Date: Sat, 29 Nov 2003 11:59:18 -0800 (PST) From: Rick Beck Subject: BJJ/My15thYear -- Chapter 27 BJJ27 Dooms Day The hours had grown intolerably long. I didn't sleep much that night. I spent most of my time in the kitchen drinking ice water and worrying. Ty kept getting up to see if I was okay. My stomach was all turned upside down, and I just wanted to get it over with. A couple of times I almost left the apartment, but I couldn't. I couldn't face the street again. Being warm, well fed, and comfortable was more addictive than the streets ever were. They had lost all of their allure. Todd came over at ten the next morning. He was overjoyed that I had agreed to go home. We sat around the dinning room table and drank coffee. Walt tried to explain the conversation from the day before. Then the talk took a serious turn. "There are complications about him going home, Todd," Walt said. "Wait a minute. He's not backing out?" "I don't think so. If they agree not to chain him to his bed, I think he'll go for almost anything else. It's just I talked to his father. He's the problem." A puzzled expression came over Todd's face. "He's offered a reward. He's been in touch with the police on a regular basis, also social services, and he offered to come out the day they found his things up at the motel. He seems to want him back. What are you talking about?" "The cops have my things? My bag?" I said, thinking they had been lost for all time. "Yes, what do you think happens when cops bust a bunch of street kids in a motel room?" Walt turned to me with solemn eyes. "Billie Joe, I know what you told me was in confidence, but Todd's a confidential kind of guy. He could have busted you from the start. I think you better talk to him about what we talked about. It's an important factor in what will happen once you go home." "No, I don't think I should." "It's up to you to tell him, Biilie Joe, but if you don't I will. We are talking some serious shit here and I know a lot more than you do about this." "I'm going out," Ty said. "Please stay," I said. "You're my only protection from these two." "I don't want to hear this, Billie Joe." "Truth hurts, Ty." I gulped air to ease my chest. "I'm sorry. You did your best." "I should have kicked your ass right off. I should have forced you to go home instead of letting you get all up inside my head. I tried to keep you out of it." His face screwed up with anguish. "I tried my best with you." Todd watched us with interest. "Look you guys, I'm a bit lost here. What's this all about." "Billie Joe's going to need to do some watching when he gets home," Walt said. "I don't think Mr. Walker is the kind of man that wants to hear this. I sure as hell won't be the one to tell him. I don't even want to see him. I already talked to him once and to say the least, the man's a handful of anger and aggression." "Wait! Wait a minute. Ty you said Billie Joe was safe. Careful." "Look, Todd, when he was around me. I kept him careful. I don't know anything after that. I was taking care of Walt, after his last spell. I don't even want to know," Ty said. "It was after Ty came up to help Walt. After the police came and Gene and I escaped out the window. I holed up with him a few days. Then we holed up with other guys." I took in more air as the words hung up in my throat. "Shit!" Todd said. "I see where this is going. Jesus Christ! I got to face this man and tell him his kid might be Hiv+? I can see why you don't want to see him, Walt." "Jesus Fucking Christ! You ever think about AIDS boy?" "No, sir. I didn't think about anything. Except not being in pain... or hungry all the time... not hurting all inside... not seeing those other kids hurt inside... so scared... so hopeless. Nobody to care what happens to them and I didn't care if I wasn't alone. I guess that was it, sir. I'd do anything not to be alone out there. Alone was the worst thing of all." Walt swallowed hard, trying to hold onto his rage with me but suddenly disarmed by something I said. He looked at Walt and then Ty and back to me, shaking his head, knowing there was nothing he could do for any of us. I knew Walt would die soon. Ty was going to die shortly after that. Ty told me. I didn't know if I would die of it or not, but Todd was the only one in the room that had no death sentence hanging over his head or lurking nearby. This reality shocked me as I dealt with the meaning of the words for the first time. We sat around waiting for eleven o'clock. Todd grew quiet and less angry. I think I preferred him ranting and raving to the silent treatment. I didn't know what was going through his head. At precisely eleven o'clock he picked up the phone and dialed. "Mr. Walker please. Todd Dorsey here. I think you were expecting my call. Yes, sir. I've spoken to Billie Joe. Yes, sir, he is willing to come home." My father's voice was a tiny sound coming out of the phone but I recognized it. "You will. Yes, sir. I think I can set that up. I'll give you my numbers. Yes, sir. You call me and let me know when. Yes, sir. I'm working on it right now. Yes, sir." Todd paused and listened again to my dad for a moment. "Mr. Walker, there are some things we've got to discuss. Well, number one, Billie Joe is in my jurisdiction at the moment. I feel a responsibility when I get a boy home to see he's treated fair. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I understand, Mr. Walker. My main aim is to see they aren't abused once they return home. If we can get him back to you and you have a mind to be fair, we might be able to keep him home until he's eighteen by working together. That's my only concern in the matter. I don't want him out here on my streets again in a few weeks, because you bust his balls, thinking you can keep him home this time." "Well, first, I'll contact the social services authorities there to express my concerns. They'll be asked to check on him and report back to me. I want him to be safe and able to get his life back in order. We like to have the co-operation of the parents. Yes, sir. I know they are a handful, sir. We know discipline is needed as part of the answer. Maybe a few therapy sessions to help him readjust, Mr. Walker. We find that to be helpful." He listened again for a longer period. "I don't think you understand, Mr. Walker. Your boy has been living on the streets. There are no rules on the streets. Once these kids get out there, it's really hard to get them home again. We're lucky with Billie Joe. If you push him, he'll be gone in a Minneapolis minute, Mr. Walker and never doubt that. I work with these kids every day. I know once they are on the street it's hard getting them off." He listened a minute. "Yes, sir. It's hard keeping them off. It's going to take some effort on your part to keep him home. You can keep him home or you can run him right back to me. He knows people now. He knows where to go. He knows how to hide from me. I know where he is now and he trusts me. You run him back out here and he'll know how to avoid me." Todd looked at me, after taking a deep breath. "There is one more thing. I really don't know how to approach this. He's been on the streets. He's been exposed to everything that's on the streets. There will have to be testing when he gets home, just as a precaution, you understand. STD's, Mr. Walker. That is tests for sexually transmitted disease. I'm afraid so. It's how they survive. Mr. Walker... Mr. Walker... please, Mr. Walker, listen to what I have to say. AIDS, Mr. Walker, is a serious problem on the streets. Billie Joe will need to be tested for the AIDS virus for his own protection. I would suggest immediately and then every couple of months for six months and once a year thereafter. Some people show it pretty fast and others take as much as six months to