Date: Wed, 13 Jan 2010 21:12:59 -0800 (PST)
From: John Gerald <connectwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Peter's Story 5

"Wake up sleepy head, it's launch time," Peter called out as he knelt next
to the old couch.  After last night's realization, he was almost afraid to
touch the figure next to him.

`What if I can't control myself and leave my hand on just a little too
long?  Or I accidentally feel in the wrong place?' he asked himself.  Until
he could figure out exactly where things were going it was best to avoid
anything even remotely tempting, so he resolved to do the wake-up verbally.

Aware that his voice was often louder than it needed to be, at least for
most people, the volume of the wake-up ranged from gentle soft, whisper to
a sort of almost shouting whisper.  After several tries and on the verge of
having to actually contact Marty's shoulder, he finally got a groggy
response.

"umm...OK, thanks, Peter...oh...what time is it?"  he asked, squinting his
eyes and appearing momentarily confused.

"7:00, so you're doing OK.  Your alarm might go off any second, but I
wanted to make sure that you didn't lose any time."

"Oh...OK, thanks," Marty replied as he then rubbed his face and slowly
pushed himself up with his hands. "Did you sleep OK?" he asked.

Peter pushed the nearby coffee table a bit further out of the away so he
could now sit down before he answered.  "Yea, believe it or not, I did.  It
usually takes me a long time, and I was kind of wondering last night if I'd
have trouble. But gosh, I think I was asleep in 15 minutes."  He really did
fall asleep quickly.  It was a minor miracle for him, though, thinking
back, he now suspected a connection with the other times this semester that
he practically fell asleep even before his head had hit the pillow.

Finally getting his bearings, Marty looked around again, first left and
then right.  His nose wrinkled up as he sniffed the air.  "What do I smell?
Something is cooking, like eggs or bacon or something like that," he said
as he turned his head again, his nose continuing to test the air.

Pushing himself farther away from the couch, Peter reached over to the
table and pulled an upside down cardboard box off of a steaming plate of
eggs and sausage.  "I apologize for the lack of a stainless steel food
warmer, but we don't have any fancy stuff like that," he said as handed the
plate and some utensils to Marty.  "I thought you'd be hungry when you woke
up.  And besides, you'll need some energy for the test.

Marty threw the covers completely off and swung his legs onto the floor as
he gladly took the unexpected breakfast and placed it on his lap.  "Peter,
you didn't have to do that!  I was just going to get a breakfast bar and
some cereal at the Union and that would have been fine."

"I know, but that would take time, waiting in line and all that. It's
quicker to eat here," he responded.  He almost choked when he spoke, what
with Marty's half naked body inches away.

"Well, thanks a lot.  I guess I am pretty hungry, he said as he patted the
flat stomach underneath the tight with t-shirt.  "But it won't be so fun to
eat alone.  Did you make some for yourself?"

"Yup, my plate is up here", he said, as he got up and went to the counter
bar at the edge of the kitchen.  "You want something to drink, some OJ or
apple juice or water or anything?'  " "Yea, sure that would be great," he
answered. "Just let me get my clothes on and throw some water on my face
and then we can eat, OK?" Marty said as he carefully placed his meal on the
table before retrieving his clothes from the second-hand lounge chair that
was part of the living room ensemble. "OJ would be great, I think I need a
morning sugar rush."

"Sure. Hey, if you want to take a shower that's OK, too, the food can
wait."

"Oh no, I don't need to do that, it will just take me a two seconds in the
bathroom," he replied.  "And by the way, I get the inference, I know that I
smell, you can tell me straight, Peter," he said with a laugh.

"No, I didn't meant it that way" he protested.  He did in fact have scent,
Peter thought.  But it wasn't a bad one at all.

Marty just laughed again as he went into the bathroom.  "I'll get a shower
after the test. Luckily I can't smell myself, but since the test is graded
on a curve I'm hoping that I stink out everyone else in the class."

"By the way, how did you sleep last night?" Peter called out.

