted to find a full course, home cooked meal of pork chops,
mashed potatoes and gravy with green beans. It was delicious, of course,
and Adam and Billy overate, but not me. During dinner, Mom went into great
detail about the media onslaught and some of the horrible things that
people had called and said to her. Some of them had been lifelong
friends. It was appalling to me and I was deeply saddened by the
unkindness.  Billy shared some of the bullshit comments he'd gotten like
'fag-lover' and a slur that a hockey team member, Lou Kaminski, shouted at
Billy, calling him his 'baby-raping brother's bodyguard'. That one sickened
me.

Apparently, none of the news outlets had broken the cardinal rule of
releasing Billy's name, because he was still a minor, but they had referred
to him as the younger brother of one of the child sex offenders.

It was easy enough to put two and two together. Of course, they always
slipped the mandatory, 'alleged' term ahead of the charges, but that only
seemed to act as a tongue in cheek reinforcement of my 'obvious' guilt. The
consequences this mess was having on everyone in my family dropped onto my
shoulders as if I were lying beneath a bull moose with diarrhea.  The shit
just kept piling on until I completely lost my appetite and found breathing
difficult.

Dad saw it first. "That's enough of this talk. We can't control the actions
of others. We can only control what we do about it. We will rise above
it. We're Steeles. We will not stoop to their level. We will hold our heads
high because we have nothing to be ashamed of. We will NOT strike back,
especially you, Billy. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Billy agreed. He paused and then asked, "Umm, should I apologize
for Lou's broken nose?"  Dad smiled. "No, I'm sure he won't admit where he
got it. He'll just blame it on a hockey incident, I'm sure." Adam placed
his hand over his eyes and sighed heavily. I caught Billy's eye and nodded
with an appreciative wink.

After dinner, we went into the family room and Adam prepared us for the
news conference. He decided to hold it right there in our family room to
showcase our typical, small town, American family that good people would
relate to. He gave Billy his canned response for every question. He told us
what other questions he felt okay about us responding to and arranged a
signal for when we were to give a short, simple answer to a question and
when he wanted us to repeat our canned message. "If I interrupt you, stop
talking immediately. Don't try to finish your thought or sentence, no
matter how good you think it is. Please! Don't override my judgment in
that," he warned us. We nodded understanding.

"Billy, is it reasonable that you might have had your gun already in your
truck when you went to Billings to find your brother?"

"Sometimes it's in there, if I've been using it. Usually, we keep all the
guns locked up in the upstairs closet. That's where it was when Steve
suggested I bring a gun."

"Okay. Steve's memory is that you already had the gun in your truck. Is it
possible that is the actual truth?" Adam asked.

Billy got it. "Yeah, I think it was. Come to think of it, I'd been out
shooting skunks with it. They're awful pests."

"All right. So the gun was in the truck when Steve asked you to try and
teach him how to shoot?"

"Yeah. Right."

"And after you tried to teach Steve how to shoot, and he realized he wasn't
very good at it, you put the gun back in the truck?" Adam asked.

"Yeah. I did actually."

"All right. And then shortly after that he told you that your brother was
missing and possibly in danger and told you that he needed a ride to
Billings?" Adam asked again in a leading way.

"Yeah, that's right."

"Okay. For the media, if they ask about why you took a gun with you, the
answer is that you didn't take it, it just happened to be in the
truck. That's it. Nothing more is said about the gun. Clear?"

"Clear," Billy agreed.

After that was finally over, Mom made up some fresh coffee and served her
blueberry pie with it. I found my appetite again and enjoyed the sweet pie
and heavily creamed coffee. Talk turned to the weather and sports and Mom
convinced Adam to share some of his more memorable court cases with us. He
was reluctant at first but once he got on a roll and sensed our sincerity
in hearing about them, he served up a healthy dose of real life courtroom
drama to go with our pie and coffee.

That night, as I crawled in next to Billy and pulled the heavy quilt over
me, I felt much better about what ten a.m. the next morning would
bring. Once I'd warmed my spot on the cold sheets, I carefully turned over
to face Billy. "Did you really bust Lou's nose for calling me a
baby-raper?" I asked.  "Sure did. Blood went everywhere. There were no
witnesses, luckily. It felt so good to hear that assholes nose crack and
see the blood gush all over his goofy 'Let's Puck' t-shirt. He thinks he's
so cool, but he's really just a big joke."

"Damn. Thanks."

"You're welcome. I know Dad doesn't want us to do anything else like that,
but I had to bust one out on Lou's nose after a comment like that," Billy
declared. "You can't go dissing my bro like that and get away with it."

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" I asked.

"A little. I'm not as good at talking in front of people as you are. I
might screw it up. I'd never want to do it without Adam there with us."

"Definitely. I'm scared too," I admitted.

"What do you think happens after it's all over? Assuming we get off, I
mean," I asked.

"It never gets better here in Kalispell, Shane. If that's what you're
asking. The assholes will never believe you're innocent even if you're
acquitted. But I don't give a shit. I'm gonna just finish high school early
by studying at home and then haul ass off to college, and not at Montana
State either. I'm leaving the state," Billy said.

"You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?" I asked.

"Sure have. I've had little else to do for the past few days. I'm a
freakin' prisoner in my own house. It's seriously cutting into my social
life, let me tell you," Billy responded.

"Don't you mean sex life?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I mean. Sucks big time."

"Sorry."

"Yeah, well I guess I'll let you be sorry for that one," he said with a
smile in his voice.