develop the antibodies. I'll make sure you get all the information you need. I know sir. I wish I didn't have to tell you. We're talking your son's life here. It's better to be safe than sorry. Well, you call my office or my pager number any time. You can leave a message or I'll call you back if you like. You can give me the details and I can set everything up. No, sir. No. I don't think it's necessary to keep him locked up. He's in a safe house and he's ready to go home. Yes, sir. Good-bye." Todd wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at me. "He's coming for you. He'll fly here as quick as he can get a flight. He thinks it will be tomorrow before he can get out of there. He says he could go to O'Hare, but he thinks it will be better to get you right back home without a lot of extra traveling." "He mad?" "That's not the word I'd use. Your father is not a happy camper. I'll do what I can but he sounds like a pretty strong-willed man. I don't think life on the farm will ever be the same for you." "Didn't expect it to be. What about the AIDS thing?" "I think that slowed him down a little. He tried to tell me all the ways you could get AIDS. He left out sex, probably in an effort to delude himself. I'm afraid your father isn't ready for that yet. I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. You're going to have a problem answering his questions. I'll do what I can for you." He drew a deep breath, relaxing the tension that had built up while he talked to my father. He rubbed both of his temples before finishing up. "He'll be here as soon as he can get here. I'll call Walt as quick as your father calls me with details. Let's just stay close to the house. "What are my chances?" I asked. "Chances of getting it or chances of not getting it?" Todd asked. "Either." "Billie Joe, the more risks you took the more likely you are to get it. Most of the kids up in that hotel have it. Half the kids on the street have it or some form of STD. That means you've been exposed however many times you had sex out there. The chances you've got it are good but maybe you'll be lucky and escape with your life. It happens but unprotected sex is like playing with a loaded gun. You play often enough, Bang! For the next six months you'll have to be monitored closely. I'll make sure you have all the information." "How long if I got it? How long will I live?" "Pick a number. That's the hardest part. The people getting it now seem to be living longer. AZT and some other drugs are extending the lives of AIDS patients. Lifestyle has a lot to do with it. If you live healthy you will stay healthy longer and if you don't, you won't. You could be dead in a year. You could still be going strong in ten. There is no answer. It's a crap shoot." "Oh yeah, Ty, you knew Harvey didn't you?" "Yeah! Little prick! Loud mouth." "They found him dead up near the park." "Someone did him?" "No. It was AIDS. They had him in custody after the motel raid. They put him up in the hospital. He had pneumonia so they say. He walked out. Found him a few days later up near the park. Natural causes. If you can call AIDS natural causes. That's what happens when you don't take the meds. Harvey was a hardhead." He grimaced and looked into the distance, superimposing the past on the present. "No longer." "I thought about Harvey. I thought about all the other kids I'd met on the street. I wondered how many of us would be dead this time next year? How many of us would be infected, sick, dying? Their faces made trips back and forth through my brain as I tried to breathe suddenly thin air. I felt weak and empty and even sorry for Harvey, who I still didn't like but I didn't wish him dead, even though he was. I didn't like the way he was, but he didn't deserve to die in the gutter, alone. I didn't much like the way I was either and I didn't know what made Harvey that way." Todd talked with Walt and Ty for awhile. I sat there pretending to listen, but my mind was elsewhere. I tried to remember Harvey's face, then the faces of the people I'd been with, and then the faces of the people I had met while I was out there. I could remember a lot of details but mostly I was concerned with parts other than faces. I had no desire for sex left inside of me but it's all I thought about while I was out there. I was addicted to dick and mouths and assholes and it didn't much matter whose, as long as they were hard, soft, and inviting. How could something that gave me that much pleasure be deadly? Now I had to worry about touching anyone else. For six months I'd have to be careful of everyone I got close to, who might want to get with me. I couldn't allow myself to become involved with anyone sexually. That was going to be the hardest thing of all. I still wanted to be able to have sex if I needed it again. But of course I would be in Minnesota ... and no one had sex in Minnesota. Not so's you'd notice anyway. ***** Chapter 28 Belly Of The Beast I couldn't wait for Todd to leave. I didn't think I liked him much. He was big and powerful and didn't seem to like me much. Ty was silent and stayed seated opposite me. Walt sat in his easy chair, looking brighter and showing some color coming back to his pasty skin for the first time. He stared out the long window where the sun brightened all the buildings surrounding us. He seemed lost some place in distant thought or reflection at times. Then he turned and looked at me before signaling to me with a raised eyebrow and a come-over-here jerk of his head. I stood up and crossed the floor until I stood in front of him. He looked up at me like I might be tall. His eyes were hollow but they were sparkling black inside his head. A smile crossed his lips as he extended his arms towards me as an indication he needed a hug or to give me one. I fought my instinct to refuse him and it was only then that I found myself crying in his arms. He patted my head and brushed my hair as if I was his favorite puppy. He held me tight against his skinny sunken chest and I sobbed. "It will be okay, Billie Joe. You might not have it at all, you know. We must look to the bright side. I could be dead but as you can see, I'm not. Now I'm taking medication that seems to be working. It's stopped my fall, maybe so I could have the pleasure of meeting you. You, my friend, aren't even diagnosed. There is hope for you. You've just got to be careful from now on. You've got to be careful about other people's lives as well as your own. It's a disease," Walt reminded me. "A plague," I said, having heard it before. "I blamed God at first, because the assholes said he gave it to me. I was angry with him. I cursed him for giving it to me. You know what, he didn't listen to me. He gave me AZT when I could have died. He sent me Ty and now you. You see that's how I know it's not a plague from God. He's on our side, furnishing the answers. I'll pray to him that you don't have it, Billie Joe." "I don't believe in God," I said, snuffling as I looked up to see his suddenly radiant face. "What do you believe in?" I grabbed a Kleenex from the box next to his bed, blowing my nose and wiping it. I sat back but I stayed beside him, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Nothing. I believe in life. I believe in living life." "You think all this was a huge accident? We're just so much protoplasm stacked up? Just dust in the wind, Billie Joe? Is that what you think we are? You think we reason and experience intense feeling by accident? You think birth is an accident? A flower is accidental? A tree? A star? The song of a bird?" "Yes.... I don't know." "Ah, hah! You see, you just don't know. It's okay. Whatever you feel is your right. God gave you the right to feel as he gave you a brain to think with, not to follow what other people say, but