#gayshortstory

[thebarefootcajunpetiteshistoires]

Slept a Little Bit Closer That Night

Jaylyn and Raylyn had started first grade together. In those days on the Cajun Prairie there was not a kindergarten so all children went right to first grade. Most of the farm children went much later than August since that was the height of the harvesting season. Children helped bring in the crops. Jay and Ray as they were called, sometimes even called JayRay since the boys were always together. When you saw one you saw the other. Often identified as fraternal twins. They had been born on the same day by two different mothers almost to the second, and had become best friends.

The boys were next door neighbors out on the South Louisiana Cajun Prairie. They both had skills learned on the prairie on cotton farms. They were born in 1953 in the summer during the hottest month, August. Speaking of hot, these two were quite the lookers. Natural beauty, also quite the jocks in high school. They both played football and were on the first string team.

Therefore at every game they played most if not all of the innings of the game. Jay was the quarterback and Ray was a blocker. That suited the boys fine. Jay was slim, lithe and a fast runner; a quick thinker who oftentimes showed the coaches winning plays. Jay also liked to be in the limelight; the more people cheered for him, the better he played. Ray on the other hand was a bigger guy, in blocking he packed a punch. He protected his best bud Jay in order for Jay to gain yardage, throw passes and or make a touchdown. Ray didn’t much like being in the limelight. He preferred the joy of the team sport and enabling his BFF, Jay, to be the star.

After graduation the guys decided to take a house together. Their parents admired the boys independence and desire to make their own way. They took a rental place between their parents on Gros Orteil (toe). Named so because the region was shaped like a big toe. The guys’ rental was right spot on the big toe towards the edge of the region. The house they rented was a one room cottage, simple in design, created by using all natural materials from the prairie. It suited the boys, plain and rustic. All they really needed in their own words was a roof over their heads. There was a natural spring right out their back door; there they could bathe in the clear water bubbling up through the ground and pooling into a manmade lake.

Jay and Ray were outdoor guys. They planned to live mostly outside, but wanted a place to shelter in the event of inclement water. Also as a place to escape mosquitoes, one of the menacing live creatures on the Cajun Prairie. The boys moved in shortly after their high school graduation. Both of their families owned cotton farms a mile or two away. Each boy would continue to farm with his own family and help each other’s family if time allowed. The boys were ecstatic with this set up. They were close to their families and to be able to live within a mile of each of their families was a dream come true. To live with a best friend was even better, especially a friend since birth. More like brothers, but since high school something was different, the boys hadn’t acted upon it; they hadn’t even shared it with each other, but each had sexual dreams of the other. Not sure what to do, they did the only thing they could; ignored it.

How in the hell could two football jocks tell their parents that they were queer for each other. Understanding this today is impossible and understanding it almost seventy years ago was even more unexplainable. They lived with these desires in silence, and both boys knew that they couldn’t live this way forever. Imagine living with someone you love as an adult and you are horny for him, more than horny, but even think you love him. Daunting, scary, and impossible, but each boy couldn’t bear to think of not living with his love, best friend, forever guy.

Jay being the more outspoken and aggressive decided to have this conversation with Ray one night after showering in the spring outside the back cottage door. After drying off with an old cotton feed sack, Jay asked Ray to join him for a shot of moonshine on the front porch for a conversation. Ray didn’t think anything of it since the boys often had conversations about matters that concerned one or both of them. I mean really, they were best friends. That’s was best friends do.

On the porch with old mini one ounce canning jars, they did shots of moonshine. Jay told Ray what he was feeling and Ray responded with, “I’m feeling the same, have been for some time.”

Jay responded, “It’s a good feeling, one I don’t feel ashamed of. But I’m not understanding why it feels bad when it feels so good.”

Ray responded with a similar answer. No answers were given or even discussed. The boys decided that it felt good to finally have addressed this out in the open. See, the boys had never really dated in high school and had no interest in girls. Either boy had no interest in any other boys either. It had always been just the two of them, and this desire had been a new thing to work out. They boys both tired decided that it was time to go to bed, both had to be in the fields early in the morning. So they moved into the house to the bed that they shared.