"G'nite Billy. And thanks again for all you've done."

"G'nite, Shane. You'd have done the same thing for me. It'll all work out."

"Love you, man."

"Mmm-hmm. Love you too."

The next morning we woke and took care of our morning business. We stood
before our closet and worried over what to wear. Adam said to look nice but
not dressed up. He wanted a normal, small town, good guy look. We both
settled on a pair of Wranglers and button up collared shirt with boots. I
was a bit unsure, but a long look in the mirror confirmed it as the right
choice.  Breakfast was pancakes and sausage. Can't do battle with a media
horde on an empty stomach after all.  We rehearsed a few more times until
the sheriff tapped on the door. Mom opened it and invited everyone in. Adam
had limited the number of reporters and cameramen. Still, it filled our
small living room to standing room only capacity.

Billy and I were offstage in the kitchen. Adam wanted to make a statement
before bringing us in. We could hear him from our spot near the
refrigerator. I was nervous, as nervous as the time I was in the church
passion play. I was a shepherd and I had lines, lines I'd rehearsed dozens
and dozens of times.  When it came time to perform, I'd gone blank. When
the lady in charge whispered them to me from offstage, I strained to
hear. I tried to move closer and then I faced the audience and repeated
loudly what she'd said, "Watch out!" Immediately after that, I tripped over
the wooden cutouts of sheep and a large cow someone had constructed and
painted. It was a disaster, and I have been reminded of it nearly every
Easter since. I rehearsed my message over again in my mind and wiped my
sweaty palms on my Wranglers.

Adam informed the media of his role as our attorney and also as defending
Steve. Then he gave a statement detailing the horrible crimes perpetuated
by Uncle Arty and his criminal organization. He explained how I was not
guilty of any crimes and that I had been swept up in the hysteria of the
investigation simply because I was Steve's roommate in college. I remember
thinking that was my line, but I realized that he wanted it said as many
times as possible to reinforce it. He also talked about Billy being
recruited by Steve to help go find me, not knowing exactly where that
search would lead them.

"Fortunately for Shane, his college friend David Whittaker, as well as the
undercover FBI agent, the farm pickup that Billy drove to Billings to go
find his brother had a gun in the window rack. It's common practice for the
farm trucks around here to have weapons in them to take care of skunks and
other varmints while they are out tending to the watering, fixing fences
and clearing ditches. Had they not had this gun and had Billy not been such
a skilled marksman, all of these innocent persons would most likely be dead
today. Billy is a hero and deserves accolades rather than indictments."

Billy and I looked at each other quizzically. Billy stepped over to the
kitchen window and peered out.  Then he got a big smile and nodded for me
to come see. I looked out and asked what I was supposed to be looking
at. "Don't you see? Both of our pickups are parked right up by the
steps. We never park them there. They're staged for the media and they both
have guns in the window racks. Adam is freakin' brilliant," Billy
whispered. I nodded agreement. He was indeed brilliant.

Adam fielded some questions before introducing us. We both took a deep
breath and walked into the living room. Just inside the door stood a man
who took the breath right out of my lungs. There stood a six foot three,
bald sheriff with an ominous steel club hanging from his polished utility
belt. I squinted to make out the name on his tag over the left pocket on
his broad chest. "Withers" it read.

Oh, shit! I thought. Colt squealed. But I hadn't done anything with his
son. I just took his phone number and promised to call him so he could have
someone to talk to. Why would he come here? I worried. I wondered what Colt
might have told him. My mind started racing with every possible crazy
scenario.  Maybe the big sheriff had questioned the boys about why they
were so long in the bathroom. The little brother might have said
something. Colt might have made something up to cover his own fear and
embarrassment over what he'd been talking to me about. Maybe the sheriff
arranged to show up to expose me to the media as a true pedophile. I
imagined him stepping up and demanding my cell phone and then showing
everyone on camera how I had his young son's name and phone number in my
cell phone. What would be my explanation? There wasn't one. Not a good
one. Not a believable one. I imagined Adam blowing a gasket and telling me
he was quitting. I had to start breathing deep and blowing out slowly to
keep from panicking. It wasn't working. Panic set in.

It was too much of a coincidence for him to just be there by accident. I
crossed over and put Billy between me and the, built like a UFC champion,
sheriff. Somehow, I was beginning to view Billy as my protector, my
bodyguard. I guess Lou from the hockey team was right about that part, just
not about the baby-raping bullshit. I doubted Billy could do anything to
protect me from the hulking lawman, but somehow just having him between us
made me fell slightly better.

"Shane! Did you hear the question?" Adam asked, startling me from my
preoccupation with imminent destruction.

"Umm, sorry. No. What was it?" I stammered.

A young male reporter asked me when I had known about Steve's involvement
with the sex ring operations of Judge Arty. Adam gave me the go ahead
sign. "I still don't know for sure what kind of involvement he had. You'd
have to ask him." I was glad I remembered Adam's suggestion for handling
that very question. "I was just swept up in the hysteria of the
investigation because I was Steve's roommate and was searching for him
after he suddenly disappeared. The charges against me are all false." I'd
done it. I'd answered well and got the message out. I relaxed just a bit.

Adam gave an approving glint of a smile at my answer. I tried to pretend
the big sheriff wasn't there. I purposely never looked in his direction. I
kept waiting for him to interrupt. Surprisingly, there weren't that many
questions for me or for Billy. There were more for Billy than for me,
though, and Adam interrupted most of them to craft his own answer that he
wanted broadcast. Billy did a great job repeating his message over and over
again.