"Really good," Marty answered, his voice muffled behind the door.  "Thanks
again for getting all that stuff ready for me; I didn't want to put you out
at all last night, so I really appreciate it."

"No worries.  Like I said, we have all sorts of extra stuff around here.
I'll have the manservant Jeff strip the couch later," he said as he tilted
his head toward Jeff's room and smiled.

After they finished the meal a few minutes later, Marty grabbed both their
empty plates and started to stack up all of the used utensils and cups.
"That was really great. I never thought that scrambled eggs and sausage
could taste so good.  Where'd you learn to cook like that?"

"I'll take care of that," Peter said, ignoring the questions as he took the
dishes from Marty before he even had a chance to get up.  "Just get your
stuff together and do what you need to do to be ready."

As he brought everything into the kitchen, he finally replied. "As to where
I learned it, I guess I got it from my Dad.  He's always been really into
cooking and all.  I kind of like it, but my brothers, especially Bik, are
really into it.  So is my cousin Michelle, she's the real Iron Chef of the
family.  I'm really not exactly sure of what I'm doing, but I throw in a
few things that I'd see Dad and Michelle do, and as long as I don't go
overboard it seems to work out OK."

As Peter was cleaning up Marty went back to the couch and folded up the
blankets and sheets, disregarding more protests from Peter that he'd take
care of it.  Having a few moments time before he had to leave for the test,
he thought that he would wander over to Peter's bedroom to catch a glimpse
of his aquarium.

"OK if I take a look at the fish, Peter.  It's kind of neat, I like that
sort of thing."

"Um...you know what," Peter said, urgency suddenly apparent in his voice,
"I shut the aquarium light off last night so you really can't see much of
anything. I'll turn it on next time you come over, though.  I'll make sure
it's on next time," he said as he raced out of the kitchen, dish towel
still in his hands.

But he was too late. Just barely tapping the slightly ajar bedroom door,
Marty saw that the aquarium light was in fact turned on as it cast its
usual eerie glow into the darkened room.  But it wasn't just the aquarium
that caught Marty's attention.

"Hey Peter!" he called out, half yelling but at the same time trying to
keep his own voice down.

"You told me you had everything you needed last night, that there were
extra blankets and pillows and everything that I was using.  But look!"

The bed was completely stripped, no sheets or any linens at all, only
Peter's backpack and his heavy winter jacket were lying alone on the
bed. The backpack was at the head and was angled in such a way as to have
been clearly used as a pillow.

"And you're wearing the clothes you had on last night!"  Marty said as he
turned toward Peter, who was now standing right next to him.

He paused for a moment before answering, clearly caught off-guard.  "Well,
so are you," Peter responded as he threw the towel over his shoulder and
headed back to the kitchen.  "If you have a problem, the Complaint
Department is open at 11:00." It was said in a moment of bravura which he
hoped masked his real nervousness. "You can come back after your test to
talk to the management."

Marty gritted his teeth, obviously flummoxed himself as to what to say.
"You shouldn't have done that, you needed to get sleep yourself.  I'd have
been OK with my jacket."

"Believe it or not, I really did sleep great, no worries.  I don't know
why, but like I said, I got to sleep right away." He paused, but then
continued.  "I think that having..."  What he started to say was `...having
you around helped a lot,' then caught himself.

After he had finally gotten Marty out the door and to his test, Peter
plopped down on the couch.  Even though he had gotten an unusually good
night's sleep, the tension and anxiety of not knowing where Marty stood was
his new problem.

He had barely settled into the couch when Jeff came in the front door,
accompanied by the kind of triumphal racket he typically made when he was
returning from a night of conquest.  Though it was irritating, the
successes happened so infrequently that Peter had no trouble indulging him.

"Saw your boyfriend out front," he said nonchalantly as he looked back out
the front window.  "Did you guys finally do it?"

"Nothing happened, it was raining last night and he stayed on the couch."
Peter replied, not acknowledging the `boyfriend' comment.