to follow your own heart. You don't have to accept him. Just give him a little room. He'll be there for you in the end because God believes in Billie Joe and so do I. I believe you'll be okay. I believe you are okay." "He's never been there yet." "Never? Not one place where something happened that helped you out big time, and you don't know how it exactly did happen? Things were just going all sour, and then all of a sudden you were fine? Got clear of it without knowing how?" "Maybe once." "Ah hah! Maybe? Maybe someone was looking over you, boy. Is it possible, even though you aren't sure?" "I don't feel like that." "It's okay. You don't have to, but when you get in the next fix you're in... and you will, Billie Joe.... I've seen you in action ... when you paint yourself into that next corner, remember when you get out of it. Think about how you got out of it, that's God at his best." I looked up at Walt's face. It was serene and innocent like a child's face. Like my face had never been. I'd never felt very innocent. I'd always felt bad about myself. How could God allow that? No! I wasn't buying it. Life is what happens to you. No one cares. No one's watching over you. You get by. That's allyou can do. "You go home and make the best of it. You get in a bind, well, I'm not telling you you can stay here with me but if you showed up at my door and said you couldn't possibly live at home, I'd consider letting you live here with Ty and me. We'd talk to Todd and ask his help, but I wouldn't let you go back to the street, Billie Joe. I want you to know that. No matter if they come and arrest me for it." "That's cool," I said, studying his sincerity. "You are going home then?" "Yeah!" I took in more air than I needed. "I'm ready to go home. I need to be in school. I can't make it without high school." "That's smart thinking. You do need that diploma. You've got to make a future for yourself." "What future? If I got it I'm dead." "You don't have it yet. You might not have it at all. Think positive. Just be careful and try to make it at home. It is where you belong for a few more years. Your parents must want you. They've put out a reward to find you." "Yeah! Hard to explain to their friends why their pride and joy took a powder." "You're a cynic. Mr. Billie Joe. Your parents love you. I'll guarantee it." "They've never bothered to clue me in on that fact. I'm just a gigantic pain in their asses most of the time. Never did anything right, and never will." "They just want the best for you." He leaned back. "You just said you were their pride and joy!" "They don't even know me." "Perhaps it is time you got acquainted. Quit waiting for them to come to you. Ask them what the problem is. Ask them what they want. Speak up for yourself." "My best friend, Ralphie, died. That's why I left." "He killed himself?" Walt asked. "Yeah, how'd you know?" "Was he gay?" "I'd say no, except he left a note saying he was. I was his best friend and he never told me. Just offed himself. I hate him." "You hate him so much that you ran away rather than face his death." "Yeah, dumb huh. Why didn't he tell me? I was his best friend. He killed himself because he was gay. Why didn't he tell me?" "He was scared. He was afraid you'd dump him. It's an awful thing to be afraid. Some of us can handle that kind of fear. Forgive him for being weak, but you aren't weak. You'll fight to stay alive and that's as it should be. I predict you can do any damn thing you want." "Yeah, I tell my old man I'm a fruit and he'll kill me. I won't have to worry about doing anything." "Don't tell him then. Billie Joe, it's up to you to know who you are. It's up to you to decide what that means. You don't have to tell your father or anyone else anything that you aren't comfortable telling them. Being gay doesn't take away your right to be you. You tell those people you need to tell and fuck everyone else. It's your call and you don't tell everyone just so you can make your life a living hell. You've got to consider the consequences before you ever reveal that to anyone. Just ignore your old man if he gives you a hard time." "You talked to my old man. You don't ask him anything. You listen and you better jump when he says jump. That's why I'm always up against it. I stopped jumping. I just tune them out mostly." "You're going to have a new start. Take it to them. You've survived the mean streets. You can do anything! It takes courage and guts to do that. Don't take it from them. Take it to them. Talk to them and let them know you intend to try." "Sure. Right after I get out of my room in ten years." "Cut it out. Sure you're going to be punished, but I'd punish you if you were my son. I'd punish you because I loved you." "Carl loved me. He's the only one. He made me feel like I belonged to him and with him." "Carl from back home?" Walt asked. "No, I met him on the bus." "You fell in love with a guy you met on a bus? You sure it wasn't lust you fell in love with?" "He was going to Japan. We spent the entire time he had left, five days, in a motel room in Seattle. It was like being in heaven. I've never felt so good about myself, my life. He was big and strong and he loved me and I loved him." "And you don't think there is a God. I'd say he was looking out for you. Makes me want to go ride the bus all over town." Walt hugged me again. I was a million miles from Carl and those few nights in Seattle. I clung to Walt and wondered if Carl and I would ever be together again. Todd came late the following morning. There wasn't much said. Ty stood to the side when Todd took me out. We were going to the police station where my father would pick me up. My father had rented a car from the airport and drove into San Francisco. We were leaving in four hours to return to Minneapolis. Todd said nothing after giving me those details. He parked at the front of the police station in the no parking area with the yellow lines marking off the forbidden zone. We walked up the steps. I stayed four steps behind him. He was a huge man. I got to the door and stopped. I felt a tremendous rush of fear come over me. I looked to the bottom of the stairs where the police cars parked. Uniformed officers trotted up and down around me. I looked up toward Castro and back at the door where Todd had disappeared. My legs shook and I wasn't sure if I wanted to run or not. I wanted to cry. I did not want to face my father. The door swung open and Todd's big black hand reached out to grap my arm before I could change my mind. "Don't even think about it. It's too late to back out now, kid. You're on your way home. You're off my streets." My father stood up off the wooden bench as we came through the second set of doors. I shook as he glared at me long and hard. I stood behind Todd so he couldn't see me completely and so I couldn't see his face. He did not move but stood there, glaring. "Boy. Say hello to your father." Todd moved away from me, exposing me to inspection as he and my father now both looked at me. My eyes immediately went to the floor. My knees trembled. "What happened to him?" My father said to Todd. "The street." "He looks older. So much bigger than he was." "Your son's growing up, Mr. Walker. You haven't seen him in months. You didn't know if he was dead or alive. Of course he's changed. Can't we have a little hug here or something." My father and I never touched one another when I wasn't getting spanked or the back of his hand. He hesitated uneasily before stepping forward. He almost closed the distance between us but at the final second he relented, sticking out his hand to keep the safety zone between us. I shook it without feeling. I made every effort to stand up tall and my eyes slowly went up to meet his. I don't ever remember looking into my father's eyes