Then came the one question I'd been dreading, "Were you involved in a gay
relationship with your roommate and alleged child sex perpetrator, Steve
Fahrenheit?" It was phrased in an accusatory tone. I glanced at Adam and he
gave me another go ahead sign. We'd practiced this one also. "I am gay and
so is Steve. We publicly shared that back in January. Being gay is not a
crime, not in this country, thank God. We were roommates in college. That's
all I have to say on that." That was it. Honest, straight forward and as
unsensational as possible.

Finally, when Adam felt there was nothing more to be gained, he broke it
off and excused Billy and me. I was relieved to get away. The big sheriff
stared hard at me as we exited. He hadn't done anything but watch and
listen. My heart was pounding and my blood pressure was way up.

"You seemed really nervous," Billy said. "It wasn't really so bad, why were
you so nervous?"

"I just don't handle that kind of thing very well, I guess. You did great,"
I complimented.

"Thanks. Just told it like it was and stuck to the message like Adam said
to," he said.

"I'm sure you'll get off. I'm worried about myself still. There is a lot of
hysteria out there and it scares me that I really will get dragged into
it."

"Naw, c'mon. Adam won't let that happen." Billy threw an arm around my neck
and gave me a reassuring squeeze. It made me smile. I was coming to realize
how true it was what Steve told me in the loft of our barn back on
Christmas Eve. He'd pointed out how I failed to realize just how wonderful
a family I had and what a rare treasure it really is. I was realizing that
even though I was not as social as Karl or smart as Tom or as good at
anything Billy did, I still had my own value. I'd become such a different
person in just the few months since then because of my relationship with
Steve and then the trials I'd been tempered by while searching for
him. While I wouldn't want to go through it again, I had to admit I had
been strengthened by the experience. I wondered how much more refining I
needed still.

We listened to Adam give his closing spiel and warn the media not to
overstep their bounds. He told them that there would not be any more
comments from anyone until the trials began so they might as well pack up
their tents and move on. I wondered if they really would or not. I was
worried about sheriff Withers and I wanted to call and scold Colt for
telling his dad about me. I didn't want to call on my phone, though,
because that would just be more evidence against me if a call to Colt's
phone came from mine. I'd seen enough crime shows to know that much. I
couldn't borrow Billy's either and I couldn't leave the house without Mom
or Dad chaperoning me. I had a dilemma.

"Billy," I ventured. "I have a problem."

"Yeah I know, you're an ugly dork, but I've told you before, I can't fix
that," he joked.

"No, seriously. Traveling here yesterday, we stopped to gas up and pee at a
convenience store. I followed two young boys into the bathroom ..." He
raised his eyebrows with that 'Oh my God' look. I went on to tell Billy the
whole story, ending with the massive sheriff in the next room and Billy
just shook his head in wide-eyed surprise.

"How the hell do you get yourself into these messes?" he asked, shaking his
head.

"I don't know. But could you help me get a prepaid card I could slip into
this phone?"

"How would I do that? We're prisoners here, remember? The media isn't going
to leave just like that. It will be a while before either of us can go
anywhere," he responded.

"You're right. I just have to find out what Colt told his father to make
him come here and I don't want to use my phone or yours."

"No way! I don't want that hulk coming after me," Billy stated. "I might
have an idea, though."

"Spill it," I said.

"I'll call Jaime and ask her to meet me out on the canal road. We could
tell Mom and Dad we want to get out of the house and talk together after
Adam leaves. We could take the four wheeler and she could meet us out
there. I want to see her pretty bad anyway. You can use her phone," Billy
suggested.

"Do you think she will?" I asked.

"Let's find out." Billy texted her and she agreed immediately. She was
excited, even.  Once everyone had cleared out, we rejoined Adam in the
living room. "Other than Shane's brief panic attack or whatever was going
on at the beginning, that went pretty well. You both did a great job of
answering the questions and sticking to the message. Hopefully, they will
take my advice to heart and clear out now," Adam declared. He exuded pride
in us as if we were his own boys and we'd just won some sort of speech
competition.

Adam stayed and we chatted while he outlined what we could expect from here
on out. He indicated that he expected this news conference to get some
movement on Billy's case and that within a month, they should have Billy
favorably resolved. I don't know about Billy, but the idea that it could go
on for a month seemed like forever. Then he revealed it would probably be
six to nine months before anything would really get moving on my case. I
couldn't help but feel like Billy was Adam's top priority and I was
second. Steve was obviously third and I worried Adam would sell him
short. I kind of felt a bit annoyed with some of Adam's comments in the
news conference that seemed to throw Steve under the bus a bit.  I hinted
about that and Adam gave me a wounded look before assuring me that he would
fight as hard as possible for Steve. "All of my clients get my full and
best attention," he assured me. I felt foolish for my implication and I
apologized.

Following Mom's lunch of grilled tuna and cheese sandwiches, bottled
peaches in thick syrup, which Mom preserved from our own trees, and of
course, more berry pie, Adam gave us some final instruction and excused
himself. Dad busied himself with projects in the shop and Mom started
cleaning house. Billy cleared the driveway with the tractor and I took care
of the animals. Once Billy and I finished that up, we told Dad we wanted to
take the four wheeler out for something to do. He gave his okay and we
climbed on. Billy thumbed Jaime a quick text and off we went.