"Up late last night yourself?"  Peter asked with a smirk as he watched Jeff
throw his backpack on the stairs and then drop himself onto the same chair
that Marty had used as clothes rack.

Jeff didn't answer at first as the two housemates sat silently opposite
each other, both preoccupied with different things.  When he finally did
speak up it was to continue his own thought, ignoring the pointed question.

"When I told your boyfriend, `Hi,' he said `Hi' back, and then he looked
away, down at his bike. But I could still tell that his eyes were red.  Why
was that, Peter?  Did you boys have a fight?"

"No, no fight," Peter answered, not looking at Jeff or at anything in
particular.  "Far from it."

					***

As the days went on, Peter became more and more clear in understanding
himself but less and less clear about his friend. Every time they got
together, whether it was out for a meal or playing sports or studying in
the library, Marty clearly enjoyed himself, though his general reserve was
always there.  But was he interested, or even capable, of anything more?

In a certain sense, he was OK not knowing.  It was almost as if getting the
ultimate bad news wasn't worth the risk, at least not yet.  He convinced
himself that he should just enjoy the company and the fun times they were
having together and not mess it up by hoping for anything more.

But as time went on, he found that he was less able to accept that
equation.  Every time he saw this guy, who seemed to be smiling and
laughing more each time, he found himself drawn in deeper and deeper.  He
was such an incredible person, in every conceivable way.

Peter was finally beginning to face fact that, sooner or later, he would
have to take the next step.


					***

The required upper level psychology class had not been one of his favorites
that semester. While he was very much interested in how people `ticked,'
the dry, clinical presentation of the professor seemed to drain the subject
of whatever potential fascination it might have.  He still listed and
struggled to pay attention, if for no other reason than he wanted to at
least get a decent grade.

He rechecked the course syllabus before the lecture started, and seeing
that it was about adolescent abuse and other family dysfunctions, resigned
himself to a very long 55 minutes.  Not that he didn't empathize with these
kids and their situations.  He couldn't help but be affected .  But leave
it to this particular tenured professor to drain all the emotion out of
anything interesting.

As he started the lecture, Peter could see that the girl next to him was
already half asleep, her limp hand unable to support even a pen, which had
dropped onto her lap.  But the professor was oblivious to this and other
passive provocations as he stood behind his defensive lectern.

"Many victims of child abuse internalize their wounds," the prof said as he
adjusted his glasses, which he seemed to do often, probably out of nervous
habit.  "They seem relatively normal, perhaps a little less emotional and
more serious than average, but other than that appear to lead perfectly
ordinary lives," he continued in his monotone, elaborating on the role of
denial and willful ignorance as coping strategies.

"They also draw away from people, avoiding real intimacy.  While they
appear to have many friends, or at least acquaintances, they resist any
close bonds and relationships as they continue their usually unconscious
struggle."

"But sometimes, something snaps and they can't continue the façade," he
said as he went to an example.  "I can give you the case of a young man who
was subject to violent sexual abuse by a respected neighbor, a person who
was a pillar of the community and the church.  The victim never told
anyone, he later said, because he thought that no one would ever believe
him if it came down to a choice between the two."

"That was one excuse, and in some ways, a practical though unfortunate
reaction.  But the other was the worst, at least for his long term mental
health and self esteem.  He said that he felt...ashamed, guilty, even
dirty. He felt and internalized the stigma, even though he truly was a
victim.  And that was what most motivated the internalization and denial of
his emotions."

"However," the professor said as he moved from adjusting his glasses to
adjusting his microphone.  "The events of daily life, however, usually
unplanned and unpredictable, can sometimes break this shell, or cause a
reaction that not even the most willful can control."

Peter was getting somewhat interested at this point, mostly because the
professor was using a realistic case study and not droning on about the
statistical analysis of 400 person surveys.  The only bad part was that
there wouldn't be any of the test-ready numerical data that he could
memorize for the exam, so he decided to just slip his pen into his shirt
pocket and sit back and listen.