before. They were cold and angry eyes on a face without expression. He was collect his property. He intended to take it home where it belonged. "Billie Joe," my father said in a cool, cool voice. I nodded, afraid to speak, because my voice might break or squeak. "I'm telling you now Mr. Walker, I'm going to follow up on this. I've contacted the authorities in Minneapolis. I've told them what my evaluation is. I've told them what I want to see done for Billie Joe to keep him home. They are going to ask your cooperation. There are two things I don't want, Mr. Walker. There are two things I won't tolerate. Number one, don't let me hear from Billie Joe. Don't let him have to call me and tell me your heart isn't in this homecoming. Don't let me catch this boy back on my streets, Mr. Walker. You don't want that to happen. I'm not sure what I'd do if I found him back on my streets before he's ready to come for a visit after he's eighteen. Todd paused and looked at me. "You got a good boy here. He's smart. You better give him a hug now and again. You don't know how long he's going to be around. I'd hate to see you want to hug him after he's gone. It's too often kids are gone when parents figure out they loved them." Walt made a dismissive gesture once he finished talking. "That's it. That's all I have to say. I'm out of it. You two better make an effort. That's all I have to say." Todd paused and looked at us both again as if to fix a memory inside his brain. "That's all. Make an effort." He turned and walked back out through the doors. My father walked toward a rear entrance. He turned his head and looked at me as I stood waiting for instructions. He gave me the hard look I always got when I was fucking up. I knew he expected me to follow him. I looked at the front doors one more time and contemplated making a run for it for about a second but I knew Todd would now be standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me to run. He'd stay there until enough time had passed that he was sure I was gone. I followed my father out of the opposite side of the building to the red rent-a-car that waited at the parking meter for us. "Our plane leaves in a little over three hours. Is there somewhere I can get something to eat?" "Yes, sir," I said, as he backed the car out and made it lurch when he braked and put it into gear. "Where?" "Left. Up the hill." "You know how worried your mother is? You know what you've put us through?" I smiled in amusement. Not because he was saying something funny but because it had taken him only three minutes to start telling me what a terribly disappointing son I was. The marvelous thing about these tirades is that long ago I learned to tune them out. I always felt that the pressure and the air weighed down on me and forced the air almost out of me while he went into tiresome detail about each of my indiscretions back as far as time permitted. This time was different. I not only tuned him out, but it didn't bother me to have him doing what he always did. I thought, maybe I didn't care any more. My father's power over me was gone. I once more thought of Walt's words and smiled. I could stand up for myself. I didn't have to be beat down any longer. In my nicest voice I interrupted him in mid sentence, "Where's my bag." "What," he said, surprised by the interruption. "My bag. They said the police had my bag. Didn't they give it to you." "I put it in the trunk." "I want it." "You'll get it when we get to the airport." "I want it now." "You heard me. You'll get it at the airport." "I want my fucking bag," I screamed insanely, like this was some battle over life and death. The brakes of the car shrieked as the car slid to the right and bounced hard enough to put the front right tire almost on the sidewalk. I waited for the hand or fist but heard the door opening far too hard. The trunk lid bounced the car as it sprung open and then slammed. I felt myself shaking as I saw my father's form standing at the door. The bag came sailing at my head and the cloth handle smacked me across the face as I deflected it with my hand. My father threw himself into the seat, the back of his hand knocked my head back against the door jam with a thud. He said in an angry low growl, "Don't you ever talk to me that way again. I'm your father." I ignored him and rifled through the bag. Carl's picture was out and on top of the letter he'd sent. The envelope was all torn and tattered. I'd kept it carefully in the pocket where it would stay protected. I looked at Carl's picture and my father looked at me looking at the picture. "Who's that?" "A friend." I finished going through my things. I turned each sock inside out. "Where is it?" "Where is it what," he said, as he looked in the mirror and pulled back out into the street. "My money. I want my fucking money. Todd said the cops had it," I yelled. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and a dozen bills slapped me in the face and cascaded onto the floor. As I bent to collect them a handful of coins hit me and followed the bills rattling all over my side of the car. I collected all that I could find. There was a hundred and twenty eight dollars in bills and seven dollars in coins. "Where'd you get all that money?" "I made it." My father glared at me in a quick glance and then stared out through the windshield without any followup. "Where's this restaurant?" "Up top to Lombard. Make a left. It's still a ways up." "Look, Billie Joe. Your mother needs you home. She wants you home." "What about you?" "I'm here, aren't I?" "Why?" My father drove awhile. He acted like I was no longer there. He watched the mirrors more than necessary. Much out of character he held both hands on the wheel, I suspected in order to keep from pummeling me. I took off the too big shoes with the white tops and put on my tennis shoes. He cleared his throat several times. After awhile, he spoke once more, trying to pace his words and to speak in a softer tone. "Your mother wants you home. She blames me for this. Your mother's going to leave me if I come back without you. Is that what you want? Do you want to break your family to pieces? Is that it? Do you really hate us that much? What did we ever do to you?" "Why do you hate me, Dad? Why haven't you ever done anything with me, Dad? A ballgame Dad? Fishing Dad? A long father and son talk Dad? Why is it so hard for you to love me Dad? Why haven't you ever done anything with me as your son Dad?" I jerked each "dad" out of my mouth in a mocking twisting disrespectful tone. "It's how I was raised," he said. He paused for a moment, looking straight ahead at the road. "I want you home. Your mother wants you home. That's it." "I've got two stops to make. One on the way to the restaurant and one after you get there. You can take me or I can get out and take myself. It's up to you." "Where?" he said in a sigh, resigned to do what it took to get me on the plane. "Make a right instead of a left at Lombard. Next big intersection." I guided my father down below the Castro and toward the old warehouses. We stopped at the end of all the deserted loading docks. My father looked alarmed and cautious as he gazed around at the vacant facility. I hopped out, leaving my bag on the passenger side floor. I could feel his eyes on me as I climbed the small hill and disappeared into the bushes. "Jesus," I yelled out. "Si," a voice came back in immediate response. Jesus stood up out of the box. He smiled when he saw me. "Gene's boyfriend. Hello, Billie Joe." "Hi. I wanted to bring you your shoes back . I wanted to thank you for being nice to me. For helping me." "Not always so nice," Jesus said, with sadness in his voice. "Nice enough," I said, remembering the last time I saw him ranting and raving at Gene and me. "Has Gene come