When we reached the north fence line, we parked the four wheeler and
climbed the fence, taking turns holding the top strand of barbed wire for
each other. I was getting impatient when the old, faded blue pickup truck
rambled up the canal road. I was surprised when Jaime climbed out from
driver's side door.  She was pretty and sweet looking. For some reason, I
was expecting a sluttier appearance. Her brunette curls plied their way out
of the edges of the light blue hoodie she was wearing. Billy devoured her,
pulling her into his body and engaging in an erotic, lust laden kiss.  I
was growing more and more impatient and just as I expected to have to
administer CPR to one or both of them, they separated long enough to
breathe. "So, is it okay if I borrow your phone?" I asked.

"Oh yeah. Here you go. I'm sorry about all the problems you've been
having," Jaime sincerely said as she pulled her phone from her sweatshirt
pouch. "It's ridiculous how some people are acting."

"Thanks." I took the phone and snapped mine open as well. I walked away
from them and dialed.

"Hello," Colt answered. I was glad he did. I wasn't about to leave a
message.

"Hey, this is ..." I didn't want to give out my name but I didn't know how
to identify myself. Bathroom boy didn't seem appropriate.

"Shane?" Colt resolved the matter.

"Yeah, Shane." I don't know what the point of pretending I wasn't Shane
would be as I thought more about it.

"I'm glad you called. I was hoping you would. I need to talk to
you. Something crazy happened at school today," Colt said.

"What the hell, Colt? Why did you tell your dad about me?"

"What?" Colt asked with real confusion in his voice. "What do you mean?"

"Your dad. He showed up at the news conference at my house today. He
wouldn't have done that unless you told him about our conversation in the
bathroom yesterday."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Colt denied.

"Come on, that's too big of a coincidence that you talked to me the day
before and then he shows up at my new conference today. You must have told
him or your mom or someone. Or your little brother did maybe."

"I swear it wasn't me. And I don't think my brother would. But ..." he
paused.

"But what?" I asked, expecting a confession to follow.

"My dad is kind of obsessed with your whole story. He watches all the TV
reports about it and he makes me watch them too. If I'm doing something
else, he makes me stop and come watch. That's when he makes comments about
how you all should have your faggy dicks cut off and stuff like that. It
scares me."

"Yeah, that scares me too. So you swear you never said anything to him or
anybody else?"

"I swear, Shane. I wouldn't dare."

I sighed. "So you think he just came because he's obsessed with the case?"
I confirmed.

"I guess. Geez. This is bad." I agreed with that statement. I turned around
and wondered where Billy and Jaime had disappeared to until I noticed her
feet propped up, one on the back of the seat and the other on the dash,
moving in rhythm. I turned back around and sighed. Sighing helps.

"Okay, well this changes things. First of all, this isn't my phone so don't
call back on this number. If you know how to delete the number from your
call history, then do it. Do you?"

"No."

"Okay, well forget that then, but don't call it back." I thought for a
minute. "I'm afraid you're on your own until all this mess blows over and
that could take a while, like months."

"Months?" Colt whined.

"Yeah, months," I repeated. "It's way too dangerous right now for both of
us to be talking if your dad is really as obsessed with this case as you
say he is. So we just have to forget about any kind of contact right
now. I'll call you after it's all over with and we can talk then if you
still want to - need to," I explained.

There was a long pause and I was about to ask if Colt was still there,
"What if I need your help before then? I won't tell my dad, I promise. What
if we meet someplace instead of calling?"

"No. No way. That would be worse if someone saw us together," I said
sternly. "This is serious, Colt. I could end up going to prison for
something I didn't do."

"We could be careful. No one would know."

"Colt, are you even listening to me? NO! I mean it. It could be dangerous
for you too if your dad is as phobic as you say he is."

"What's phobic mean?" Colt asked.

"Like homophobic, you know? Freaked out by gay guys."

"You think my dad is that?" he asked.

"Maybe. I mean it seems like he kind of might be from the way you're
describing him," I answered.

"Geez. I'm scared, Shane. What if I do something or say something gay and
he catches me?"

I smiled a little over that. How many times had I worried over that when I
was hanging out with other guys or around my brothers? How many times had I
self-consciously worried if I was walking gay or talking gay or if I'd said
something I shouldn't have if someone called me gay, even though they
called everybody gay sometimes. For others, being called gay was just a
little friendly dig, but for me it was an incrimination. "Just be who you
are," I advised. "If you've been okay up 'til now, you'll keep being okay.
Just don't do anything sexually related around your house or around your
friends."

"Like how do you mean?" he asked.

"Like you don't look at gay porn on the net, I hope?"

"No. Geez. I'd never dare do that. Besides, our computer's in the kitchen
and I can only use it if Mom or Dad are there with me."

"Good. Well then just be yourself and try not to stare at other guys. Try
to stare at girls instead," I suggested. Then I immediately felt foolish
over recommending that.

"Okay. Geez. Can I tell you what happened the today at school that I needed
to talk to you about?"

"Sure. Go ahead," I agreed.

"It was in gym class. We were climbing the big rope and we were in a line
and the next one to go had to hold the bottom of the rope for the guy in
front of him in line. Nathan was in front of me in line and he's a year
older than all of us and pretty big and strong too. So I sat on the floor
like the others done and held the rope so it would stay straight, you
know?"

"Okay, I got the picture. So what happened?" I prompted.

"Umm, Nathan started climbing and I looked up at him while he was and he
climbed all the way and touched the ceiling. No one else did that and
everyone cheered for him. Then to show off, he lowered himself after like
halfway down with just his arms so that his legs were dangling down and
..."