"In this case the, this young man was celebrating the New Year with a bunch
of friends at a bar.  A couple of them, though not our subject, were drunk,
and when one of them stumbled from the bar carrying a drink he ran into
their table and knocked it over.  Well, with most of them being in varying
states of inebriation, there was a pile-up of bodies and several people
landed on top of our subject," he continued, now tapping his glasses
again..

"Suddenly, the buried episode of violence came back to him, as real and as
alive as if it had just happened, especially the memory of how the
perpetrator had used his greater size and strength to pin him down."

Peter suddenly sat up in his chair.

"Even though they were his friends, when the crunch of bodies pressed down
on him, he panicked.  He swung his hand and fists wildly, frantically,
screaming for them to get off, as if his life depended on getting out of
there.  He wasn't a big person, but a couple of his friends ended up with
black eyes and loose teeth. Later on, these friends, who had no idea of
what was really going on, said that they thought they never had seen such a
terrified look on his, or anyone's face, ever.

The next this Peter knew as he looked up was that the lecture hall was
empty and he could almost hear his own heart pounding.

Rolling back his head, he closed his eyes tightly as he whispered under his
breath, "Oh God, please no. No!"

Even though he had several errands and tasks planned that afternoon,,
including a long overdue call to his Dads, whom he'd not talked to in over
a week, he found himself wandering the campus in a daze.

`Maybe I'm just speculating, drawing the wrong conclusions,' he thought to
himself, `after all, what do I know about something like this?'  As he grew
up he hardly gave his own upbringing a second thought.  Even though it was
unusual, what with two Dads, it was otherwise so quiet and secure that he
scarcely could imagine this kind of fate for anyone, let alone someone like
Marty.

It was almost too much to believe. But the profile fit in so many ways.

Besides the violent reaction he witnessed during that first soccer game,
there was Marty's seriousness of manner. He seemed to warm up a lot over
the past few months, but that stern, sober look was still there more often
than not.  And as far as Peter could tell, he didn't have a girlfriend or
anyone except his sister, who was closer than Peter himself.  Though in
this case he knew his own passions could certainly be clouding his
judgment..

The approach of finals weeks didn't make things easier.  When he was a
freshman, he prided himself on his ability to focus, teasing his friend
Jeff about the academic consequences of his latest unfulfilled crush or
doomed affair.  Now, the shoe was definitely on the other foot.

					***

On the eve of the weekend before final exams prep week. Wei and Jeremy
recruited their soccer buddies and other pals for an end-of-semester game
of pick-up basketball.  They convinced the others that it was a great way
to blow off steam before the total focus on finals would preclude almost
everything except eating, sleeping and studying.  Though basketball was not
Peters' game, his competitive nature always got at least a respectable
performance out of him.

He didn't get on Marty's team, but at least hoped that his own squad would
be the `skins.'  He had never seen Marty completely shirtless, and could
imagine the distraction if he had to look at what was very likely a hot,
muscular chest the whole game.  When Marty's side proclaimed themselves
Shirts, he let out a huge sigh of relief, which got him a quizzical look
from a couple the guys around him.

They had picked teams randomly by drawing straws, with Marty's side getting
a 6'-6" former freshman scholarship player, a drop-out from high-pressure
world of collegiate athletics who decided that he'd rather enjoy the game
than be employed by it.

The tall guy's team elected him captain, and even though it was just a
pick-up game, he played tough and played to win.  Jeremy, as the center for
the Skins team, did what he could against the star, but the taller guy was
almost impossible to stop and the Shirts had built up a pretty good lead by
the beginning of the fourth quarter.

"Hey, you guys ready to give up yet," Wei teased from the Shirt side,
relishing the opportunity to play with someone who could more than make up
for his short frame.

"Not yet, buddy," Jeremy shot back, "We're only down by 10 with almost a
quarter to go, so don't get too cocky!"