That in itself wasn’t unusual either. Both boys had grown up sleeping together in a double bed since they were kids. Jay and Ray climbed into bed and got under the spread and slept a little bit closer that night.

[deadcamp69]

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[itsghostgay-blog]

Kissing her is coming home to a house that is filled with someone else’s things. It is like a long car ride in an SUV littered with old gum wrappers, like drinking lukewarm wine straight out of the bottle on a summer night, something that makes my throat burn and my stomach fill with warmth and I want to fall in love with the taste but I’m not sure that I can. Kissing her is a dirty type of clean; it is the grit underneath my fingernails and the song stuck in my head. Kissing her is loud and lonely and new, and it terrifies me. She pulls away, now, catching her breath as she shifts her weight on the bed. Her hair, still damp from the shower, hangs down over one pale eye and she tucks it behind her ear. Her lips are red and swollen from our kiss, like strawberries puckering on the vine in the golden sun. I look at her hips, my eyes tracing the curve where body meets mattress, and I feel something like guilt twist my stomach. I roll onto my back and blink up at the ceiling, at the little paper stars she hung from the window sill, at the dried flowers taped to her mirror. I find her in the pieces of her room because I cannot look at her body without feeling the familiar ache, the throbbing need to touch, to hold. I hate how loving her makes me feel sick. She moves closer to me and I am flooded with warmth where her skin meets my own--here, her leg wrapped around mine. Here, her head resting in the crook of my arm. Here, her nose against my cheek. Here, her breath on my neck. Goosebumps prickle on my skin.  This, this, this. “Jade,” she says, and she whispers my name like maybe it matters. Her voice makes me tremble, the smell of perfume on her skin starts a fire in my throat. Her hand finds mine (here) and she pulls me towards her, moving upwards on the bed so our faces are touching.  “Jade, are you okay?” I can’t answer. Her thigh, touching mine. Her nose, touching mine. Her forehead, touching mine. Here. Here. Here. She kisses me again, then, and I hate myself because I pull away first. Her hand finds mine again and she kisses my cheek. “Jade, what’s wrong?” And suddenly I want to tell her everything. I want to tell her how loving her makes me feel dirty, and it isn’t her fault but I don’t know how to make it stop. I want to tell her that I want to love her, but a part of me will always pervert this good thing; a part of me will always scream that this is wrong and this is bad and this is sinful; a part of me will always refuse to hold her in the way that she needs to be held. I want to tell her that I do not think I will marry a girl, even if I want to. I will have a good Christian wedding at my parents' church and I will wear a white dress. And that night, I will make love to this man who my parents love more than I do and we will raise our children in a small town. I will visit my family on Christmas. I will smile when people ask me how I am. I will throw away every rainbow sweater I own and learn to fall in love with the color grey. I will hold my breath, and maybe then I will feel clean. She moves closer, almost as if she can hear my thoughts. She wraps her arms around me and whispers my name over and over again. It is a song, a prayer, a lament, and it is good.  I kiss her quickly, softly, and ache because this is what I want more than anything in the world. I want to cut off all of my hair and hold her hand in the city. I want to move to a little apartment in a big town and ride the subway to work. I want to speed down the freeway at 3am and sing the words to every song at the top of my lungs. I want to love her and not feel like I am doing something wrong. I kiss her again, again, again. She tastes like bubblegum and summer wine, and letting her go feels impossible. “I love you,” I say softly, and then I am crying as she says it back. She brushes the tears off my face as they come and holds me like I am the last thing left on earth  “I love you, too.” She breathes. “I love you like the summer sun and bare feet. I love you like stargazing and rooftops and loud music. I love you like cold coffee and old movies and big sweaters. I love you, Jade, I love you, I love you.” I am still crying and she is still holding me. I want to feel clean and normal, I want to feel safe and new. I want to feel the good things that everyone else feels when they are in love. Instead, I just feel as though I have faulty wiring. This isn’t the first time I’ve collapsed like this. It isn’t the first time I’ve thought about the way my mother’s shoulders stiffen when I talk about girls and the way my father’s eyes darken for a moment when I come home, cheeks glowing. I remember asking them if they cried when I told them that I do not love like they do, and they did not reply. For a moment, I hate my heart for making my parents regret creating me, for making whatever god there is deem me unfit, for making the world view me as a fetish and a liar but not a human. But through it all, she holds me. I am breaking in her arms and still, she holds me, her arms safe and warm and strong and home. “Jade. Jade, it’s okay.” She murmurs, and her lips graze my ear. “It’s okay, Jade. It’s okay. I’m here.” And for once, maybe--here in her arms, here in her bed--I believe her.