"And what?" I asked, having a pretty good idea.

"And I saw his dick and his balls. I mean I could like see them all the way
up the leg of his shorts and boxers. He was big. Not as big as you but
bigger than me by like way. I couldn't quit looking and I started getting a
boner from it. I started to freak out because I was just sitting there in
front of everybody and it was getting bigger and bigger and I couldn't stop
it."

"What did you do?" I asked, feeling for him and remembering having had
similar awkward boners pop up.

"As soon as Nathan touched down to the floor, I jumped up and turned away
from the others like I was ready to start climbing. When Scott grabbed hold
of the rope for me, I started climbing right off. I had to use my legs and
feet and the rope rubbing against my boner made it grow even bigger. I got
up to the second rag and a little bit farther before I got too tired and
had to come down. I got down and rushed to the back of the line, hoping no
one noticed I was popping out my gym shorts."

"What's the second rag?" I asked.

"Oh, the coach tied different colored rags to the rope. You had to at least
reach the blue rag, but I got to the second rag, so I did pretty good. Only
maybe ten guys got up to the third one."

"Well, boners are normal at your age. Even if someone saw yours, they'd
probably think it was normal.  Do you guys keep your underwear on in the
locker room when you get your gym clothes on?" I asked.

"Of course. Geez."

"Just wondering. Do you ever check out the other guys' bodies in there?" I
asked, because I certainly did in the school lockers.

"Sometimes, but not like being obvious or anything."

"Okay, good. That was kind of what I was meaning about that earlier - not
to stare. I really wouldn't worry about the rope thing."

"Well, there's more. You know the friend I told you about in the restroom
yesterday? The one who felt my boner when we were practicing dancing?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he always sits with that girl he went to the dance with now at lunch
so I don't have anyone to sit with. But today, Scott, the kid who held the
rope for me, came and sat by me and was all talking to me and stuff. And
..."

"And what?"

"And, geez. He said he saw my thing get hard when I was climbing and asked
if it got like that a lot. I mean he just asked it like it was a normal
question."

"What did you say?" I asked.

"I said not a lot. Just sometimes."

"Good answer," I said. "Did you ask him if he got hard?"

"No. I was too embarrassed to. But he just went ahead and told me he
did. Then we talked about our science teacher because we have that class
together too. Do you think he might like me?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he was just trying to make friends with you. Just be
friendly back and I wouldn't bring up sex stuff with him. If he does, just
say as little as possible and change the subject until you know him a lot
better."

"Okay. Thanks." Then he said. "But do you think he might like me?"

"He might. Sure. Do you like him?" I asked.

"He seems nice. I could like him, I guess. Except for the embarrassing
part, he was nice to talk to."

"Well then just be friendly to him like I said and see how it goes," I
advised.

"I'm glad you called, Shane, but I really want to talk to you more when
stuff like this happens. I don't have anyone else to ask about these things
with besides you. Can't we please talk more? I won't tell, I promise I
won't."

"I'd like to help you out, but it's just too dangerous. You'll just have to
deal with it on your own until this court stuff is over with. I'm sorry,
Colt. I really am."

"Okay. If you say so." He sounded defeated and really, really sad and
scared even.

"I'm not saying I won't ever call back. I will. Just not right now. Not
until this is all over with, okay?"

"Okay."

"And don't slip and say anything about us talking. Got it?"

"Yes. Got it. Geez."

"Colt?"

"What?"

"Colt, it will be okay. If you're gay or if you're not gay, it will be
okay. You have time to figure it out. I'll help you. Be patient. Promise?"
I asked.

"Promise."

"Great. Bye," I said.

"Bye." I hung up. I pictured him holding the phone more terrified than ever
before, knowing his father attended my news conference. I shared his terror
over that one. I had a hulking, homophobic sheriff advocating my castration
who'd obviously volunteered for the crowd control at the news conference. I
remembered his icy glare as I entered and left the room. If only I could
read minds. It was probably better that I couldn't. I looked back to see if
Billy and Jaime were finished with their business. The main event had ended
and the postgame make-out session was underway.

I walked down the canal road for a ways letting the day's events rattle
around in my brain while they enjoyed their social time. In no time at all,
my brain hurt from it all and I needed a distraction. I started texting
Whittaker. He responded and we swapped text messages for about fifteen
minutes while I sat on the edge of a canal wall. I didn't mention Colt or
his father to Whittaker. I was looking to escape all thoughts of that. I
told Whittaker I'd text more later on, shoved the phone in my pocket and
walked back to the truck. I rapped on the window and suggested we should be
getting back home. They reluctantly agreed.

After the protracted good- byes, Jaime drove off and we climbed back
through the fence after Billy tossed the used rubber into the weeds. "You
better wipe that stupid grin off your face. We don't want Mom and Dad
thinking I put it there."

Billy laughed his butt off. "Dude, you crack me up. I always thought you
were the funniest guy ever growing up. You still got that whack sense of
humor."

"So how'd your talk with that kid go?" Billy asked.

"Okay, I guess. He swears he didn't say anything to his dad or anyone else
about me. He said his dad is like obsessed with our case, though. Maybe it
really is just a weird coincidence that I met his kid in the bathroom
yesterday. Anyway, I told him we can't talk anymore until all this is over
with."

"Probably smart. How'd the kid take that?"