with you. I have not seen him in some time." "No, Ty said he went to Los Angeles with his friend Donnie," I said as Jesus looked sad to hear he was so far away. I hugged him and felt him tensing up from being touched. His hands raised up to the sides of my arms but it was obvious he couldn't hug either. I smiled at him as I backed away and I knew he'd be shocked when he found the roll of bills I had put in his coat pocket. I felt good about that. Jesus saved me for awhile. I couldn't leave without a thank you. Maybe there is a God. Maybe that's why Jesus was there for us and maybe it's why I couldn't keep the money I had and he was the only person I knew to give it to. Maybe someone did look over us. I took my father into the restaurant on the block. He seemed a bit skeptical when we passed all the strip joints and dirty bookstores on the way. It wasn't crowded and we took the booth in the back. The big guy in the apron acted like I wasn't there. I told my father I'd be back in a few minutes. He looked at me carefully but didn't say anything. I nodded at white apron as I left. I could tell he thought I was with a trick. Little did he know! I looked down each street as I walked toward the party hotel, hoping to see one of the kids. No one was out. The hotel was empty. I looked around and saw signs of life that had vanished before I arrived. The smells tightened my stomach and reminded me of the seedy side of where I'd been. I crawled back out of the tiny opening and slid back down between the buildings until I was back on the street. My father was picking at his food when I came back into sight. A look of relief came to his face. He hadn't been sure I was coming back. He drank from his coffee cup as I moved to the last booth. He looked down to his plate and moved things around with his fork. "Not bad," he said. "I wasn't sure you'd be coming back. I'm sorry I hit you. You shouldn't talk to me like that. I'm your father. I came to take you home because it's where you belong. Because I want you home." "I'm sorry. Bad habit I've picked up. Taking up for myself. It's one of the first things you learn on the street." "We are going back together?" he asked. "We are going back together. I'm not stupid, Dad. I need to finish school. I need to finish growing up. I can't do that here. The only thing you can do here is die." "Why'd you come then?" "To see." "To see what?" "To see." "These tests. I haven't told your mother." "Why not?" "She can't handle that. I can't handle that. I can't tell her that about her son. You're a child for Christ sake. How could you have this thing?" "The usual way you get it." "How do you get it?" "You need to read up, Dad. I'm not going to discuss it with you. You've never wanted to discuss anything with me. This isn't where we start. I don't even know that much. I might not have it. I might. That's what the tests are for." "Who's Carl?" I shuffled my feet around under the table. My father was starting to hit the buttons. I watched my hands drum the table as I looked around impatiently. "He's someone I met." "You want something to drink?" "Yeah! Yes, sir. Coffee, cream." My father looked at me and at his own coffee cup. He seemed surprised. "Bring my son a cup of coffee if you don't mind," he called to the counter guy. White apron looked up and then at me as he walked the coffee around the corner of the counter and slid it in front of me as the liquid ran out into the saucer. "Thank you," I said, practicing for home. "You've grown. You look older." "The streets age you." "You don't look bad. Just older." "Shit! I look like shit. I've seen in a mirror." "You'll get better. You'll rest up. School starts next week, but you'll rest up until then. You'll be okay. Your mother will be glad to see you. We'll be okay, Billie Joe." "I know. I'm sorry I hurt you." "It'll be okay. We'll do okay," he said again. I drank my coffee and watched him shuffle his food around. He didn't eat much of it. The conversation became strained, stifled by that uneasiness when there is no more small talk you can make. We desperately needed some small talk but only the big questions were left. Throughout my entire life my father had told me how it was, and what I was going to do. He'd never asked me once what I wanted or needed, what I thought, or what I felt. It wasn't going to start in a cafe in the Castro. We both knew that. "Who's Carl," he said again, after the dishes were cleared away and he was cradling his third cup of coffee since my return from the hotel. "You read the letter. You know who he is." "Is he what this is all about. Is that why you ran off." I started laughing. "This has nothing to do with Carl. He'd have stopped me if he could. It has to do with me." "So tell me who he is." "He's a marine. He met me on the bus. When he left, I couldn't go home. That's it. I couldn't go back to Minnesota. I couldn't just go home." "Why didn't you talk to us? Why didn't you tell us what was going on?" "I can't talk to you, Dad. You tell me. That's it. You don't talk to me. You tell me. I found out something I couldn't just go home with. I had to deal with my feelings before I could go back home." "What was so terrible that you couldn't come to us with it?" "Remember Ralphie, Dad? You remember that cute little kid that was always over our house? He was my best friend. I couldn't talk to you about his death, because of that damn note he left. Ralphie was a coward." "We don't need to talk about him. Ralphie's dead, Billie Joe. You've got to face up to that and go on. Is that what it's about?" "Dad, Ralphie killed himself rather than face who he was. I ran away rather than face you with it. That's why I couldn't go home. That's what it's all about." "Carl?" "Carl was just someone that I met and he got my mind off Ralphie, but then he had to leave me too, and I did what I did because I was afraid to tell you I'm gay." My father choked on his coffee. It ran off his chin. He blotted it with his napkin and coughed on my words. He drank some water and blotted some on the spots on his shirt. He didn't look at me. He couldn't talk. There were tears in his eyes. I don't know if they were from the choking or from finally hearing the admission coming from the horse itself. "We'd better go. Should be there at least an hour early. Got to turn in this car. You want anything else?" "No, sir." Chapter 29 Clean Getaway The plane shuddered, catching my attention as the weight lifted off the landing gear, making us airborne. It was my first jet plane ride and I watched the ground move away from us at a rapid rate of speed. We passed over Alcatraz, Golden Gate Bridge, and headed out over the Pacific. I wasn't the brightest bulb in the box but I knew Minnesota was in the other direction. As I was about to suggest to my father we had gotten on the wrong plane it started to bank, while continuing its climb, and was immediately back over land. I relaxed and figured the pilot probably knew what he was doing. Once I was convinced we would stay in the air I went back to digging in my bag for the notebook that was still tucked safely under the protective reinforcement flap at the bottom. I had started writing down everything that happened to me, until the cops raided the hotel. Settling into my seat, I opened it and went to the letter I'd started writing to Carl only about a month earlier. Where to start? What do I tell him and what do I save for later? What will he understand, and what will he hate to hear? I wouldn't lie to him but while he was still over there it wasn't a good time to tell him all the details. If we were going to have a chance it would be necessary to get to know him better. That would be where I started. I went to a fresh page and started a new letter with the current date. I explained