something about girls who kiss other girls

[chendersonfic]

Fall River Street

The yellow cab exhaled as it rolled to a slow stop in front of the quaint four-bedroom house nestled at the end of Fall River Street. The house reminded Addison of a mausoleum, untouched by the passing of time and preserving everything on the inside without any discernment. The golden red fall leaves swept along the front yard like a royal cape. This picture was exactly why local real estate agents would favor fall as the best time for their listings, the foliage added a type of natural magic that you simply couldn’t conjure up or recreate with photoshop.

He stepped out of the cab and closed the door behind him, gazing at the house with childish apprehension. His father was dead, and this was going to be a long week. He was here to help his mother prepare the house for sale. She didn’t need four bedrooms all to herself, and she had long forgotten her past dreams of having grandchildren that would run through the hallways and bring the house alive with their noisy laughter. She was ready to downgrade to a one-bedroom apartment close to him and planned on spending the rest of her time volunteering and knitting scarves for the homeless.

But first they had to tackle a lifetime worth of accumulated garbage. If hoarding was a woman, his mother was her cousin. Nowhere near as bad as ceiling-tall piles of useless trash, but prone to collecting tchotchkes, broken kitchenware, and sentimental rubbish. Now they had a week to sort through it all before the realtor would come back with a photographer and list the empty house for sale.

“There you are honey,” said the tiny silver-haired woman who came out to greet him on the stoop. His mother looked so small, much smaller than he remembered her. Then again, it had been years.

He walked up the stairs which still had a print of his boyish hands embedded in the concrete. 

“Hey ma,” he said, and gave her a long overdue hug, then followed her inside back into his past.

Everything was just as he remembered it, down to the creaky floorboards in the hallway and the janky seashell vintage living room lamp that would provide erratic light bursts in capricious intervals.

“I made you lunch,” his mother said, making her way into the kitchen. 

“I’m not that hungry,” he called back from the living room, still looking around at all the familiar yet long-forgotten details that painted the picture of his childhood.

“You have to eat,” she replied, walking back in with a tray of soup and sandwiches. If anyone really had to eat, it was her, but he decided to skip that conversation for now. This wasn't the time to stress her out about her food intake.

He grabbed the tray from her, and they ate in the living room, surrounded by silence. If there was one thing he appreciated, it was the fact that his mother knew better than to cry in front of him. He wasn’t good at handling people’s emotions anymore, he only had room enough for his own. 

“The house is in good shape,” Addison stated, taking a sip of the chicken soup. His mother nodded.

“You know, Tom Hadley comes by to help with it,” she replied casually. He felt the soup suddenly stuck in his throat. 

“He does?”

“Yes, he’s been a big help. He came by the other week and fixed the refrigerator. Are you boys still in touch?” Addison tried to swallow, but the lump remained. He shook his head no, not being able to utter a word. 

There was a time, so long ago it felt like another lifetime altogether, when it wouldn’t have crossed his mind to leave his town and move away. He had no grandeur plans of making it out, or the need to test the waters anywhere else. He would have been content staying right where he was, close to his best friend Tom.

