Date: Fri, 12 Nov 1999 16:39:36 EST
From: Lyndhurst Rutherford <lyndie_73@hotmail.com>
Subject: TADS STORY.....Chapter 4

Hello, my name is Lyndhurst Rutherford, or Lyndie for short. The following
story is purely fictional. This is a concerns friendship, love, and sex
between boys. If you are offended by my work, please don't read it. If this
story is illegal because of your age or locality, don't read it. This, dear
reader, represents my first attempt at writing short stories. If you do
choose to read on, I would so enjoy hearing any and all serious
observations and critiques from you.

Please feel free to e-mail me at lyndie_73@Hotmail.com.

Copyright 1999, Lyndhurst Rutherford, all rights reserved.

------------ Tad Story..by Lyndhurst Rutherford...lyndie_73@Hotmail.com

	I led Tad down to the dining room where we were greeted by my
parents, who were having brandy, and were engaged in some conversation. In
those days it was proper manners for children to enter as quietly as
possible and speak only when spoken to.

	Walking up to mother slowly, with my arm around Tad in a manly sort
of way, and to keep him from being all nervous and frightened, we politely
stood and waited for mother and father to finish there conversation. After
a moment, mother looked at me and with her warmest smile on her face asked
me to make introductions. "Mother, may I present Master Thomas Winslow."
"Good evening Master Winslow, We've heard quite a bit about you, young
man." Said mother.  I expected Tad to answer back, but I heard
nothing. Looking over at Tad, all he could do was blush, but couldn't say a
word. Lord!, I thought to myself, Tad's shy around woman! Who would have
guessed?

		Giving Tad a jab with my elbow, and almost knocking him to
the floor, seemed to wake him up and he finally found his voice. "Very
pleased to meet you Ma'am.", he said, giving me a playful jab back with his
elbow.
		"Well then," said mother. "You do speak English !" She said
in mock surprise. And we all had a good laugh, even Tad, who was still
blushing. Oh how I wanted to take him in my arms and taste those sweet lips
once again. It seemed that whenever my angel would blush it made me want to
hold and protect him. He just seemed to me, sweet and vulnerable. But
somehow, I don't think it would have gone over too well with mother and
father.

		Dinner went very well, and Tad finally found his
voice. Quite frankly we couldn't shut him up.  He jabbered on and on, about
this, and that, and anything in-between.
		Tad and I hadn't realized how hungry we both were. I guess
all our newfound exertions had taken their toll, as we were absolutely
ravenous. Tad and I finished off half a turkey and enough mashed potatoes
for five boys, by ourselves and were quite ready for dessert, much to
Annabelle's delight.
		"Master Samuel, I've never seen you eat like this
before. It surely does my heart good to see that you enjoy my cooking so."
It was then that Tad stood up and became Annabelle's best friend by
personally thanking her for the best dinner he'd ever tasted in all his
life. "Well now young man, I hope you like chocolate ice cream, because I'm
giving you a double helping for dessert.""Oh master Samuel, he is a cutie,
he is !" Then it looked as if she was waltzing back to the kitchen,
floating on a sea of Tad's compliments.

		As I laughed to myself, and Tad blushed, again, I wondered
to how it was that Tad had this power over people. Everyone he came into
contact with, fell madly in love with him.

		"Well Samuel," said father, "Are you to tired this evening
to engage your old father in a game of chess ?" "Not if you really want to
play father." Before father could reply, Tad chirped in, "Mr. Hedge, sir,
if Sam's too tired, I'll play you !, that is , of course, Sam, if you don't
mind ?" Mind ?, Why would I mind ? Just because I wanted to get Tad alone
and, well, I guess I was thinking selfishly. After all, Tad was making
himself quite welcome with my family. They adored him. Almost as much as I
did.
		 I guess it's been so long since he's known the love of a
family, that he would relish the thought of any and all attention. And I
didn't mind sharing with Tad. After all, if you could have seen the happy,
contented look on his face, well it brought me great satisfaction to make
him happy in this way. I looked at Tad and told him that I didn't mind, and
he smiled that sweet smile of his and looked me right in the eyes.

		Oh, lord,what kind of magic was this? To be completely
enveloped in another world, each and every time we gazed into each others
eyes. I was slowly getting lost in those seductive eyes again.

		"Samuel?"..."Samuel!" All at once I tumbled rudely back to
earth, and clouds of sublime rapture were quickly replaced with storm
clouds and lightening, when I realized, with great embarrassment that, so
enthralled had I become with this sweet angel's beckoning eyes, that I
completely shut out the fact that mother had been talking to me, and was
now annoyed because I didn't hear a blessed thing she said to me.