"He got it, I guess. Kids don't think about all the consequences of things
they do. Hell, I don't usually think about all the consequences of things,
but I'm starting to figure out I need to," I said.

"Yeah, no shit," Billy agreed. "Sometimes, you have to take a risk
though. Can't always play it totally safe. Just have to be as smart as you
can about it."

I let that soak in. It dropped like a ripe peach to the ground and I
bottled it up to preserve it. Somehow, I knew that bit of advice was worth
keeping on the pantry shelf.

We arrived back home and put the four wheeler away. The evening was spent
watching our news conference and all the other news about the case. Scores
of arrests had taken place worldwide. Some child sex slaves had actually
been liberated and underage porn stashes confiscated. Apparently, Uncle
Arty had contracted pneumonia and was in serious condition. I wondered if
it would help or hurt us if he died. I decided it would hurt because then
the only villains left to go after would be the living ones like Steve,
Todd, Simba and myself, Simba being the only deserving one. I knew enough
that they needed someone to hang and the evil judge was the best candidate
for that. Better that he live long enough to let them have their lynching.

After it aired, my parents' and Billy's cell phones blew up with calls and
text messages. I wondered if mine was also, tucked away in the evidence
locker of the jail. Billy didn't have his phone on him when he was arrested
so he was lucky to still have his original phone and number. My cell was
taken as part of the sweep of the sex studio motel where I'd been held with
Calvin and Whittaker. I doubted I would ever see it again. My parents
ignored the phone calls but read the text messages. The vast majority of
the texts were expressing sympathy for their plight caused by their
"wayward" sons filled with backhanded hints of their failure as parents
sprinkled in. Several messages were filled with blatantly judgmental, gay
bashing dribble. A few were concerned and caring friends expressing sincere
offers to help in any way. I'm sure they couldn't imagine in what way they
could help, but they felt the need to offer.

After a bit, Dad collected Mom's phone and said he'd had enough. We sat in
silence as Dad read the Farm Journal, Billy got online, presumably to see
what Facebook comments were being made about him or us. I pulled a book off
the shelf. Mom knitted. We were seeking distractions.

I read the same passages over and over in a western novel without much
comprehension. My mind swam with all the bleak possibilities for the
future. There were so many unknowns. I finally gave up on the book and
headed off to bed. I spent nearly forty-five minutes texting with
Whittaker. He was doing better every day and was going a little stir
crazy. I knew I'd have the same problem soon, if I was cooped up in the
house for months.

The next morning at breakfast, Dad informed me I needed to get changed into
work clothes and get a jacket. I finished up my waffles and headed
upstairs. When I returned, Dad was waiting in the truck.

"Where we going?" I asked when I climbed in.

"We're heading over to Jack Spring's place. He's been after me for a while
to fix a drive shaft on his combine. I thought we could both use something
physical to do."

"Great. But, I'm not too good at mechanical stuff, you know."

"I know. Maybe we can do something about that while you're stuck hanging
out with your old man," he chided with a grin.

"Cool. I'll like that." We arrived at Spring's Farm and I climbed out. Jack
Spring came out of his house and gave me a hard look before walking over to
my dad. They shook hands and Jack held on longer than needed and nodded in
my direction.

"Why'd you bring your boy here?" Jack asked.

"Because a drive shaft takes more than one man to hold it in place and weld
at the same time. And, he needs something to do," Dad answered. "Why?"

"I'm not really comfortable with him being here. What about taking him home
and bringing your youngest back instead. Him, I'm okay with."

"Why on earth would I want to go to all that trouble?" Dad asked.

"Because I'm not comfortable with him being here. That's why," Jack said.

"And just why is that? Jack?" Dad asked.

"Well I've got two young boys, Jacob. Surely you can understand that," I
just stood on the opposite side of the truck staring at Mr. Spring. My gut
was all balled up inside.

"No, Jack, I can't understand what your having two young boys has to do
with my son helping me repair your combine. I see absolutely no connection
whatsoever."

"Well, I don't need someone with his, his, umm, inclinations around my
boys, that's all. Nothing unreasonable about that. Now go trade out for
your Billy or just forget it," Jack insisted.

"All right. Have it your way. I'll just forget it. You can call out
Chalmers Equipment and pay twice or triple the amount. I learned a few
things at the farm show I planned to share to upgrade some of your other
machines but I'll just keep that to myself as well. Good day, Jack."

I couldn't believe Dad turned down the work because of me. Even though Jack
was being a complete idiot, I knew Dad couldn't be turning away work. We
needed the money. When we got in the truck, I could see the veins in my
dad's neck and his jaw was set hard. I doubted I could have any sway on
him, but I tried anyway.

"Dad, it's all right. You can go get Billy. I don't ..." He cut me off.

"The hell I will. I refuse to let him treat us that way. I'll never work on
another piece of his trash. It'll cost him a fortune to get that crap
repaired by the dealer." I saw he was dead set on it, so I backed off. I'd
never imagined how stupid and rude people would be over the situation. I
guess to some degree I understood it, but it's not like I was convicted
yet. In the courts it may be innocent until proven guilty, but it's just
the opposite in the court of public opinion.

When we got home, Dad started making calls around to farmers he'd done work
for and started pitching the machinery upgrades he'd picked up on at the
farm show. He'd figured out a better solution for a part on a cultivator
that would solve a recurring problem. He also had me come help him over the
next few days in his shop. We finished perfecting a new and better
fertilizing sprayer that he'd been working on. He and I went on a total of
three repair jobs together and it was fun working with him. Jack Spring
spread it around that he'd 'stood up' to Dad and wasn't about to let his
pervert son anywhere near his boys. The wives picked up on that and soon it
was a community mandate. If any of the farmers had kids, boys or girls, I
was banned from their property. Dad held firm and refused to work unless I
was allowed to accompany him.