“Oh, before I forget. You wouldn’t mind going to check on Mrs. Beckett next door, would you? I try to look in on her at least once a day, but I think seeing your face might be good for her.” When Addison appeared confused, she added. “She has dementia now, her memory fluctuates. I think it started with Mark’s suicide you know,” she added with sadness. “I think it just permanently broke her.” The boy’s face flashed in Addison’s memory with vivid cruelty. His green eyes, his brown curly hair, and the smile that seemed almost a permanent feature of his mouth.

“Mark Beckett killed himself?” He wanted to make sure he didn’t mishear her.

“Hung himself right there in the bedroom,” she said, shaking her head. “He was a good friend of yours, wasn’t he?” Good friend was a stretch, Addison thought to himself. Mark was universally beloved at Fall River High, and if he was ever in Addison’s vicinity, it was because he was good friends with Tom. Really if he thought about it, all of his friends were Tom’s friends. He had a natural knack for it, getting people to like him. Addison was the opposite. His nose had been mostly buried in books growing up, apart from the occasional hoop session with Tom, or riding his bike through the neighborhood. His friendship with Tom started out mostly due to convenience, as the boys lived down the street from each other. But it had quickly developed into a strong bond. 

“Can I sleep in the guest room?” He asked, finishing his soup.

“Sorry honey, it’s packed with stuff. You’ll have to sleep in your old bedroom until we clear it out tomorrow.” He nodded in defeat, and after cleaning the dishes, he slowly made his way upstairs, back to his childhood bedroom. It was a museum, with everything preserved just as he had left it. The blue bed sheets, the wooden desk with carved words and scribbled phrases, and the deflated basketball abandoned in the corner. 

He put down his bag and sat down on the small twin bed. He had spent countless hours in this room, and many of them had included Tom. But he left it all behind the second that he turned 18. He first kept afloat with a restaurant job while going to a community college in the evening. And now he made his living as a video editor, making just enough to be comfortable. His small apartment housed two plants as his only company. 

He got up and walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. It contained two old textbooks, four pens, a yo-yo, and an old notebook. He opened the notebook and flipped through the pages, until he found it. A list of names scribbled over and over again, like a mantra or a spell. The ink was dark, and it looked as if he had stabbed the pages with the pen that wrote it.

Steven Hades Michael Dornes Sean Trevley Mark Beckett

The list of names went on for a countless number of pages, in that same exact order. Until he got to the last page, where a new name appeared.

Steven Hades Michael Dornes Sean Trevley Mark Beckett Tom Hadley

He closed the notebook with force, then shut the drawer in a hurry. He would get rid of it tomorrow, burn it or throw it out with the rest of the garbage. Bury it forever, never to be found again. He turned off the light and tossed and turned on the small bed for the rest on the night. 

In the morning, feeling sleep-deprived and emotionally empty, he turned on the coffee pot, hoping the brown liquid would keep him awake enough to tackle the boxes he needed to sort through in the garage. It wasn’t an easy task, and he spent the next hours rummaging through countless cords and cables, old tv remotes, Christmas decorations, pictures, and even managed to find parts of his old bicycle. 

On his lunch break, he took a beer from the fridge and sat on the front porch, watching the street. He noticed a group of people walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He spotted Tom’s distinct shuffle right away. He raised the beer to his lips and tried to remain calm. He wasn’t going to run back into the house like a coward. The group got closer, and he recognized Tom’s wife and his childhood friend, Jodie, walking next to him, along with her parents. In his arms there was a small toddler.

The group decided to stop right across from him—because God possessed a dark sense of humor—as Jodie bent down to tie her shoelace. That’s when Tom’s gaze drifted in his direction and froze. The two men made eye contact, and it wasn’t until Jodie pulled Tom by the hand a minute later, that he finally looked away and continued walking. 

