Date: Mon, 15 Apr 2019 23:53:39 -0400
From: wildwing4160@gmail.com
Subject: What Goes Around Chapter 3

			     WHAT GOES AROUND

Chapter 3

     It wasn't long after my return from camp before all of my old routines
resurfaced.  One of those routines was reading.  I loved to learn and non
fiction was my favorite genre.  As an example I inherited an old outdated
set of encyclopedias.  I read every volume from cover to cover.

     And so it was about a week or so after camp I was quietly reading in
my room one evening when mother came to my door.

     "There is a gentleman here to see you," she said.

     "What?" I said to myself.  "Why would a gentleman come to my door to
see me?"

     "Who is it mom?" I asked.

     "He says his name is Headley Stokes," she replied.

     I was flabbergasted!  I didn't even want to see this man let alone
speak to him and in my own house no less.  Anyway I wondered, how did he
get my address?  I certainly didn't give it to him.

     The solution was easy.  "Tell him to go away mom".

     Now realize that in those days the word pedophile was completely
unheard of by the general public.  Articles on sexual abuse in the news
media did not exist.  In fact my parents saw absolutely no evil intent
whatsoever in Headley's visit.  Quite the opposite in fact.  Mother was
forever encouraging me to make more friends; any friends.  Consequently she
was thrilled that Headley was taking an interest in me and was appalled at
my response.

    "I'm shocked," she replied, "This gentleman has come all this way just
to meet you.  It's the least you can do to come out and talk to him!"

     Mother could be a very demanding woman.  Her voice told me she wasn't
going to take no for an answer.  It was an argument I couldn't win so I
dragged myself out.

     Now understand readers his presence was a shock to my system.  He
seemed to lack the social skills that says you ask first.  No telephone
call................ nothing!

     We sat in adjoining chairs staring at each other.  Headley was
beaming.  I was stone faced.  We sat in awkward silence for a while before
Headly tried to initiate a conversation.  I say tried because it takes two
people to make a conversation.  Unless you want to count the occasional
grunt as a response I continued to sit in silence.  I certainly didn't
initiate anything.  The plain truth was my behavior was abhorrent. I was
rude to the nth degree.  I hated being in his presence again and I did
everything I could think of to show him that.

     My poor attitude seemingly had little effect on him.  He worked for
well over an hour trying to get me involved.  I know he changed topics
several times but if you ask me today what he said I can't recall a single
word.  I wasn't listening too hard.  As was the way with Headley he
suddenly stopped, in mid sentence it seemed, said he had to go and was out
the door in a matter of seconds.

     Mother it seems had been listening from around the corner.  I was
immediately harangued over my offhanded mannerisms.  Once again she
preached to me how important friends were.  Yadah, yadah, yadah.  This
should have been an ideal time to explain why I felt the way I did.  Why I
didn't puzzles me to this day.  After half a dozen 'Yes moms' she began to
wind down.  I asked if I could go to my room and she threw her hands up in
disgust.

     Now you would think that Headley would have gotten the message
wouldn't you?  I couldn't have been more blunt.  The average person would
have accepted it and moved on with their life.  Headley wasn't your average
person.  He was so enamored with me or perhaps so enamored with my
equipment that he would try again.

     It was perhaps ten days or so later.  I was sitting in the living room
watching our state of the ark black and white seventeen inch TV.  It must
have been the weekend because dad was sitting there watching with me.
Another knock on the door.  Dad answered it and there larger than life
stood one Headley Stokes.  Dad like my mother before him, welcomed him in
like long lost war buddy.  I didn't bother running.  There was no point.

     Headley took a seat and dad proceeded to have an animated conversation
with him. Fair to say they seemed to enjoy each others company..  I just
sat there.  Mother came in from the kitchen and invited Headley to stay for
supper.  Headley of course accepted while I inwardly groaned.