With the exception of a few good, true friends, people started to avoid
both my mom and my dad. Billy just focused on his school studies and
checking the fence line up near the canal road on a regular basis.  He had
the perfect excuse to do so, because there had been some vandalism. Twice,
our fences were cut and signs left saying fags weren't wanted around these
parts. The words, 'Baby Raper' were scrawled across the side of our barn
one night and our pigs were let out. We called the sheriff's office and the
hulking, bald Sheriff Withers showed up. He went through the motions of
taking a report but seemed indifferent to trying to catch the culprits. He
was right, however, when he said there was little they could do to catch
the troublemakers short of posting a full time watch on the place and they
didn't have resources for that. Billy offered to stay out in the barn with
a twelve gauge full of rock salt, but of course, Dad made it very clear
that we weren't going to do anything like that.

Without Dad's income from repair work, I knew we would eventually be in
trouble. That sustained us through the wintertime. Still, his pride
prevented him from caving in on his position that I was his helper and like
it or not, if they wanted his help they had to accept mine. The second
Sunday that Billy and I were back home, we all got up early and dressed for
church like normal. We arrived at our normal time, five minutes early, and
sat in our regular pew, fourth back from the front on the right
side. People filed in and others who normally sat near us detoured when
they saw me. Necks craned and whispers flitted about. Ezekiel Davis and his
wife sat with us, but there was an obvious ring of empty pews around us
otherwise. I could see the pain and the hurt on my mom's expression. She
struggled to stay composed, but the hurt was deep.

As we left, the reverend shook hands at the door. When I put mine out, he
hesitated. I could read his thoughts. He knew he had to shake my hand but
he didn't want to. He didn't want to touch the 'unclean' thing he thought I
was. Shockingly, instead of taking my extended hand, he faked a cough into
his own hand and excused himself. Wiping his hand on his clergy robe, he
turned his attention to the family behind us. Mom was embarrassed, Dad was
annoyed and called him a coward when we got in the car. Billy was pissed. I
was disappointed, but not surprised. I already hated the self-righteous
bastard for other reasons. He was top on the list to remind me annually of
my Easter pageant blunder.

Later that week, Reverend Lewis paid us a visit. It didn't go well. Mom
invited him in and asked if he wanted to join us for dinner. He declined
but asked to speak with her and Dad privately. They went into the family
room and pulled the pocket door shut. Billy and I, naturally, moved up
close and held our ears to the thin, closed door.

"Something at the chapel need fixin'?" Dad asked.

"No, nothing like that, Jacob. It's about something rather, umm, delicate."

"Delicate?" Dad queried. He hated people who beat around the bush. "If
you've got something to say, just spill it out Will. Our dinner's getting
cold."

"Okay, of course, excuse me. It's about your family's church attendance. A
number of the congregation has expressed some concern about your son's
attendance. It might be better if he didn't attend with you."

Billy and I shot each other glances, both wondering if the reverend would
get out alive. Dad messed with him a little, like playing with a fish on
the line before sinking the hook and jerking him from the pond and then
smashing him over the head.

"I can see your point I guess."

"Oh, splendid. Well, good then," Reverend Lewis stammered. "That was easy
enough. Thanks for your understanding, Jacob."

"Why sure," Dad said in mock capitulation. "I mean Billy did shoot people,
and I can see how that could make some of the ladies a little squeamish,
but it was out of self-defense. I'll tell you what, if all the veterans who
killed people in the war in self-defense abstain from attending, I'll agree
to have Billy stay home as well."

There was a pause and I so wished I could see the reverend's face.

"I wasn't referring to Billy. I meant your other son, Shane."

"Shane? He didn't shoot anyone."

The reverend let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sure you know what I'm
referring to. Let's not play this game, Jacob. Shane's immoral crimes
against nature and those defenseless young boys is the issue here."

"First of all, my son is innocent of any crime. He was falsely
accused. Secondly, assuming my son's sexuality was doctrinally a sin,
Christ came to the sinners, did he not? He was accused of mingling with the
sinners and chastised by the self-righteous clergy of his day, was he not?
Now I don't believe it is a sin that he was born with a proclivity toward
his own gender, but I do believe the sin in shunning him is clear. Get my
bible, dear."

"Yes dear," Mom said.

There was a rustling of pages and my father quoted a passage:
	The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman caught in adultery,
and having set her in the
	center of the court, they said to Him, "Teacher, this woman has
been caught in adultery, in the

	very act. Now in the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women;
what then do You
	say?" They were saying this, testing Him, so that they might have
grounds for accusing Him. But
	Jesus stooped down and with His finger wrote on the ground. But
when they persisted in asking
	Him, He straightened up, and said to them, "He who is without sin
among you, let him be
	the first to throw a stone at her." Again He stooped down and wrote
on the ground. When they
	heard it, they began to go out one by one, beginning with the older
ones, and He was left alone,
	and the woman, where she was, in the center of the
court. Straightening up, Jesus said to
	her, "Woman, where are they? Did no one condemn you?" She said, "No
one, Lord." And Jesus
	said, "I do not condemn you, either. Go."

Then Dad continued, "How long have I known you, Will?"

"All our lives, Jacob."