Addison took a few shaky breaths. He tried to focus on something, anything, to take his mind off of what had happened. He looked at his small handprints in the pavement. His father wasn’t thrilled when he saw what Addison did to the brand-new stairs. In fact, if he remembered correctly, he caught a few belt lashes for the stunt. 

He brought his right hand and placed it over the handprint. “Nothing happened. Nothing happened. NOTHING HAPPENED!” He heard the chant in his ears and dropped the bottle of beer, letting it crash on the pavement. The yellow liquid slowly seeped into the cervices of his childhood fingers. He looked at the broken glass for a long moment, then slowly began to clean it.

The next day of cleaning was no better than the first. He finally got through the garage, then made his way into the office, while his mother still worked on the guest room. Later in the day they had lunch together, after which his mother asked him to go check in on Mrs. Beckett. 

He walked over to the house next door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still nothing. Just as he was about to leave, the window curtain fluttered. He stopped in his tracks.

“Mrs. Beckett? It’s Addison, your neighbor,” he called out, hoping he hadn’t scared her. A moment later the door opened, and a small older woman in a silk vintage robe and hair rollers appeared, scrunching her eyes at him, as if she were trying to place his face.

“Remember me?” He asked.

“Well of course, of course my dear. Come on in,” she replied, smiling. He felt strange about accepting her invitation, still unsure if she really remembered him, but he decided to walk into the warm living room anyway. 

“Sit down, please. I’ll make us some tea,” she motioned towards the couch, and Addison listened obediently. A few minutes later she came back, a tray with tea rattling in her shaky hands. He quickly took it from her and put it down on the table. 

“Here, your favorite,” she said, handing him a small plate with toasted bread, butter, and honey. Addison stared for a moment, trying to remember if he ever ate that food combination before in his life, but he decided not to comment. 

“So, how are you?” She asked excitedly while adding sugar to her tea.

“I’m good Mrs. Beckett. I’m here helping my mom with the house. I’m sure she’s already told you that she’s selling it,” he replied, trying to make polite conversation. She chuckled.

“My silly boy. Always with the jokes. How is school going?” She asked, and Addison was starting to get the feeling that something was not quite right.

“Uhh, I graduated many years ago, Mrs. Beckett,” he replied, but she cut him off, slightly flustered.

“Will you stop calling me Mrs. Beckett? It’s not funny anymore.” Addison stared in confusion.

“Who…who do you think I am?” He asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well you’re my son, of course. You’re Mark,” she replied, smiling at him with fondness. “Eat up,” she said, watching the toast in his hand. Addison took a bite, unsure of how to proceed.

“I’m not Mark, Mrs. Beckett, I’m Addison. We went to the same high school. I lived in the house next door. Don’t you remember?” He asked, and something flickered in her eyes.

“Oh, don’t. No, please don’t. Don’t talk about him, Mark, you know it makes me sad,” she said, her voice quieter now. 

“Why does it make you sad?” He asked.

“What those boys did to him…it’s terrible Mark, truly awful,” she said.

“What those boys did to who, Mrs. Beckett?” He pressed on, already knowing the answer. 

“Addie, of course,” she replied, and his childhood nickname caused a sudden sharp pain in his chest.

“More tea?” She asked, smiling all of a sudden. 

“Who told you about that?”

“Who told me about what?”

“About what they did to…Addison,” he said, his name feeling clunky coming out of his own mouth. 

“I don’t know what you mean honey,” she replied confused, then brought the delicate china up to her lips and took a sip, forgetting she had said anything. He left shortly after, with Mrs. Beckett still thinking he was Mark. He didn’t have the heart to tell her twice.

He came back home and continued to work until it got dark. After dinner, he went to his bedroom and looked out the window, onto the back yard. Him and Tom would lay on that same grass and look for their constellations in the sky. They would spend hours, shoulder to shoulder, diligently making their way through the stars. They could always spot Addison’s large Pisces constellation with ease, but no matter how hard they tried, they could never find Antares—the star that marked the Scorpion’s heart.