     Now understand dear readers my mother was the world's worst cook!  As
a youngster I couldn't understand the fuss about steak.  In our house it
was a tough gristled slab of meat with the appearance, the texture, and the
taste of shoe leather.  Fried eggs were not cooked until the yolk was rock
solid and the first inch of the white was a crispy black.  She made a new
dish once, something she rarely did.  Dad and I couldn't eat more than a
mouthful it was so bad.  She got very upset and threw the food into the dog
dish.  The dog wouldn't eat it either.

     Since we never ate out as a child I always assumed this was the way
food was supposed to taste. Believe me when I tell you I ate to live.  I
certainly did not live to eat.  Anyway let's return to my tale.

     Dad got up and disappeared no doubt to his tools in the basement,
leaving me alone with Headley.  I was more obnoxious than I was on his
first visit if that were possible.  It was a shame that I lacked the wisdom
and maturity to properly address the issues.  At the very least I should
have thanked him for showing interest in me and then, as gently as I could
told him that I had no interest in him.  Instead the air remained tense.
Thankfully mother soon rescued me by inviting us all to the dinner table.

     Headley devoured his food as if it were a feast fit for a king.  He
had made a friend for life with mother.  I just sat there poking a carrot
that I hated so much.  As I watched his plate empty I finally figured out
how he got so big.  For desert mother served her rice pudding that she
always made from scratch.  She baked it in the oven until a black crust
formed on the surface.  The she'd break up the crust and mix it in with the
pudding below. Headley ate that too!

     The last morsel gone Headley patted his stomach and declared, "That
was delicious.  Thank you so much."

     I was still poking my carrots trying to find enough courage to swallow
them quickly.

     To this day it boggles my mind that he liked the food.  If he was
faking it he sure did a great job of it.  Mother asked him if he would like
to come back for another meal.  No, no, no, I said under my breath.

     Nothing much else happened that evening.  Headley did give me his
address neatly printed on a piece of paper.  Mother was thrilled when he
told me I could come over any time.  I gave him a very definite maybe.

     Now what do you think dear readers?  Did Headley get my message yet?
If you guessed nope then you are correct.  If nothing else he sure was
persistent!

     A week or so later the now familiar knock came again.  This time he
entered carrying a full shopping bag.  The bag contained a part of his
private stamp collection.  Mother was happy to see him again and she
quickly cleared the dining room table providing space for his collection.
I know now that Headley was allowing me to enter his private world again
hoping to create a lasting friendship.  All I knew at the time was that I
hated stamps.  I much preferred comic books and baseball cards.  If he had
called first I would have told him that.

     It turned out that what turned him on with his collection was finding
printing imperfections.  His shopping bag was full of packages all
containing the exact same stamp!  He had thousands of them.  The stamp was
a world war II era German stamp.  I found myself staring over and over and
over at a portrait of Adolph Hitler!  He showed me examples of badly
printed stamps he had already found.  The 'imperfections' were no more than
a partially missing letter or a small smudge.  He handed me a pair of
tweezers and a magnifying glass and told me to get to work.  He never asked
me if I liked stamps, nor did he ask if I wanted to help him.  He assumed
it.  Headley proceeded like a kid in a candy store.  I was bored to tears.

    We both worked away for perhaps twenty minutes or so when I suddenly
yawned.  I couldn't help it.  But then I thought hey, that's a good way to
show how I feel so I yawned again.  The second one was forced.  It was
louder and more prolonged.  Like the first two a third yawn didn't have any
effect either so I upped the ante.

     "I'm sorry," I explained, "But I am really tired and I need to go to
bed."

     Headley hardly said a word.  He packed up the stamps and was gone in
mere moments.

     That was the last time I spoke to him in my entire life.  We did see
each other on occasion in the school hallways but we ignored each other.
When I graduated into high school he was gone from my life for ever.  But
not quite.

     Many decades passed.  I was an old fart by now and quietly retired.  I
still loved to read my non fiction books.  My library is full of them.  I
also occasionally look at the obituary columns in the paper,, not out of
morbidity but rather to learn about other people's lives and what they
accomplished.  I was doing just that one day when a headline jolted my
senses.  It read 'Headley Stokes Educator Boy Scout Leader'.