"That's right. When you fornicated with Julie Newhall in the basement of
the chapel you preach in, did you stop going to church?"

"Jacob, please. Your wife."

"She knows what fornication is. So did you stop going to church? Answer the
question."

"No. Of course not. We were young, teenagers," the reverend answered. Billy
and I stared at each other wide-eyed. "We repented."

"I'm sure you did. I'm sure you confessed to your father and begged his
forgiveness. I'm sure he would have given it because he was a kind, wise,
Christian minded reverend. Well then, when you taught our mutual friend,
Matthew Hansen, how to masturbate and then engaged in extensive sex play
together, did you stop going to church then? I mean that was, after all, a
crime against nature, was it not?"

"Wha..." The reverend stammered. "I never ..." There was a pause. "That's
ridiculous. Shame on you for telling such a ..."

"For telling such an inconvenient truth?" Dad asked in a stern voice. "I'm
not the only one Matthew shared that with, reverend. So answer the
question? Did you stop going to church? Or did you repent for that also?
Did you tell your dear father about that one? You're nothing but a damn
hypocrite!"

Dad rustled some more pages and then quoted again from the scriptures:
	You blind Pharisee, first clean the inside of the cup and of the
dish, so that the outside of it
	may become clean also. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees,
hypocrites! For you are like
	whitewashed tombs which on the outside appear beautiful, but inside
they are full of dead
	men's bones and all uncleanness. So you, too, outwardly appear
righteous to men, but
	inwardly you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness....

My dad slammed the book on the coffee table and bellowed, "I'll be happy to
oblige your request, reverend. I'll make sure Shane does not darken the
doorstep of your chapel, along with the rest of us. I'll also invite you to
likewise leave our house now and never return. GET OUT!"

"You have no right to speak to a man of God like that. I'm not the one on
trial for sexually abusing little boys, your sinful little cretin
is. There's no forgiveness for his despicable crimes. Matthew and I were
just curious boys and it wasn't all what you make it out to sound like. I
can't believe you would bring something like that up in front of your
wife. No wonder Shane turned out like he did,"

"Will, have you even read the New Testament? Have you even heard about the
Atonement and grace of Christ?" Just get out of my house before I
physically throw you out," Dad boomed.

Billy and I scrambled into the kitchen away from the door just before it
flew open. We watched a red- faced reverend rush past to escape our
father's righteous fury. He shot me a disdainful look as he passed the
kitchen doorway. He paused before leaving out the front door and asked,
"Jacob, you're not going to go spreading that filthy rumor about me and
Matthew around are you?"

"Depends, Will."

"On?"

"On how you behave towards my fine son and what kind of things you say
about him in the community."

"I'll leave it alone if you will. Just don't come back to church so we
don't have to deal with it, okay?"  the reverend muttered and fled.

The silence was thick as a morning fog in springtime. "Well, stop standing
around and let's eat before it gets as cold and tasteless as that poor
excuse for a clergyman," Dad said to break the awkward stillness.

"Jacob!" Mom scolded.

"What? It's true."

"Still."

Dinner was a little awkward and silent until Billy asked, "What did
Reverend Lewis want?" He stuffed a heaping spoonful of potatoes in his
mouth after he asked it to keep from laughing.

Dad eyed him then picked up his dinner roll and threw it at him, bouncing
it off his forehead. "Don't you two go pretending you weren't listening at
the door. I heard you snicker, Billy."

Billy tossed the roll back to Dad and swallowed hard so he could
laugh. "What an ass, huh?"

"BILLY!" Mom exclaimed.

"Sorry Mom, but he was. I'll have to start calling him Reverend Lew-ass." I
snorted the mouthful of milk

I'd just started drinking and Dad even laughed. Mom tried not to, but she
gave in. It broke the ice.

"I never liked him and he's never liked me. I could tell. He still gives me
crap every year about the Easter pageant I screwed up," I added.

"So does this mean we're not going to church anymore?" Billy asked.

"It certainly does not mean that. We'll find another church to
attend. We'll drive in to Kalispell and attend one there. I'll look into
one," Dad responded.

"I don't want to start over at a new church. I have all my friends at
Christ Church. We shouldn't let him or any of the other troublemakers push
us out," Mom whined.

"Friends?" Dad asked. "Where are all these friends?"

Mom looked immediately down, pushed away and left the room, clearly
distraught. It broke my heart to see it. Minutes later, Dad went after
her. Billy and I finished eating in sad silence and cleared the table.
Billy went out and jumped on the four wheeler after drying the last dish. I
assumed he was headed out to meet up with Jaime. I went down the hall and
stared at Mom and Dad's closed bedroom door. I wondered what they were
saying to each other. I wondered if they blamed me for everything and were
just being kind not to show it to my face. I couldn't blame them if they
did. I headed outside and climbed to the loft in the barn. I swung on the
rope a couple of times and then sat on an old bench listening to my heart
beat and feeling very down. I thought about the time Steve found me in that
very spot on Christmas Eve. I thought about the time I learned to jack off
on a much earlier Christmas Eve in that same spot. Things were good when I
was a little kid. Life was so easy. Growing up was hard and sometimes so
painful.


****####****

I hope you continue to enjoy the story as much as I continue to let my
characters have their voice.  Please remember to contribute to Nifty to
keep the forum open for such stories as this.

Thanks to my wonderful editors, Paul Stevens and

Thanks for all your kind comments.

Hans Schreiber h.schreiber@hushmail.com