that I'd been separated from my belongings and notebook, but that I was okay and I had gotten everything back. What else could I tell him that would be worth talking about? My father and I had resumed our usual relationship. He said nothing to me after getting into the car at the diner and starting toward the airport and I responded in kind. We avoided looking at each other and I was sure he'd thought over what had taken place between us that day just as I had. I had followed him into the car rental place at the airport uninvited and then I followed him through the airport to the boarding gate. If I didn't know better I'd swear he was hoping I'd get lost or run. He never looked once to see if I was still behind him, but I was. I was going home whether he wanted it or not. I was going home and I would finish school. The rest had to take care of itself. When we got on the plane he led the way and stood in the aisle, indicating by stance and slight body movements that I should take the inside seat. We'd always had a silent way of communicating. I'm sure many fathers and sons do. I'd only written a paragraph telling Carl I was fine, or thought I was fine, or hoped I was fine, but I knew I didn't want to talk to him about it, so I stopped there. I turned a few pages and at the top of another clean page I wrote: Billie Joe's Journal I decided that I would write about the most important things that had taken place during my summer of misadventures. Carl came first and beside his name I put a heart with an arrow through it. I wrote C L's B in the middle of the heart and I admired it. I crossed it out and reached for the bracelet that was up on my elbow. I drew a second heart and wrote inside, B Love's C and I smiled. Raymond came after Carl and I wrote about Raymond and what a jerk he worked at being and how confusing it was to know someone like him, especially then, at the earliest stages of my awakening. So, I just described him, leaving out the more graphic details, although they were still fresh in my mind. I wrote about Sven and Ingmar and tried very hard to picture them accurately in the words I put on the page. I couldn't write any more than the basics then but in my mind I still saw them too as clearly as if we had parted that morning. Raymond still made me feel warm in my pants but Ingmar and Sven made me feel warm in my heart. I could no longer picture the villain on the highway that chased us into that big trucker's arms. I knew he looked like the terror that sometimes chased me inside my dreams, but I never again saw his face. It's one of those things I had probably blocked out in order to have peace. He was always there in the dark but way back in the shadows. Earl was harder to write about. There seemed to be but a single dimension that concerned me and, and those were the details I wouldn't try to put in words on the plane. It was something that would be left to the quiet and privacy of my room, for those times when I needed no more than a little relief. Earl would always have a kind of sexual power over me, but that's all it was. Harvey was easy, and I grouped him with Dennis and John, where he belonged. I knew Dennis and John weren't bad people. They simply took advantage of someone who allowed that. Everyone I met had a roll and each played it according to the rules they'd learned about life. Harvey was a seller and Dennis and John were purchasers of favors they could no longer get any other way. Once I was on the street, I understood better why Harvey didn't care and didn't mind them using his body. When you are alone out there and someone wants you for anything, that gives you a certain amount of power. I thought I could relate to what Harvey felt sandwiched between the two middle-aged men while I watched through the crack in the door. I even thought I understood his need to blow the money on pizza. Funny how clear things get after you have some experience with the bottoms of barrels. Harvey wasn't a bad kid, but I could never have truly liked him, because he had already given up on life. It did not surprise me he was dead because I thought he was a little dead even when I first met him. The first images of Ty, Sharon, Gene, Donnie, Bryce and Gil, and of Tony and Tim were all centered around the first time I went to the party hotel. I could describe them physically, but I saw each of them sexually every time I closed my eyes. These images never ceased to arouse me and when aroused I found I was repulsed not by the images but by my erection as the smell of their frequent discharges stayed with me long after their faces faded from my mind.. Still I knew if I was ever faced with the scene inside the hotel again, I'd be in the middle of the action a lot sooner. Even knowing what I now knew, and even considering the danger, it wouldn't stop me from becoming part of it inside of that time and space. It was an addiction, rubbing bare skin against bared skin, until you were so hot you'd do anything for anyone up there. All the desires came mixed up together and then you just fucked and sucked until you collapsed and you rested a few minutes, knowing someone would be at you right away to draw you back into the all night action. There is a power inside the group that doesn't exist for us anywhere else. There is power in breaking all the rules and flirting with death. There is a power in loving and being loved by everyone at once. From time to time you could be alone with one of them but the next time you look, they are alone with someone else, and you are too, each being intimate and faithful with whomever we were with for the moment. It was glorious to care so much about people you hardly knew, intimately involved with each cock, each asshole that was presented to you as a gift for as long as it took to wear out your welcome. I was surprised to look down on the tops of clouds. The sky was a vivid blue up that high. I watched out the window for a time, not thinking about anything. I went back to writing to Carl. I told him I was on my way home and that my father and I had had a rather stormy reunion but things seemed to be going back to normal. Each time I started writing to Carl, I stopped after only a sentence or two. I wasn't looking forward to getting home and facing my mother, but she'd be easy compared to my father. The question would be whether or not he'd tell her about AIDS or just make sure I got the testing done. It hadn't been mentioned and I assumed my mother already knew my questionable status. School would be tough. There was no doubt my exploits would be known through the kids of my parents' friends. Nothing stayed secret too long among them. I don't know if they'd hear something about me running off for the same reason Ralphie offed himself, or if they'd just say Ralphie's death so upset me that I sort of went off the deep end. I wasn't about to go back to pretending I was straight. That time had passed me by. I'd have to make a stand or everything I'd tried to do would be a waste. The point of running off was to become who I was, and to quit hiding from it. What problems this would create were still mysteries, but I suspected my time on the streets of San Francisco would be good preparation for the ordeal ahead of me. I was sixteen now and growing up. The question being, had I grown up enough or would I grow up enough to deal with the people who would hate me for what I was? How would I find people that understood or could accept me as I was? What would I have to do to not be alone again? I was better equipped to be alone but I wanted very much not to be alone. Finding people to sit with me and talk to me about my feelings would be difficult. Finding people who would allow me to be honest would be hard. I'd find them. It would take patience and work but