They all played extra hard the next few minutes, with Jeremy's team
whittling the lead down to only by 5 points.  The Skin's captain was able
to pull down a rebound from Marty's missed 3-pointer and was about to toss
the ball down court when he caught a glimpse of Peter out the corner of his
eye.

"Time out!" he yelled.

He had noticed Peter struggling on the side of the court, leaning over with
his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. In an instant half the
guys on both teams were around him.

"Hey, Peter, you OK?"  Marty asked, his hand on Peter's back.

Even as he struggled for air, Peter involuntarily shook once again.  "Yea,
um..." he inhaled and exhaled deeply again, shaking his head side to side,
"Yea, I'm OK...just got to catch my breath."

"As coach, I'm putting you on the bench.  It's time you rotate out anyway,
Peter. We've got six guys and it's your turn now on the bench."  Jeremy
declared.

"But I was just out for part of the 3rd quarter!  I just need a second to
get back into it!"  Peter pleaded.

"Off! Or I'll have the bouncer remove you!" his captain retorted as Peter
sucked in more air, struggling to some regularity back in his breathing
pattern.

Jeremy looked around at the other players.  "Well, I hereby appoint as
official bouncer..."

"Me!" Marty yelled out.  "Captain, I'll rotate out and monitor the injured
player, if it's OK."

"Go for it," the tall guy said.  "He's not big, but he's pretty nasty under
the boards, so make sure you don't let him back in too soon," he said,
getting a laugh from all the guys and even, between breaths, a smile from
Peter.

The main stands were rolled back to expose extra area for these intramural
courts, so there was no place for Peter to sit until Marty ran out and
retrieved metal chair from the nearby lobby as the rest of the guys
continued the game.  "Here you go," he said as he unfolded the chair.

"Where are you going to sit?" Peter asked. He tried to stand up straight,
but was still wobbly as Marty guided him into the chair.

"I don't need to sit, I'll be fine, Pete...I mean Peter.  How long have you
felt like this tonight?"

"Gosh, no one calls me Pete...um, anyway, it just came on me a couple
minutes ago.  I tried to keep going, but it kind of got...," he said as he
took another deep breath, "...it kind of got to be too much."

					***

"You were pretty scrappy out there," Marty said as he walked Peter home
that evening after the game.  "Do you play b-ball much?"

"Not nearly as much as soccer, but sometimes we'd have pick-up games at
home with my brothers and cousins.  Bik and Robert and my Pop would be on
one side, and my Dad, my cousin Todd, who's taller than Jeremy, and me on
the other.  Pop and I were more soccer guys, so we kind of evened things
out with all the basketball junkies in the family."

"It didn't seem like you were a stranger to rough play out there. Wow, you
were throwing elbows like crazy under the boards.  Even that big guy
noticed."

"Oh yea, that.  That's all from Todd.  He was the stud of his high school
team, even played in college last year.  He taught me how to play under the
boards, even though an average size guy like me doesn't really belong
there," he said with a laugh.

In spite of the fact the he didn't feel so well, it was great to be with
Marty, just strolling and talking. If he didn't feel so weak he could have
walked for miles.

As they reached the front door, Peter began fumbling around for the house
key, going from one pocket to the other.  Usually he could find them almost
automatically; his fingers were so tuned into the texture and shape.  But
the long walk seemed to tire him out more than he expected and he suddenly
couldn't feel things very well.

The next thing he knew he was being propped up by Marty, again barely able
to stand.

"Peter! Are you OK?" he asked, with some panic in his voice.

Peter shook his head, trying to orient himself.  "Um...yea..." When he
finally realized what had happened he jerked upright, not trusting himself
to be so close to Marty.

"Hey, sorry,I guess I shouldn't have done that walk, I just need to sit
down, that's all."

"I think you're right about not walking, but it's too late now.  Let's get
you inside and to bed, "Marty said.  "Give me all the keys out of your
pocket and I'll figure out which one it is."

When they finally got inside, Peter was able to move on his own, but was
still being steered by Marty's hand on his shoulder.  "Let's go to the
bedroom first and get your coat and stuff off, then, I'll take you to the
bathroom to clean up.  Then you're going to bed."