		"Oh!, I'm so sorry mother. I guess I'm a bit more tired
than I'd imagined." I could hear Tad and father giggling behind
me. "Father!" scolded mother, "would you please escort us to the parlor?"

		Without another sound, and a few sheepish looks, father led
the way with Tad right behind him. As father and Tad got busy setting up
the chess board, mother had me sit across from her and hold her yarn up so
that she could knit. Actually, it wasn't too bad at all, you see. While
mother had her eyes on her knitting needles, I became occupied with
studying the object of my affection, as he and father battled with their
chess game.

		As I watched him concentrate on his moves, I saw another
side of Tad. One of great concentration. It seemed that I loved any and all
of his moods and faces.

		How?, I thought to myself, could one blonde haired, blue
eyed boy, have taken over my heart so completely, that I would gladly give
my life for him? I wondered how long it might last. How long would we love
each other? I am but a mere boy, but I already know that, if I had to live
without him, I would be but an empty shell, and life would have no warmth,
no light, and no love.

		After a while, mother put down her knitting for a moment to
put one of her favorite record cylinders on the victrola. Mothers favorite
music was opera, and father and I cringed with every note. But, as we both
feared for our lives, we said nothing.

		Slowly, mother cranked up the turn handle of the victrola
and it came to life, bellowing some sort of foul noise from the large cone
shaped amplifier. Mother would stand there during the first few straining
notes and close her eyes and let herself be carried away on wings of music.

		Casting a glance at father, he seemed to feel me looking,
and looked back to me, rolling his eyes in mock disgust, making me want to
burst with laughter. I then looked back to Tad, but instead of looking at
the chess board, contemplating his next move, he was staring up in the
direction of the victrola. Looking in his eyes, I noticed that he seemed to
be staring into space with a rather odd looking blank look on his face, as
if being summoned by some force that no one else could see or hear.

		Suddenly, without warning, Tad got up from the chair at the
table, and slowly walked over to the victrola and stood next to mother,
still with that look on his face. Sensing his presence, mother opened her
eyes and looked down at Tad. Before she could utter a word, Tad looked into
her face and said "Che gelida manina." What? What in the devil was he
saying?

		Mother asked him to repeat what he said, and again,
directly at mother he said "Che gelida manina." Mother seemed astonished!
"Why Thomas ! How in the world did you know the name of this song, dear?"
		Tad hesitated for a brief moment, then with carefully
chosen words, said "Father". Then summoning up all the courage my darling
spoke again almost inaudibly, and his sweet voice trembling. "Father and I
used to....to... used to listen to his opera records again, and again,
before he, he.......disapp..........." He never finished the sentence, as a
great torrent of tears started down his face and he ran out of the room
crying uncontrollably. Immediately mother was right behind him, beating me
by a hair, when I felt someone or something grab my arm and pull me back.

		Father!, It was father who pulled me back, preventing me
form going after my love. I tried in vain to break away. Tad needed me. I
had to hold him. To take him in my arms and kiss away his tears. Yes, I was
going after my angel without regard as to who would see me. As I looked at
father, not understanding why he'd held me, I soon found out.

		"Samuel, no. Let mother quiet him. After all, my son, there
is no substitute for a mother's love." In those few words my father made me
realize, that maybe, what he really needed at the moment was a mother's
love and soothing touch, after all. Still, I could not stop the awful pain
in my heart as I stood helplessly by. By God. At that moment, I was one
hundred percent sure that I would love Tad forever. Why else would I hurt
when he was hurting so badly. It's as if we were one being in two bodies
but sharing the same wants, pleasures, and pain. If this is what love was,
I would gladly accept any pain or pleasure that came with it.

		After a while, the sound of crying had stopped. I slowly
got up from the chair I was sitting in and made my way to the small sitting
room, just off the parlor. I stopped before I got to the door and slowly
peeked around the door frame, not wanting to intrude just yet.

		In the soft oil light of the room, mother sat on the great,
over stuffed, high backed chair with Tad curled up in her lap, face buried
against her, under her chin.
		Tad still whimpered softly as mother tenderly held him
close to her stroking his hair and ever so softly singing a baby's lullaby,
while gently rocking back and forth.  As I took in the scene, unnoticed by
either Tad or mother, I thought to myself that mother indeed, had me well
beaten when it came to such things. Father was right again.