     Of course I read the article with great interest.  I learned a lot
about him.  For instance he was born in England as I was and like me he
immigrated to Canada with his parents as a young boy.  But what struck me
most about the article was its writer.  He was not a reporter, rather he
was obviously Headley's life long partner and lover.  He admitted meeting
Headley as a student in his class and also as a member of Headly's scout
troop, facts eerily similar to my contacts with Headley.  He went on to
describe Headley in glowing terms using such words as kind, caring, loving
and generous.  Reading between the lines the article spoke to a long
lasting and very successful relationship.

     When I finished the article I sat back and thought long and hard about
Headley and my relationship with him.  First, I concluded that I was happy
for him Although it wasn't me Headley found the love he was looking for. I
thought about how, apart from the strappings, he had treated me..  Apart
from looking what could I accuse him of?  He had always been the perfect
gentleman displaying many of the qualities mentioned in his obituary.  Not
once could I recall an incident that was remotely sexual.

     Yes he was perhaps eccentric.  Yes, he was socially awkward.  On the
other hand he possessed qualities we wish we all had.  Yes I still believe
he erred in strapping me but hey, don't we all make mistakes from time to
time?  I certainly erred in not forgiving him years ago.

     Why did Headley select me as a potential friend?  The easy answer is
that he liked what he saw at the lake that day but I now believe it was a
lot more than that.  He was a boy lover but he wanted not just any boy.
The boy had to be gay.  When he saw me preening up and down the shore that
day he thought he had found one.  When he caught me naked in bed with
another scout his suspicion was confirmed.

     I then quizzed myself with a series of 'What ifs?'.  What if the
strappings had never occurred?  What if I had forgiven him early in life?
What if I had listened to mother more, made him a friend, and gone to his
house?  My conclusion was that it could have been me that wrote that
obituary.

     And so dear readers if you are looking for a villain in this tale the
villain in the end was me.  Headley was the good guy!  Telling this story
was the only way I could think of to apologize to a friend that could have
been.

     Regardless, rest in peace Headley Stokes.

EPILOGUE

     As I said at the outset, this is a true story, every word of it.  If
by some miracle somebody reads this story who knew Headley I would love to
hear from you.  If I am incredibly fortunate I might hear from his lover.
That would be super special.  I kept the obituary for a few years but I
moved.  When one moves some things tend to get lost so I don't even have a
name to go by.

     For anyone who is interested, and there may be one or two, I got the
nose operation in my late teens. With the cartilage and the bump removed I
look like a movie star.....well, kind of.  I could at least give Boris
Karloff a run for the money!  I got an unexpected bonus too.  I could smell
for the first time.  We humans may not be able to smell as well as a lot of
animals but I can tell you my world was enriched by the smell of fresh
baked bread and the flowers in the garden.  Of course I learned what farts
were all about too!

    My mother still tells me off occasionally.  But then at age one hundred
and three I reckon she has earned the right to tell any one off that she
wishes.  I did learn over the years how important and true her advice had
been.  Friends are important!

     If you enjoyed this story you might enjoy my works of fiction found in
the prolific author section.  Most of the stories are run of the mill Nifty
works, good for a wank and not much more.  Based on the response I received
three of my tales though are winners.  I have been told over and over by
you readers that they are among the best stories to ever appear in Nifty.
I feel there are several Nifty writers that consistently produce better
work than my own, For instance I recommend the work of John T. S. Teller,
the story teller.

      The three stories I refer to are Jason's Dilemma, I'm Available, and
David's Northern Adventures.

     Lastly I ask you all to do two things.  First send me an email to
wildwing4160@gmail.com . I love them, even ones with criticisms. It's my
only reward and I answer them all.  Second I know you have read it before
but donate to Nifty to keep this wonderful site alive.

     Regards to you all.

     Wildwing