On the fifth morning he found that the coffee machine which allowed him to get any work done while running on no sleep, broke. And despite the fact that his mother had every other unnecessary extra kitchen appliance, she did not have another coffee machine, so Addison walked over to the local breakfast spot in order to get one. He sat sipping on the hot coffee and waiting for the waffles his mom had requested, happy that her appetite seemed to be returning, when the door opened and Tom walked in, carrying his son. There was no time to hide, he saw Addison right away, and walked straight on over to him.

Tom hadn’t changed all that much, except for the beard and the few wrinkles that now surrounded his tired blue eyes. 

“Still pulling on those fingers eh?” He said by way of greeting after 17 years. Addison quickly untangled his hands, embarrassed by his nervous tick. The curly blonde child in Tom’s arms clung to him like a baby koala. 

“He’s got Jodie’s hair, but he has your eyes, nose, and lips,” Addison replied, studying the beautiful boy. Tom smiled.

“Jude,” he said, then to clear up Addison’s confusion added, “That’s his name. Jude.”

“Ah, the patron of lost causes,” Addison said. 

“Let’s just say he came to me at the right time,” Tom replied, and Addison finally met his gaze.

“He’s a beautiful child.”

“How long are you in town for?”

“Just until Sunday.” Tom nodded. 

“I’m sorry about you father,” he said, and now it was Addison’s turn to nod.

“Selling the house?”

“Yeah, my mom’s downsizing, and moving closer to me.”

“You on your own?” He asked, and both men felt the strangeness of the question.

“Yep, just me and my books and my work,” Addison replied.

“Sounds like a good life,” Tom replied. 

“I heard about Michael…Beckett.” He didn’t know what made him say it. Tom looked embarrassed. 

“Yeah,” was all he could come back with. “Dornes is doing 20 in prison for distributing drugs. And Trevley was hit by a drunk driver. Died on the spot,” he added.

“And Steven?” Addison asked, barely able to get the name through his mouth.

“He’s still around. Drinking his way to the grave,” he replied. Another name hung between them in the uncomfortable silence, but neither one of them said it.

“Here you go,” the waitress appeared and handed him the bag of food. 

“Thank you,” he replied, getting up to leave.

“Listen, why don’t you and I go out for a drink?” Tom suggested. Addison thought about it for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“I have too much work to finish up at the house. Some other time,” he lied. He opened the door and walked out, but Tom followed him.

“Hey,” he called out and Addison stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was a coward.”

“Don’t,” Addison pleaded, but Tom continued.

“I should have stopped it. I don’t know why, I don’t know why I froze,” but Addison couldn’t listen anymore. He walked briskly, until the voice behind him faded. 

On his way back he tried to block out the swarming memories of his childhood best friend that were now viciously attacking his mind. He couldn’t allow himself to remember. Not now, not when he had a whole day of work still ahead of him. For the next eight hours he tirelessly threw out boxes of trash, then sorted through more boxes in the attic, until his hands were black from the dust and dirt. He was so tired that he felt like he would finally be able to get some sleep. Only two more days, and he would be out of here for good. But while he could control his thoughts and memories in the daytime, he couldn’t control his dreams. 

The grass felt cool underneath his body, making him break out in goosebumps. Tom was right next to him, staring at the sky yet again.

“Still can’t find it Addie,” he complained frustrated, as his constellation continued to evade him. He had just changed the brand of his deodorant, and Addison inhaled the pleasant citrus scent. The soft white cotton shirt that clung to Tom’s rapidly growing teenage body was illuminated by the moonlight. Addison turned towards him, laying on his side. Tom turned his head. He would usually make a stupid joke, but not that night. He studied the other boy’s face carefully, then slowly leaned in. The first kiss was as soft as a feather. But when their lips touched and the world didn’t end right then and there, Tom went in again, this time more forcefully. His mouth tasted like the orange popsicle he ate on their way home from school.