		Just then, there was a tap tap on my shoulder. When I
turned, father was standing there with his finger to his lips telling me to
be quiet and then signaled me to come with him.
		Once in the other room, he said, "Son, I think I'd like to
have a cigar, would you like to join me outside for a walk and a breath of
air?" Thinking about it, a breath of cool air would be just the thing to
refresh me about now, so I readily agreed. Father grabbed one of his cigars
from the box on the fireplace mantle, along with a few matches, and we
stole silently out the door.

		Stepping outside with father, we were welcomed by the cool
night air, bringing a new refreshment to our tired souls. As father and I
made our way towards the back garden, the walk and the hedges seemed to
glow so brightly, being illuminated by a full moon. As the crickets chirped
their mating calls to one another, father languidly prepared his cigar for
the smoking, he so enjoyed. First I watched him as he used a clipper to
remove a small piece at the end, so as to draw the smoke out with. Then he
used his tongue to lightly lick the entire out side of the cigar. Father
had once told me that by doing that, it made the cigar burn more evenly. I
couldn't see how he could stomach the taste of the foul thing. Once having
had the opportunity, I licked the out side of a cigar. Just a bit, mind
you, because no sooner had I done so, there was a burning on the end of my
tongue. I swallowed hard to try and quell the sensation, but met with the
most awful taste in my mouth. I plainly, felt sick for days.

		Putting the cigar in his mouth, father reached into his
vest pocket, producing a match. As he lit the cigar, he took three to four
huge puffs, making the end of the cigar glow a bright fiery red in the
darkness of the night, and the billows of smoke traveling upward, being
illuminated by the moonlight, making it look like ghostly hands reaching
towards heaven.

		As we walked along in silence, enjoying the quiet, father
had a thoughtful look on is face. As we reached the center of the garden he
stopped and looked down at me. I waited for him to say something, but he
seemed to be searching for the right words. "Father, is there something you
want to tell me?" After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Samuel............
Samuel, about Tad..." "Yes father, what about Tad?" I said getting more and
more puzzled.

		"Samuel, you love him, don't you?" What! Had I heard these
words correctly? Suddenly, my whole body froze with fear. I was unable to
move or think, much less think of what to say. As my ears started burning
and my knees shook, I tried desperately in those few split seconds to find
something to say. Anything. But try as I might, there was only silence, as
I looked at the ground and waited for what he would do or say.

		"Samuel? Answer me, please, son." he said softly. Gathering
up every ounce of courage that I possessed, I planted my feet and looked up
at my father and like a man, I prepared to give him his answer. Never
before had I dared to say anything this important to him. But come to think
of it, it marked the last time my father would think of me as a little
child. From this point on, I had to be a man.

		Looking father directly in the eyes, I gave him the answer
to his question.  "Yes sir, father, I do love him." There, I said it. And
Dammit, it felt wonderful and made me sick at the same time. As I waited
for his reaction, my stomach turned so badly that I thought I'd lose
everything right then and there, but I held my ground like a man.

		He put the cigar back in his mouth and started puffing it
as he looked away from me and started thinking. For the longest time he
just paced back and fourth, thinking and puffing on his cigar. I didn't
know what his reaction might be, but I was prepared for the worst. After
all, he could only kill me once. Couldn't he?

		All at once he stopped pacing, turning to look me directly
in the eyes. Taking the cigar out of his mouth, I watched as the curls of
smoke escaped his lips and drifted upward. Shaking his head from side to
side, suddenly he was laughing! Not laughing loud and hard, but softly to
himself.

		"Like father, like son, eh Samuel?" As I looked at him, my
mouth dropped open, not wanting to believe what I had just heard. I was
absolutely speechless. Like father, like son? Was I to believe that my
father, the great bear of a man, the lion of the board room, had actually
loved a boy sometime in his life, as I loved Tad? But how could this be?
After all, he was married to mother and...well...she wasn't a boy at all.
I was confused. Very confused. And still to scared to say anything.
		As was always the case, father was always able to read my
thoughts simply by looking into my face, as he did then. I guess he saw my
confusion. Putting his arm around me, he said to me softly, "Let's fund a
bench to sit on and I'll tell you a story." Starting to walk again, we came
upon one of the garden benches and sat. I sat there on the bench with my
father, with the bright moonlight lighting up his face. Puffing on that
cigar every now and then, he seemed to be staring out into space, out into
a distant past, in a world and time that had ceased to exist, save only in
his memory.  Slowly and carefully he started to speak.

