by
Mark 'Ponyboy' Peters
Chapter Five
My parents stopped and looked at me as they came through the door. There was no indication by their expressions as to what they might be thinking, and nor did they say anything. Olly must have known something was up, though, as he took one look at me and disappeared down the hall to his bedroom. His slamming of the door was felt all the way through to the kitchen.
My gut feeling was that I was going to be in deep shit for staying out so late, not to mention having driven home, presumably under the influence.
'You must have had a good time last night, judging by the time you got home,' my mother said, while placing her handbag on the kitchen bench, then propping herself against the counter.
'It was okay, I guess.'
'So, you drove yourself home, then?' dad asked, chiming in. It seemed I was about to get the good old good cop/bad cop routine.
'Yeah, that's why I was so late. After we left the pub, I spent a couple of hours at the roadhouse drinking coffee and talking to a girl I went to school with, while trying to stay awake,' I managed to croak, my throat protesting while I was trying to think on my feet. 'I really didn't have very many beers. Honest.'
'I stuck my head through your bedroom door this morning. It smelled like you'd had more than just a few,' mum added.
'Some got spilled over me. I've just put my clothes in the machine to wash them now. I wasn't drunk or anything, but I do have a headache and a sore throat this morning.'
Not to mention a sore arse, I thought, but I certainly wasn't going there.
'Well, that might explain why you look like death warmed up,' mum said, before coming to me and placing the back of her hand against my forehead. 'Hmmm . . . you do have a bit of a temp, I suppose.'
'Do you really think I'd be so stupid as to drive home drunk?'
'You do know, don't you, that if you'd driven home with any alcohol in your system at all, and had been pulled over, your license would have been torn up on the spot?' my father declared.
'Yeah, I guess you are right there.'
'Well?'
'Well, what? Yeah, that was stupid, and I probably would have deserved it if it had happened, but all I did was have a few drinks. It's not like I went out and wrote myself off,' I shot back, defiantly.
'We never had this kind of problem when Meaghan got her licence and started going out with friends,' my father added, referring to my older, recently married sister. For some reason my parents seemed to have spaced their three kids out, with quite a few years between each of us. But as the first, Meaghan had always been dad's favourite, I was sure of that.
'Alright you two, let's not blow this all out of proportion,' mum interjected, knowing full well that my father and I often didn't see eye to eye, and we had a history of getting our hackles up and escalating things when it wasn't really needed.
'I'm just saying that the boy needs to be more responsible. He's now eighteen after all,' my father muttered.
'You already know that he usually is, Richard. And he knows what he has done was foolish, so there's no need to bawl him out over something he's already acknowledged was a mistake. I remember you at the same age, and you weren't exactly a saint, were you? If the truth must be known, neither of us were, were we?'
Way to go mum, I thought.
He just looked at us, his eyes going from one to the other and then back again, knowing full well that the conversation was over. Well, at least for now. Chances are I would cop another lecture from him later when mum wasn't around.
He left us then and went down the hallway to his and my mother's bedroom, leaving the two of us in the kitchen looking at each other.
'I'm not going to say anything more about this,' she said to me. 'But I do hope that you'll be a bit more careful in the future?'
'Yes, mum. Of course.'
'Okay then. So, what are you going to do this afternoon?'
'I'm still not feeling very well, so I think I might just go back to bed for a while. I took some Aspirin earlier, so I'll take some more in a few hours. Try and sleep this headache off.'
'That sounds like a good idea, honey,' my mother replied, smiling. 'Don't worry too much. We've all been there.'
I left her there and went to the bathroom, where I had a piss and applied some soothing cream to my most sensitive part, before retreating to by bedroom, closing the curtains once again and then lying down on top of the bed. For a while I tossed and turned, as I heard the sounds of a regular Saturday afternoon going on around me, while in my head I was still going over not just the events of last night, but what was about to follow. What else would my father say? What would happen when I saw Mike and Animal again? Where do I go to get myself tested?
Despite all that, however, it wasn't long before I had once again fallen asleep.
Not surprisingly my head became filled with dreams, jumping from one scene to another, all apparently random, including blue and red flashing lights, naked bodies, and other things which I wouldn't be willing to share with any of my family members. The last one, which jolted me awake, was a re-enactment of a very old television advertisement that I had recently seen. It was an AIDS awareness advertisement from twenty years ago or more, featuring scared citizens of all demographics being mowed down by a bowling ball that had been dispatched by the Grim Reaper himself. Only in this case one of those scared, frightened citizens was me, standing naked and trying to cover myself as the bowling ball was coming straight for me.
I woke with a start, my body feeling clammy from sweat, yet with an erection straining to escape the confines of my shorts. The room was dark, only a pale outline existed around the edges of the curtain, yet I could see that someone was there with me, sitting on the edge of my bed, which startled me, causing me to flinch and call out, 'Oh, shit!'
'Sshhhh,' a soothing voice said. It was my mother sitting there. 'You were only dreaming.'
It had seemed to be more than just a dream to me.