Peter never felt so conflicted. He wanted so bad to just kiss this guy
right now, but barely had the energy to keep himself going.

After he groped around for a moment to find the light switch, Marty led him
into the bedroom and stood him next to the closet as he helped him off with
his jacket and sweater, each of which he carefully folded and placed on top
of the dresser.

"Can you pull your shoes off?" he asked.

"Um...I think so...let me try." Peter responded as he moved over and sat
down on the bed.

"Um...better yet, just sit tight and I'll do it, OK?"  You might keel over
when you lean back up and the blood goes out of your head," Marty said as
he got down on his knees to untie and pull off Peter's shoes.

"Thanks," he said very quietly. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

There was no regret in Marty's voice as he replied. "No problem at all.
Your feet stink, but no worse than mine," he said with smile. "Now, ready
for the potty?"

"Uh huh" came the reply as the strong hand now helped him to stand up.

Marty finally removed his own jacket and pack, which he had not had time to
take off until now, and stood by the bathroom door until Peter had finished
what little he could struggle through by himself. He opened the door and
turned out the light as Marty had to steady him yet again.

"Ready to hit the sack?"  If you want to undress I'll wait in the living
room.  I just want to make sure you make it into bed.

"Uh huh, OK, just give me a second."  If he was even at one-quarter
strength he would have let him stay in the room and then who knows what
would have happened.  But at this point he could only go along with
whatever was suggested and be grateful for the help.

Peter called him back into the room just when he had pulled the covers over
himself. The only ritual that he had yet to do was to take out his hearing
aid, but then he remembered that he had forgotten to feed the fish.  He was
just starting to raise the covers and get out of bed when he felt Marty's
hand again on his shoulder.

It was not rough or jarring, but the intent was clear.

"You stay there.  Tell me where the food is and I'll feed them."

"But..."

"Stay, Peter.  Get some rest.  Take out your hearing aid and go to sleep. I
hate to tell you this, but the fish will just as easily take food from me
as from you.  They have no loyalty." he said with a chuckle.  Before Peter
could point it out he saw the fish food container out the corner of his eye
and reached over to the desk for it, taking off the cap and then gently
sprinkling the water with the small flakes.

After he finished and screwed the plastic cap back on, Marty turned and
said, "OK, I'm going to take off for home now, if I can assume that you'll
stay in bed.  If not, I'm going to serve guard duty."

Peter was clearly already half asleep and just mumbled something like, "OK,
thanks, buddy. g'night."

Marty turned off the main room light and pulled the chair next to the bed
as he spend the next few minutes watching over him, accompanied by the
darting fish and the soft glow from their tank light.

As he was sitting there his eyes sometimes wondered to the pictures on the
wall, in particular to a shot of his Dads, probably taken some years ago.
"You look a little bit like your Pop, but a lot more like your Dad," he
said under his breath as he returned his attention to the figure in the
bed.  "And you look a lot like your Aunt Hanna, too," he said with a small
smile on his face.

When he was satisfied that Peter was indeed asleep, he turned out the light
and quietly went out to the living room to reclaim all his things as he
prepared to leave.

Before he went out the door, he couldn't help but poke his head back into
the room one more time, attracted by the soft glow that the aquarium cast
in the room and over the bed. Or perhaps attracted by something else.

Even though Peter's hearing aid was on the table and he was sleeping on his
left side, Marty approached the bed as quietly as he possibly could.

He stared down, listening to Peter breathing, making sure the rhythm was
sure and steady.  He made a motion to leave, but then suddenly turned back
and stood beside the bed again and looked down.  Suddenly, he realized that
he was shaking and that he could almost hear his own heart pounding.

Still gazing at the sleeping figure beneath him, he slowly bent down.
Steadying himself just above Peter's head, he took a deep breath, swallowed
hard, then gave the sleeping Peter a gentle kiss on the cheek.