I would find them, because I knew what to look for now. If I was honest and up front about who I was, there was a much better chance I'd make some friends I could trust or who would at least respect me for my honesty. Maybe there was another gay kid or two that might come to me and let me know I wasn't alone. Maybe I wouldn't be alone. There is always hope and Carl. No matter what else happened, he had taught me what love is and how it can take you away from any pain or sorrow you know. Once more I found myself staring out into the blue sky, finding some solitude in the empty sky. It was darker blue the further east we flew. You could almost see forever above the clouds out there. I wished I could see all the way until I was eighteen and leaving home. I wished I could see to the next summer and meeting Carl at SeaTac. I wanted to get there and be there but there was a lot of time and distance between now and then. There was a lot of uncertainty. Would Carl still love me? Would he forgive me for what I had done? Would he come back to me in a year and could we start up where we left off? Could I make it through the year? Could I stay at home without blowing up and running off again? It had been over two months since the last time I walked into my house. My mother would likely pretend I was with brother John most of that time, but then there would be the questions. They would come at dinner or while I was entering or leaving a room. She'd ask me about this or that, something that was on her mind and a question she could no longer deal with. I'd explain away the question and make her smile. She liked for me to make her smile. My mother and I were very much alike, and that made us very volatile at times, but we always understood one another. We thought we knew how the other thought but she always sided with my father. I was not surprised that my mother blamed my father for my leaving. I suspect she would now try to blame Ralphie. He would be convenient and we'd have talks about it being okay that it upset me, but that it wasn't okay for me to run off. We wouldn't mention my dirty little secret. I'd be told I should have come to her with my problems so she could help, only I'd never come to her with my problems and she had never helped me in that way. My parents' lived well-ordered lives, always staying busy. They really didn't have time to devote to raising a son. It would be hard being home but not as hard as it had been being on the street. If I could survive the streets I could certainly survive a few more months at home. That sustained me when I suspected I might not like being home very much. I'd learned everything I needed to know while on the street. I learned that the network I was looking for didn't exist. Gay society was no more prepared to deal with gay youth than straight society. Of course the mere mention of the words "underage gay teen" would send waves of fear through many adult gay men. If caught in the company of or assisting said gay teen, they were looking at molestation and contributing charges. Even the mere suggestion that an under age boy was hanging about could ruin lives. No one fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen could be gay and ask for assistance without running afoul of the law. We simply had no right to be gay and underage, much as some generations were criminals by virtue of their homosexuality and society's determination to keep them at bay. So we end up with guys who are not supposed to be that way but are and they end up on the streets with a gay society that would like to help but can't. There were good intentions and some men who would feed you and give you a place to stay for a time. But always there was the fear that someone would knock on the door and they'd be asked to pay for their kindness by facing prosecution. It wouldn't matter if there was any sexual hanky panky going on or not, the mere appearance of impropriety was enough to raise the temperature of any jury. While Dennis and John weren't the sweetest guys I'd known, they offered food, a warm bed, and protection from the street. What kid wouldn't take them up on their hospitality for a night of safety, when the most they had to worry about was being wanted too often. While straight society refuses to help gay teens, gay society can't. So we end up with a class of kids too young to be out on their own but there we are. There is no place we can go. You can't tell people you're gay because you end up in the system. If you still insist you're gay you get tossed out, beaten up, or sent to even worse foster homes, where they aren't so threatened by gayness that they don't take a little off the top before taking you apart. Quite clearly, no one should be gay until you are eighteen if you know what's good for you. That's the way society sees it, and because they want it that way, they aren't about to lift a finger to help defiant kids. We should know better than to choose being lost on the streets that are filled with drugs, and sex, and AIDS, and rape, and violence you can't conceive, until you meet up with it. Being on the street virtually assures that sooner or later you'll develop intimate relationships with some if not all of the above. For far, far too many the streets become a death sentence as it had for Harvey. Like the death penalty, it's meant to be a deterrent to you and I. If you choose the street it does not come without a cost. Like being gay, the choice is in living a lie or facing up to what you are. It takes courage to choose truth. It certainly is far safer to live the lie that's provided for you. Being on the way home meant I didn't directly face imminent danger any longer. Now I was protected. Once more I could live inside the family cocoon. The dangers to me would be subtle and unannounced. The residue of the streets would become an issue. Do I have it or don't I? If I do have it everyone will say, "Isn't it a shame!" If I don't have it they'll say, "Isn't he lucky!" I don't know what I'll say but I'll remember the boys I left behind, the boys who aren't quite so lucky to have parents that would take them back, once the street gets on them. My parents would not ask me the hard questions and thus a certain amount of peace would live at my house. The issue of AIDS was relatively new to me. The prospect of having it was frightening because of Ty and Walt, but the fear passed quickly. If I do have it I'll deal with it at the time. That's about all there is to that. The damage is done. Should I escape the plague, I will know I was lucky and I hope I have learned enough to avoid it in the future no matter how loudly the boys call my name. No matter what they have to offer me and how good I know it will make me feel, while they are giving it to me. I'll always play safe now if I'm safe now. As for those I left behind me, I couldn't have made it without them. I couldn't have made it without Raymond and his caustic lip, or Ingmar and his gigantic heart. I wouldn't have made it without Gene. I wouldn't have made it without Harvey and I didn't like Harvey in life and could like him no more for the way he died. I couldn't have made it without Tim and Tony. I couldn't have made it without Walt. I especially couldn't have made it without Ty. Of all the people that met me and saved me and took care of me, Ty was the only one that truly cared only about me. The rest of us kids fed one another but Ty never asked me for anything. He was just there with his heart full of love and compassion. He wanted to help me off the street and he did, protecting me in ways I still can't conceive. I guess writing is hard work because I ended up falling asleep after we left Kansas City, the next-to-last stop on our way home. I don't remember the last leg of the trip or the