'Sorry,' I managed to mumble, my voice still croaky.
She reached out and once more placed the back of her hand on my forehead. 'You're still quite warm. Are you okay?'
Thankfully my hard-on was going into full retreat. I could only hope that it hadn't been noticed.
'I . . . I'm not sure. Just feeling a bit woozy still,' I replied.
In the semi-darkness I sensed, rather than saw, my mother sitting there assessing me. It was almost as if there was something she wanted to say but wasn't sure if she should. In the end she said, 'It's almost dark outside and you've been asleep all afternoon. That must have been some night you had last night. If you're feeling a bit under the weather, I'll heat you up some soup and bring it in for you.'
'Thank you,' I replied, but as I watched her get up and leave my room, I couldn't help but wonder what it was that I thought she wanted to say. Did she think there was more to the story of last night that I hadn't told them? Had she seen my hard-on? Oh God, how embarrassing would that be?
When she returned five minutes later, carrying a tray on which there was a bowl of soup, some buttered toast, and a cup of tea, I was sitting on the edge of my bed and had turned on my bedside lamp. I quickly moved my phone and a few items from the small bedside table, and she set the tray down on that, before standing in front of me and looking down at me. I noticed a foil pack sitting on the tray, in which were more tablets.
'I brought you some of those cold and flu tablets this time. If you have a sore throat they may help.'
I nodded a reply.
'Hopefully this will help you feel a bit better.'
'Thank you.'
She turned to go and reached the open doorway, before turning back to face me. 'You do know, honey, that if something ever happens to you, or if there is anything you are worried about, or you ever just want to talk about something, we are here for you.'
'Yes, of course.'
'And that we love you, no matter what.'
'Yes,' I replied, while not being able to help wondering where this was going.
'Just wanted to remind you, that's all,' then with a smile she left me.
As soon as she was gone, light from the hallway fell upon my dresser, which was just inside the door. It was then that I noticed my clothes from last night, washed, neatly folded, and sitting there, ready for me to put them away.
Quickly I got to my feet and crossed the floor to pick them up and check them. Every item of clothing that I had worn last night was there, except for one – my fluoro green Aussie Bum underwear.
'Oh, fuck,' I whispered, before closing the door and shuffling back to my bed, still clutching my clothes.
What did this mean? Did the stain not wash out and my mother saw it? Did she guess what might have happened? Does she now suspect, or even think, that I'm having anal sex and that I'm gay? Was that why she made a point of saying "we love you, no matter what" to me?
Once more my head was spinning. Things were moving so fast. There were so many questions. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
* * * * *
When I emerged from my room quite a few hours later, to return the tray to the kitchen and visit the bathroom once again, I could hear the television in the living room. When I passed the doorway, I noticed an old cowboy movie was on – my father was a fan of these – but nobody looked up as I shuffled past.
On my way back past the door after I had finished what I needed to do I heard my mother ask, 'Are you okay, Gray?'
I stopped and leaned against the door frame.
'Much the same,' I answered, as our eyes locked and held.
After a few moments she gave a slight nod then said, 'Just let me know if there's anything you need, honey.'
'Thank you.'
I received a smile in return, and a grunt from my father, at least I think that was directed my way, though probably more for the fact that his movie was being disturbed, rather than anything else. I continued on my way and returned to my bedroom to lie down once more. It was then that I remembered my phone and picked it up, first checking the time. It was almost nine-thirty. Fuck, where had the day gone?
I'd left the phone on silent all day and when I activated it, I saw that there were quite a few missed calls, along with some text messages. They were all from the same number, which wasn't one I recognised. Going to the messages inbox I opened the most recent, which had been received several hours earlier.
<Call me, man!>
Working backwards I went through the preceding messages.
<We need to talk!>
<You okay?>
<Fun night. Thanks! M.>
The first one received came in around ten-thirty this morning. Now it was all making sense.
I tossed the phone down and scurried back against the wall, drawing my knees up under my chin and wrapping my arms around my legs, hugging myself, as I looked down at the phone as if it were a monster.
Mike was the last person I needed to talk to right now.
What I wanted was to cry, but I needed to be strong. I needed to get angry. Toughen up. That was the only way I was going to get through this.
Lashing out with my foot I sent the phone flying, watching it smash into the bookcase beside my desk. I didn't care if it was broken or not.
Nobody came to check on the noise that had been made . . . there was probably a shoot-out going on in the living room to drown out the sound . . . but damn it felt good to do that!
To be continued . . .
Authors Note:
Hi there. It has been a while since I have posted anything new on Nifty. I guess life gets in the way sometimes.
I hope you enjoy this new story. Please be sure to donate to Nifty.org at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Your support of Nifty is what helps ensure that stories like this are available for people like you to enjoy! :)
Oh, hey, you might also like to check out my websites, where all my fiction, real life stories, reviews, books
and other stuff are available. Please visit:
Ponyboysplace - the home page for Mark Peters
Email: mp_ponyboy@hotmail.com