		"Much too long ago, when I was your age, my life was not as
nice and comfortable as you have it. I was born the son of an Irish coal
miner. Life in a coal mining town was extremely harsh, and we were dirt
poor.
		As I didn't have toys or things to keep me occupied when I
wasn't in school, I had to make do with what was available, which was the
woods. Like you, I was always tramping in the woods playing games and such
with the other kids in the town. They played there also because they were
no better off than I was.

		One day, a new boy moved in to the house next to
ours. House...Humpph...they were more like shacks than houses. We had dirt
floors and no heat except for the tired old wood burning stove. But,
anyway, getting back to the story, the new boy's name was Michael. He was
my age and my height. Lovely boy, with sparkling green eyes, bright red
hair, and very muscular. As we lived next door to each other,and had the
same interests in climbing rocks, and exploring, and so on, we became fast
friends. As a matter of fact, we became practically inseparable.

		  Michael was an adventurous lot, where I was the careful
one. He always dared to take a chance, where I would always think things
through. In a way, I envied his spirit. In fact, that spirit is what drew
me closer to him than I realized.

		His father had a barn where he would keep the family hoarse
and wagon. I thought he was so well off. We didn't even have a wagon. Every
day after school, we'd go home and do the chores our fathers expected us to
do. After all, they spent all day, from well before sunrise, to well after,
mining coal. So it fell on the sons of families to do the house chores
until they were old enough to go down into the mines. After we'd do the
chores, I would always be down to Michael's barn to help him feed the
hoarse. Not that he needed the help, you see, but it was just that I rather
fancied horses.  Michael would let me brush him and help muck the stalls
and put down fresh bedding. If there was enough time before the sun went
down, Michael would let me get on for a ride, while he led the hoarse
around on a tether.
		Michael had this, way, with animals, all animals, but
especially horses. I suppose it was the gentle nature in which he treated
them, treated everyone he loved, quite frankly. Michael was the sweetest,
kindest, most gentle, human being that I have ever known.  With his special
way with horses, he could have been one of the best horse trainers in all
of Britain. I was never scared when Michael led the horse around. I wish
you could have known him. The most endearing thing about him was his
smile. When Michael smiled, it was as if heaven itself had opened up for
all mortal eyes to see. I suppose it was a combination of his nature, and
that smile that made my stomach tingle, and my heart pound, whenever I was
with him. At the time, I just assumed that good friends were supposed to
feel that way. I just didn't realize that it was love that I was feeling.

		 One June day after school, we'd come running home, racing
each other, as we usually did. After doing my chores, I was off to the barn
as usual. As I went in, Michael was just starting to put down some new hay,
and I went to get the horses grain. After we'd fed the horse and cleaned
the stall, I noticed that Michael wasn't the same cheery, talkative
self. Usually he'd be talking my ear off about this or that. Today, though,
he seemed, preoccupied with something, and a little nervous.

		As we stood at the stall door, admiring the horse, I asked
him if everything was all right. He told me he was, but I didn't believe
him. His mouth said one thing and his face said quite another entirely. So
I called his bluff, telling him that I'd known him to long and knew when
something was bothering him.

		Michael looked at me with an expression I'd never seen on
his face before, a look of fear and confusion. Then he just replied that it
was nothing. Being the stubborn lout that I was, I wasn't about to be put
off like that, and I pressed the issue. I knew that some of the girls in
school were quite fond of him, so I taunted him by asking him if he was in
love. Well, he turned and looked at me with daggers and sadness in his
eyes, telling me to leave him alone, and to go home. With that he hopped
over the stall door and into the stall with the horse, petting the beast
and turning his back on me. But, you know me, once I'm on to something, I
keep at it until I get what I want. I followed him into the stall, stopping
right behind him.

		Putting my hand on his shoulder, I quietly asked him what
on earth was wrong? "What ever it was ," I said, "I'm your best friend, you
can tell me anything." It took a moment or two, but he slowly turned around
to face me. When I looked in his face, I could see that he'd started to
cry.

		All at once, this feeling suddenly enveloped me, as if a
spell had been cast apon me. The sight of seeing him like that was at that
moment, tearing my heart in two. I had the urge to wrap him in my arms and
soothe him. Everything in the barn was still and quiet then, not a blessed
sound. We just looked at each other for a moment, but it seemed as if it
were an eternity. Without knowing why, I raised my hand to his tear stained
cheek and wiped away the tears that were newly forming. I couldn't tear
myself away from his gaze, and kept looking him directly in the eyes,
searching for a meaning to his sadness.

