Two Boys

Rocco Paperiello


Again. This story is about relationships between and among teenagers. This includes intimate relationships between young males. If you don't approve or are offended, then how come you're reading this? Go to some other Internet Site. (Of course some people actually cultivate being offended; if that's the case, read right on). As far as detailed descriptive sex acts, I think you may find some good ones in other stories right here on Nifty, but as of now I do not envision a lot of explicit detail in this one.

If, for some legal reason, you are not allowed to read this in your area of the world because of illogical laws, again I will not condone (publicly) anyone breaking the law, so either move or read sentence four. I definitely don't want the thought police after either of our derrieres.

Please, this story is sort of my property, so if you ever want to quote some of it (whatever for I wouldn't know), please e-mail me and also give proper attribution. As of now no one has permission to put this story on another Internet Site.

This story is almost entirely fictional, and autobiographical ONLY in the sense that many of the incidents in the story really happened, but in some cases to different people and under different circumstances. In other words I've simply adapted things that happened in my life to a fictional story. In fact, some aspects of both main characters are in some part modeled from my own experiences. Some of my family members are also in this story, and perhaps (definitely) distorted a bit (a lot) at times and sometimes approaching caricature, but since I really don't expect them to sue, I'm taking the chance. All other characters are fictional, except as noted).

PLEASE give feedback. I don't even care if it's bad. (Did I really just invite that? I must be a bit addlepated).

Rocco Paperiello


PART I -- Beginnings

Chapter 1 -- Why Does God Hate Me?

My life both ended and started on the same day almost 4 years ago. That was the day I lost my hands, and subsequently everything else that mattered. Well, maybe not quite. I still had my life (for whatever that's worth) and my Mama.

I got home from the hospital and my new life loomed forbiddingly before me. Thankfully my Mama never gave up. She eventually got me to fight back. And I finally started to learn how to use my new hooks. (Well that's what I called them. The therapist never liked that). Everything I liked to do, I could no longer do. And even the everyday normal things were made so difficult, like eating, writing, getting dressed, putting on shoes, even peeing, for god's sake. At least now, after Mama helps me get on my hooks first thing, I can do most of these things, but everything takes twice as long. And it's the little things that suddenly loom so big. Like I can't even put the hooks on, or take them off, by myself. They said after I stop growing the final ones can be made differently so I can be more self sufficient. But right now that would cost too much since these are more adjustable for growth. And when I sweat, the straps are really annoying. Sure, I'm pretty used to that now, but still. Every once in a while I still cry over loosing my hands. It took ages to get used to the hooks, but my Mama never gave up. So I didn't. I think I started to get much closer to my Mama during that time. And she helped me stop being angry at everything. I have a great Mama.

And that's one of the reasons why I can't stop crying now. I'm so alone except for my Mama. And now I'm going to loose her too. The day I found out about Mama, the letter from the lab and other doctor stuff, was the day I started to think that God truly hated me. And her. So I started hating Him back. That was about a month ago. Mama thinks she is keeping all this from me. And I'm trying to keep her from knowing that I know. What a strange situation. I am also keeping from her something else about me that would hurt her so deeply, that I think maybe I would kill myself (not really too much of a loss there) before I'd let her find out.

I barely survive in school, and I know that Mama thinks I should do better. I really like learning about things, I just hate school. I know that sounds contradictory, but it's true. I'm a strange boy, I guess. I really believe so. One thing I now do is read a lot. Even philosophy and the classics. Also most kids keep trying to make others think they are so great at whatever. But myself, I frequently put on a sort of fake me. So the world don't look inside and see how lonely and scared and hurting I am inside. And part of the fake me is to pretend I'm not very smart. And man, I'm really starting to hate white folk. Why do they hate us so much? My Mama works so hard and we are still so poor. Why don't the white people let her get a better job? And that's another thing that scares me. I'm starting to hate everyone. Even God. Especially God. Why is life so unfair? Isn't God supposed to be fair? First he makes me black. OK, so I could deal with that. And then my Dad leaves us. That wasn't God's fault, but why couldn't I have had a Dad that loved me? I don't scarcely remember him. And then He lets me loose my hands. I had a REALLY bad year after that, but I finally fought most the way back and was even starting to be happy again. And my Mama really started helping me so much more. But then last year I figured out something about myself that made me wonder if God really and truly hated me after all. And since then I just can't seem to always get up enough energy to fight so much anymore.

God, maybe if I just could find one person who would like me for who I REALLY am. I simply CANNOT let Mama know. But just that one friend who I can be me around and who would like me anyway. I used to pray for that but can't anymore. It's really hard to believe that God really cares.

And the final proof that God truly hates me I discovered last month. He is taking Mama from me. Mama is dying. I saw the lab test and the report by the specialist our family doctor sent her to. Right now she is well for a while and then bad for a while. But the bad times are starting to get longer. The doctor said she probably had only about 6 months. When I'm alone and afraid, I sometimes can't stop crying, even if it's only on the inside. And I'm really sorry Mama, `cause I think I'm crying more for me than for you.

I'm not sure what will happen with me, but I'll probably end up living with Uncle Mike. I've heard Mama talking on the phone with him a few times. Mama, I know, really doesn't like him very much, but there's no one else. We live only 10 blocks away and yet I only see him maybe once a year. Of course he was Dad's younger brother so that's probably part of it. But my Mama said once that my Dad could never get along with his younger brother. I really don't think Mama ever knew why. And how come adults have to be so complicated? When I grow up I am NOT going to be complicated. I am just going to be me.