landing. I simply drifted off as though all my cares and problems had been left behind. The next thing I knew we were in a cab and pulling up in front of my house. My mother stood at the door, waiting for me to come home. The hug was fine and the questions hadn't started yet. It was good to be safe at home. Ty and I would talk a couple of times a month after I arrived home. I think my parents were scared that denying me this contact would drive me back to San Francisco, so they didn't. Ty usually called me but a few times I wanted to hear his voice and his warnings that kept me home. We discussed how hard it was to walk away from one another. I told him I was really struggling to find a way to leave, and I was so completely drained after spending those weeks on the street. I just didn't want to be close to anyone now. I needed so much space those last days we were together. I told him I no longer trusted anyone after those weeks on my own. He apologized again for leaving me and then for being so distant the last few days at Walt's, but he told me he loved me and that he knew I had to go home for my own good. He wasn't sure how long he'd be okay, and he didn't want me around him if he got sick. Walt always said hello while he was still alive and he encouraged Ty and me to talk. He was to die shortly after spring came the following year. Actually, he lived longer than Ty expected. Arrangements were made for Ty to keep the apartment, and he too had started AZT treatments in the months before Walt died. Ty gave me the rundown on everyone during our phone calls. It was always the bad news first. Ty seemed unmoved by the things he told me. Donnie's body had been found in an alley off of Route 101 a few weeks after I left. A dark green van had been seen nearby shortly before the discovery was made. They never found his killer. His brother Jake was sentenced to two years in Leavenworth for desertion and he was dishonorably discharged. He couldn't attend Donnie's funeral. My constant inquiries about Gene got no clear response at first. He'd been seen in Los Angeles, Seattle, and Las Vegas, but no one saw him in San Francisco. I wonder if he knew about Donnie? I was sad for Gene, because I knew he loved Donnie as much as he could love anyone. Sharon was found dead in Golden Gate Park just before Christmas. She was fifteen years old and six months pregnant. No one had any idea about the father's identity. Her cause of death was listed as suspicious but no arrests were ever made. She was a street kid that came to the end of the road. Bryce had disappeared about the time Donnie's body was found. Ty said that rumor had it that he'd been seen with Gene in Flagstaff and Portland. Ty figured they took up together after Donnie's death. Gene wasn't a guy that could be left alone for long. He had to have someone with him all the time. I had known that while I was with him. As much as he saved my life I had saved his too. I was glad that I didn't have to think about Gene being alone in the world and Bryce had been an okay guy. According to Ty, everyone else was fine and still appearing and disappearing at regular intervals. The cops came down hard on them and let up after election cycles ended and mostly the flow of the streets went on as usual. A new arrival would appear every week or two and Ty resisted the idea of saving anyone else. He told me it was too hard being a guardian angel for the lost and lonely. He said it was too hard loving someone like me. He no longer had the energy to get involved with the new arrivals. I wrote to Earl and he always ended his letters by saying there was a school up the street and a warm bed waited for me. Of all the people I'd spent time with, I thought Earl would be the least likely to see me again. It's not that the time with him wasn't intense. It was. But I think I knew that intensity wasn't worth much without love and a future. Earl was only interested in one thing and almost anyone could provide him with that. Earl was one of my professors. I'd learned a lot about my capacity through his constant attention. His letters were always short and to the point, letting me know what I had was what he needed and longed for as he had longed for every other boy that crossed his doorstep. When I finally got around to writing Ingmar, he wrote me back a nice letter. He wrote just like he talked and he told me Sven was going to school at Stanford and Raymond was working nearby and they were sharing an apartment. Ingmar was still amazed at this but he said they really seemed close the last month they were with him. He was happy for Sven and even got to where he didn't mind Raymond, who spent most of his free time staring at Sven. He no longer complained about the work and he had put on some weight and didn't have the mouth he once had. I added all of these facts to my journal as I collected them. Ingmar and I wrote each other but he mostly sent postcards from each town he spent time in. He was very happy I'd decided to go home. He told me I had a job if I ever needed it. I guess he was my favorite character of all the ones I had met that summer of "My 15th Year." Ingmar was about as real and good and decent as a person can grow up to be. He too never asked me for a thing but he made it known he was there for me still. Just a few more footnotes: Todd continues to help kids get off the streets if he got to them soon enough. He visits Ty on a regular basis and fixed him up with Jason, another guy with AIDS who needed a place to live. He was over twenty-one and fairly healthy. Ty said he and Jason get along well as friends. He said they could be brothers except Jason had the misfortune of being born white. A lot of that going around. Todd always asked about me. The party hotel burnt down right after the first of the year. No one was home and no one was hurt. I pictured all the kids and all we had done and I wondered where they were doing it now. I wondered if I'd ever find anyone to do it with again. Then, I remember my father scooting his legs to the side to let me out to take a piss once we left Salt Lake City on our way home from San Francisco. As I wandered aimlessly back to the bathroom one of the stewards started watching me. I was sure he thought I was looking for something to steal. When I came out, he stood right next to the bathroom door and gave me the biggest smile and then I saw his eyes do a quick dive to do an inventory of my trousers. How did he know? I giggled at the thought that I knew exactly what he was looking for. I heard Raymond whisper in my ear, "They all want it." I wasn't that crude but I still rubbed the front of my trousers against the back of his available hand as he stepped to one side to allow me almost enough room to pass, while keeping his eyes on mine, he held my trailing hand on his ragging erection. I was hard before the front of my pants left his hand alone. He was cute and not all that much older than I was. Maybe he was pretty old but hot for me. He was still watching me when my father scooted his legs out to let me back in, oblivious to his son's flirtation. I stared back at him each time he passed our seats and wished we could be alone together for a few minutes or a few days. "My 15th Year" had been quite an adventure. I wondered what "My 16th Year" would be like. THE END Thanks to BP for his lovely edit of this story. Read my other Nifty novels. DISCOVERING GREGORY IN SKATER'S TIME Both can be found in the high school section at Nifty. If you have any trouble finding them or my other stories or if you want to communicate your reaction to this story, write me at: quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com My website: www.writersrealm.net My Book: Antiques & Homicide/Homocide Available at Amazon.com Under that title