Addison woke up with a start, his shirt soaked in sweat. He never thought anything could be worse than the nightmares he’d had on and off for years. But he was wrong. This was far worse. This memory that he had so carefully locked away years ago, felt like hell on earth. 

He took off his drenched shirt and changed into a dry one. It was still dark outside, but he turned on the light and began to pack his room. He needed to finish everything as quicky as possible, before he’d end up like Michael Beckett, hanging from the ceiling, waiting for his poor mother to find him.

On the 6th day Addison and his mom finished cleaning the kitchen. All that was left was the living room. They met a couple buyers who picked up some of the furniture, although his mother had insisted on keeping the unreliable vintage lamp. They were eating lunch, when the house phone started ringing. It was another neighbor. There had been a tragedy out on the lake. 

“Tom Hadley? No, not possible,” he heard his mother say, and his heart felt still. Suddenly, he remembered it as clear as day. Waiting outside of the building for Tom, who was taking longer than usual. Deciding to walk in and meet him in the locker room, where he would shower and change after hockey practice. But Tom was still talking to the coach. It was Steven Hades and Sean Trevley that he bumped into that day. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here, weirdo?” Steven spat out, his voice venom in Addison’s ear. 

“Where’s Tom?” Addison asked, uncomfortable but not yet afraid.

“Where’s Tom?” Steven mimicked him in a girlish voice. “Tom, Tom, Tom. Why do you follow him around like a creep?” He asked, approaching him. Addison felt his throat tighten. Michael Dornes walked in, and he hoped the stupid encounter would be over, but Steven continued.

“Answer me, weirdo!”

“He’s my friend,” Addison replied, his voice shaky now. Dornes ignored the scene and started changing out of his uniform. Addison prayed for Tom to come, but instead he saw Mark Beckett enter the locker room next. His famous smile still in place.

“You wanna know what I think?” Steven said, ignoring everyone else in the room and zoning in on Addison. He was inches away now. “I think you’re a fag.” Addison saw Michael’s smile vanish from his face.

“Come on Steve, leave him alone,” he said. Steven’s head snapped back to him. 

“Why are you defending him, are you a fag?” He asked. Michael laughed nervously.

“No man, come on,” he replied, then went silent.

Steven turned around and walked towards his locker, and for an incredibly naive moment Addison thought he was leaving him alone. Until he saw him grab the hockey stick.

What followed next was a blur. He was on the floor, Steven’s massive form pressing into his back with his knee. He couldn’t breathe. He heard Steven shouting for Michael to hold down his legs, which he didn’t realize were flailing around, trying to kick off the larger boy. And then he felt his pants and underwear being roughly pulled down, and everything went white as the piercing pain tore him in half. At some point he looked up, and saw the blue eyes staring back at him in frozen horror from the locker room’s entrance. They were Tom’s.

He was discovered by the coach, about 10 minutes later, who ushered him to the nurse. When they asked him about what happened, all he could reply was, “Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing happened!” If he said it enough times, it would surely come true.

“There was an accident,” his mother said, sitting down across from him and waking him up from his memories.

“What happened?” She wasn’t sure yet, but the neighbor said it involved a dead body and Tom Hadley. It was later that night that the woman would call back with the full story. 

In the early hours of October 4th, a small fishing boat containing two men left the local harbor. Only one man returned: Tom Hadley. Steven Hades’ body was fished out by divers a few hours later. Tom Hadley was let go almost instantly, without any suspicion of foul play. He told the sheriff that they had been drinking, and he fell asleep. When he woke up, a drunk Steven had gone overboard. The sheriff had no reason to doubt the story. Steve was a notorious drunk.

The next day was his last day in town. The house was almost empty, apart from a few more pieces of furniture. His mother was going to stay with her sister for a week, and then come down to her new apartment. 

Later that day, without even really knowing why, he found himself at Tom Hadley’s house. He stood at the front door for a moment, but just as he had decided to leave, the door opened, and a curly haired blonde woman popped out.