Damn it though, I already have to be two people. The person others see, and the person I really am. That's another thing I hate. But I can wish. Maybe, I can find that one person who I can be the real me with.

Chapter 2 -- The First Meeting of "Best Friends"

I opened the crisp bound book. It was brand new. The pages were lined but otherwise blank. I was excited, as I made my very first entry.

Journal of Rocco P

September 14, 1959

Absolutely NOBODY is to know this, but I cry a lot at night, when I'm sure NOBODY can hear. But tonight will be different. I don't think I will have to cry anymore. At least I really hope so. (At least not at night). Unfortunately I'm a very emotional person and even at 14 (OK 13 plus 11 3/4 months) I still cry when certain things happen and it is SOOOO embarrassing. I try not to, but. . .

I think I've finally found a good friend. And I think he might even be as lonely as me. He didn't actually tell me so, but he had that sad look about him at times especially when we talked about other people we play with (or don't play with in his case), or talk to, or meet at our schools. I suppose he may have realized the same about me. I try to bury it very deep, but sometimes I can't keep my emotions down when I talk about certain things. I liked him SO MUCH almost immediately. It's strange but I can't figure out why. My God, I just thought -- what he must REALLY also have been sad about is his hands. I mean he didn't have any! That's the second thing I noticed about him. (Yeah, you'll soon learn I'm not always the real observant type. I didn't notice his hands for a couple minutes. Actually if a crime were committed right in front of me, you'd be better off questioning the other hundred witnesses first. But in my defense he kept his arms behind him mostly when we first started talking). Actually the first thing I noticed was how black he was. (Actually that wasn't the REALLY first thing. But it's embarrassing to actually talk about the really first thing).

And the most greatest marvelous greatest greatest thing in the world -- I REALLY think he likes me too! (I don't really talk like that, but this is just a journal and I can express myself the way I want without being embarrassed). Oh yeah, I really like him also. Later, he actually asked if we could get together tomorrow! HE ASKED ME! And I was so stunned I couldn't answer right away. And that was one of the times he got that real sad look, and looked down. That looking down -- I know what all that's about, I do it a lot myself. It happens when I'm disappointed but don't want to show it. Or sad, or other bad feelings. Which I am a lot of when I'm with all the boys I play with.

Thank you God for answering my prayers and letting me have a FRIEND. (I hope you don't mind reading that in this Journal but I guess I'm pretty religious).

That's what I cried about a lot when I first went to bed and when nobody could see. I felt so lonely all the time. All I just wanted was that ONE really close friend. But somehow nobody ever seemed to really like me. I tried to figure out why. Maybe because I complain too much. I've REALLY tried not to. And I think I've stopped doing it a lot. But I just never could get a really good friend -- who would want to be my BEST friend.

It's getting late so I'll write some more tomorrow. I didn't realize how much time writing like this takes, and I got to finish before my brother comes up to our room to go to bed. This is the first entry of my first diary. But I thought it sounded more mature so I call it a journal. I was simply SO HAPPY today when I got home from the park, that I was simply bursting and HAD to do something and suddenly got this thought -- why not write about it. I'm just a bit worried what my parents would think. Well only a tiny bit. Actually I really don't think my parents would really mind if my friend was a Negro, but I might get embarrassed if my father would say the wrong thing. He claims he's not prejudiced, but. . . some of the things he says.

I started with a blank sheet of paper but just after a word or two decided I needed a special book for lots of reasons. So I can save what I write easier and also keep everything together. That's not quite right but the best way I can say it. (Gees, I'm glad this isn't to be turned in for a grade. The English isn't so good. But it's only for me anyway). So anyway I went all the way to the Merry Shoppe. I simply love that place. They have masses of stationary, small gifts, and heaps of everything. The couple that run it are pretty old but very nice. They're even older than my parents. We've been going there for years. I even bought my first fountain pen there in fourth grade. Ball point pens weren't very common then. I remember being amazed by the one my cousin showed me when I was about six or seven. Ball point pens didn't get really common until the BICs were made, I think, in the mid1950s.

And BOY that trip almost killed me! Oh my God when I just think about it. I ALMOST GOT KILLED! LITERALLY! I mean I was coming back home crossing Frankford Avenue. I was so excited and I just didn't look. It's strange but I really never panic, but today I did. When I saw that pick up truck coming right at me, I simply froze. I could hear the loud screeching of the brakes and skidding just as the truck hit me. Actually I should say touched me. Because that's all it did! The bumper just touched my legs. The poor driver -- all right don't believe me -- but what I actually was thinking of after the "accident" was about the driver. He seemed to just sit there all slumped in his seat. I felt so bad for him. I told him I was really sorry, and ran home embarrassed. Gosh, he probably almost had a heart attack. I never told anyone and I probably never will.

You know maybe that's why nobody likes me very much. I'm so selfish. I keep thinking mostly about myself and stuff I want. Here all this time and I never described Jade or told you his name even. I'm really bad at trying to describe people. Jade's 15, and much bigger than me. (But that's not hard). I guess maybe 5' 5' or so and maybe 140 pounds. He's VERY black, and his features are obviously Negroid. I never really paid much attention to the looks of colored people before (nor even to white people for that matter), but for some reason his looks fascinated me. Don't ask me why. I also suddenly even got the urge to feel his hair, but of course I didn't.

But I really have to stop here. I can hear the Jack Parr Show just starting after the late news, and Carl will be up soon. (He's my brother -- two years older, and we share the room). I'll describe Jade tomorrow. (Oh, and my name is Rocco -- I really hate that name. I'd sue my parents, but I don't think they have enough money to make it worth while).

Copyright 2006 by Rocco Paperiello