		Then, Michael took my hand to stop me from wiping away his
tears. Then he spoke to me. Slowly at first, gathering his courage. "Oh, my
dear friend....please whatever happens, forgive me for what I'm about to
say." I was more confused than before. The hurt deep down inside of my
being, raged further on, getting stronger with every passing moment.

		"Yes. Yes I am in love. But, I fear that
I'm,.....I'm,......I'm in love with you."  At first, I had refused to
believe the words I had heard, and I couldn't utter a syllable. Michael was
searching my eyes, vainly searching for a reaction. When he didn't get one
fast enough, he became mortified and burst out crying full steam ahead.

		Michael burst out of the barn and just ran off, leaving me
standing where I had been, alone, and confused. I can't tell you how long I
stood there, unable to move. I kept replaying the scene over and over again
in my mind, still unable to come to terms with it. Blindly, I made my way
home.

		Later that night at dinner, my parents thought that perhaps
I was coming down with the fever, or some such nonsense. I couldn't eat,
couldn't talk, just plain didn't know what to do. I made the excuse of
being tired and was excused from the table. Alone, I lay in my room, under
my blankets, unable to sleep the entire night. In the morning, I was
desperate to see Michael again, when we walked to school together like we
always did each morning.

		I waited for him to come out, but he never did. Finally,
his mother saw me standing outside and told that he'd left earlier in the
morning, telling her he had an errand to run before school.

		Bloody errand indeed. He couldn't face me, so embarrassed
was he. In my mind, I imagined that he must think I hate him. Oh, how I
need to see him and tell him that I didn't hate him. Not in the least. I
slowly began to realize on my lonely walk to school, that I had to see him
again. My heart ached to see him again. Is this what love meant, I thought
to myself ? Did it mean that I cared so much for him, that if he hurt, I
hurt as well? Did it account for the ravenous desire I had to see him, and,
yes, to also hold him near me and stop his pain ?

		What type of demon had I become, that I could bring such
sadness to my dear friend?

		When I arrived at the school, I searched for him. This
wasn't hard because the school consisted of three class rooms, at the
time. But, to my devastation, he never arrived. I was crushed. Somehow, I
blindly made my way through the entire day, not remembering much of what
happened, just being lost in my own thoughts.

		After school was out, I went home as usual and completed my
chores. After I had finished, I stood outside my house and stared at
Michael's barn door. I must have stared at that door for a solid half an
hour, wondering if Michael was behind that door and trying to find the
courage to make the first move. Then I told myself, enough is enough ! It
was only Michael in that barn, not Lucifer himself. And I picked my head
up, threw my shoulders back, and marched towards that bloody barn door.

		As I put my hand on the door handle to open it, I stopped
and took a deep breath. There was no turning back now, as I slowly opened
the door. As I went inside, I heard Michael in the stall as usual, feeding
the horse, and laying down fresh bedding.

		Walking over to the stall door, I stopped. "Michael?", I
said. He said nothing, but froze.  He diden't even turn around. "Michael,
we've got to talk." Still no response. I was getting angrier by the
minute. I hopped over the stall door, not bothering to unlatch it, and
walked up to him. When I was behind him, I spoke. "Michael, dammit, why
won't you look at me?" "Because you hate me." "Michael, have I said I hated
you? Have I done one thing to intimate that I hated you? Dammit Michael !
Turn around and look at me, please!" With that, I grabbed both his arms and
spun him around, forcing him to look at me.

		As we stood, staring at each other for the longest time, I
suddenly knew what I had to do. I knew what I wanted to do. I just remember
his sweet face, inundated with tears, trying valiantly to hold them in, but
not succeeding. At that moment, it was I who became the aggressor. I had
realized what I so desperately wanted. I wanted Michael. I wanted him with
all my heart, soul, and fiber in my body.

		I recall quite clearly, the scene, as I put both arms
around his neck and pulled him into my embrace. I recall how his body
trembled, and mine too, come to think of it. But the feeling of having him
so close was one I had not imagined it would be. All at once, I knew that I
never wanted to let him go again.

		Michael spoke then with trembling voice. "Are you sure?
Please don't toy with me, for I would surely die if you are going to mock
me." Our faces were so close, our noses just about touched each other.  I
stared into his pleading, teary eyes for just a moment before answering
him. I answered him by lightly kissing him on the forehead. And as I did
that, his eyes closed and his breathing became uneven, and his body
trembled even more than before. I held onto him, though, and then kissed
his wet eyes, tasting the salt of his tears on my tongue, and loving it. I
kissed his cheek, also tear salty, and I wanted more, much more of this
boy.