“Addie!” She chirped. “I didn’t know you were in town!” He smiled.

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning just thought I’d pop in and say goodbye.”

“No! If I knew you were here earlier, I’d have invited you over for dinner. You’re catching me at a bad time now, I’m getting ready to fly out for a conference in a couple hours. But please, come on in. We can catch up while I pack!” He wanted nothing less than to catch up with Jodie, but he didn’t want to be rude, so he followed her inside.  

He sat on the edge of the bed as she stuffed her suitcase with clothes. 

“Is Tom here?”

“No, he took Jude for a ride. That little sweet monster is teething and being a complete nightmare. He only calms down in the car for some reason.”

“The joys of parenthood,” Addison replied, not knowing what to say. The good thing about Jodie was that you didn’t have to say much, she usually had the conversation covered from all angles on her own. 

“Tell me about it. I thought I was going to be the good parent. Turns out I’m the one that can’t get away fast enough,” she laughed, stuffing another blouse into the already overloaded suitcase. “Don’t tell anyone this, but Tom didn’t want him when he found I was pregnant. He asked me to get an abortion. I told him no way was I killing a baby. You know what his stupid answer was? That murder was justified in that case, because he was going to be a shitty father.” She shook her head in disbelief. “But he’s way better at it than me now. He has a lot more patience,” she mused, and Addison nodded. “Frankly, I wish he’d agree to move out of this damn place and it’s nonstop rain. I want to go somewhere tropical, like Florida. Can you imagine the three of us in Florida, with a beach house that has an outdoor shower? But I can’t even see Tom anywhere else. This town’s gloom has almost become a permanent part of him, you know?” 

“What happened with Steven Hades by the way?” Addison asked, changing the subject.

“Oh gosh, what a freak accident, right? I mean we all know Steven and the bottle were best friends, but I didn’t realize how damn bad it was. But you know the strange thing?” She asked, scrunching her nose is deep thought. “Not many people knew this because he was embarrassed about it, but he was deathly afraid of water. Couldn’t swim. Not sure how Tom even got him to agree to go fishing to be honest,” she replied, then went back to talking about Florida. 

As he was leaving, Jodie promised she would tell Tom that he visited. 

On his last night Addison walked out onto the back porch and popped a bottle of beer. Four miles away, Tom wrangled with his son, who wouldn’t stop crying. His wife had already left, and it was too late to get his parents to help. The little boy continued to wail for no particular reason.

“What is it, Jude?” He asked, but got no reply expect for the continued screams. He was slowly losing his mind. The stress of the week catching up with him finally. And now his son wouldn’t stop crying.

He brought him outside into the back yard, into the cold air, hoping it would calm him down. But the crying continued. It was the most helpless feeling, not knowing what to do, and not being able to ease his pain. “Please, please Jude,” he begged the little boy, bouncing him in his arms. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know,” he stammered. Then finally he broke down in a long sob, startling the boy into silence. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled through the tears, “I’m sorry.” His legs felt shaky, so he sat down on the grass, holding onto Jude tightly, and looked up at the sky.

Four miles away, and halfway through his beer, Addison’s eyes also drifted to the sky. They both saw it at the same time. The large star shining as bright as the sun. It was Antares, the Scorpion’s heart. 

The beautiful sight made Addison breathless for a long moment. He smiled and felt shivers run down his arms and back. Tom held onto his boy, suddenly feeling the weight of the world release from his shoulders. “It’s okay now,” he said. “Daddy’s got you.” After a long while, they both went back inside. Addison to his childhood bedroom, and Tom to the living room couch.

The next morning, Addison woke up early and gave his mother a kiss goodbye. He took the box with the vintage lamp, then grabbed his bag and walked outside shivering in the brisk morning air, passing his handprints on the front steps, and getting into the waiting yellow cab. The low hum of the idling engine was the only sign of life on Fall River Street.

[fierygaynessmlp-blog]

Oh my god it’s been like five minutes, but I have another story from deep in the archives lol