		Finally, with both of us breathing hard, and our hearts
pounding like Indian drums, I looked at his sweet lips, and it was then
that I saw how beautiful his mouth was. Leaning in to him, I abandoned all
caution, closed my eyes, and kissed Michael.

		From that moment on, Son, I was lost to him. I wanted
nothing but to be his alone. And if I were to die right then, I would have
had all a person could ever want out of life, and I'd go willingly.

		For the longest time, Michael and I just held on to each
other in the stall, oblivious to the entire world, because at that time in
our lives, it didn't exist. Michael and I made love to each other that
afternoon. In the hayloft of the barn. Both of us being virgins, we
experimented with each other and it all came sort of naturally. Oh, Son,
how Michael could make love. He would make me die a thousand times in his
arms.

		Everything went along nicely for us through four years of
high school. Well, our equivalent of high school at any rate, until the
time I had won my scholarship to the university. I remember our entire
village throwing a dance in my honor, because I was the only one who had
ever risen so high with education.

		Everyone was ecstatic for me. Everyone, except the one I
loved. It seems that Michael was upset that I would be going away to
college. He was terrified that I'd forget all about him.  Michael, on the
other hand was beginning to make a name for himself in the surrounding
countryside as the finest horse trainer in the area. It would have been
selfish for me to ask him to come with me, but I managed to half way
convince him how special he was in my life, and how there would never be
another except him.

		Before I left for the university, Michael's father had an
accident in the mines. Broke both legs. Michael told me that he had to take
his father's place to help support the family until his fathers legs
healed. Something told me it was a mistake, that I didn't want him going
into those mines and risking his life. I begged, I pleaded, and I cried. It
was of no use. We both knew he had no choice, as he was the sole support
for the family. He had to do it.

		Michael and I had one last, glorious, loving, warm, night
together, in the barn hay loft, before I had to leave for university. I
remember how we held on to each other for dear life, so great was our love
for one another. In the morning, I awoke early while Michael lay sleeping
the sleep of the dead. As I finished getting dressed, I gazed at him,
asleep on the "bed" we had used for years, made of blankets and hay. How
sweet he looked. How at peace. How.......How I loved him. I leaned over him
and lightly kissed Michael on those sweet lips one more time, then I
quietly opened the door and left. An hour later, I was on my train to the
university.

		That.....That was the last time I ever saw Michael,
Son. While at the university, three months later, my father sent me a
letter. He told me there had been an accident in the mines, two miles
down. A cave in and gas explosion. The fire burned for a week before
finally dying out. All that were trapped in the cave in had
perished. Samuel...Michael was............

As I looked at father with disbelief at his story, he couldn't bring
himself to say the words, but actually started to cry. Lord, my father,
actually crying. It would be the only time in my life I would witness my
fathers only display of weakness. I didn't know quite what to do, so I did
nothing but wait for father to continue. After a moment or two, father did
collect himself and went on.

		Samuel, from that point on, I never allowed myself to get
close to another person. I threw myself into my studies. After I graduated,
I threw myself into my work and concentrated on becoming a success.
Everything was going according to my plans, when I was sidetracked,
forever.

What did father mean sidetracked?

		Samuel, I met your mother. She turned my entire life around
and made me love again. I've never told mother of Michael. All these years
it was best kept safely locked away in my heart. I never told a living soul
of our love. That is, until now my son.

		Father was now staring into space and smiling , as if he
were seeing Michael's face in the garden moonlight. Father stuck the cigar
back into his mouth and lit it again, because it had gone out during the
time he was telling me of Michael.

		Samuel, to me it's not important if you are loved by man or
woman. What is important is that you are simply and totally,
unconditionally, loved. If you have love in your life, Samuel, real love,
then my son, you will have everything.  I guess that we both know each
other's secrets now. I trust you to keep mine, as I will keep yours. OK,
Sam?

		I just hugged father. I hugged him and hugged him. "Father,
I love you, father."
		It dawned on me later that my father had called me Sam. It
was a first sign that he was now starting to see me as a man. But,.....he
only called me Sam when we were alone.

		As father and I sat, leaning on each other, on the bench,
in the moonlight of the garden, in silence, I watched fathers cigar smoke
drift up past his nose, past the trees, and into the sky. The silence was
nice. After all, what more was there to be said.